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achilles-rage · 3 months ago

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Is She Mine?

summary: when buck left pennsylvania, he unknowingly left you there, pregnant with his child. four years later he runs into you and your daughter at the grocery store.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: another buck with a kid fic, another baby name from my baby name list used<3 if you don't like the name argue with the wall. someone gave me this idea months ago, but i can't find the ask, and i know birthmarks like that aren't hereditary or anything, but just pretend lol. anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: barely edited (sorry), reader has a daughter (obviously lol), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

“Delia, come back here right now!” you whisper-yell down the grocery aisle, looking up right as you see your daughter disappear around the corner.

You’ve always been against kids on leashes, but lately, your three-year-old daughter has been single-handedly changing your opinion on them. You can’t take your eyes off of her for more than a couple of seconds before she’s gone; chasing after nothing in particular and probably talking to a random stranger or two along the way, if you know her at all.

You see flickers of her father in her; not merely in her appearance, but in who she is on the inside as well, and she’s never even met him. She’s extremely outgoing and talkative, and stubborn, and has a heart of gold. As much as you hate to see the painful glimmer of her father within her, it also makes you happy to think of your time with him.

You haven’t seen him since shortly after you realized you were pregnant. You were both in college in your home state, and when you took the pregnancy test, you couldn’t figure out how to tell him. You had ended up waiting too long, and when he told you that he was leaving to travel the world, you couldn’t stop him, as much as you wanted to.

You knew how miserable he was with his parents, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ruin his dreams. You knew all he wanted to do was get out of Pennsylvania, and you didn’t want to force him to stay with you just because you had done something stupid.

You abandon your cart in the middle of the aisle and race after her, haphazardly pulling your purse up your arm as your eyes frantically look around you for a glimpse of her hair, or her light blue shirt. Or was it purple? God, you really need to start taking pictures of her before you go out with her, you think to yourself as your heart hammers in your chest.

Finally, you hear her loud giggle, and you let out a relieved sigh, following the noise and finally setting your sight on her curly hair and her blue shirt. Good to know you were right about that, at least.

“De, what are you doing? You can’t run away from m-” your words catch in your throat as you see that she’s talking to a man who’s bent down to her level and smiling fondly at her.

When he turns and locks eyes with you, the smile drops from his face, and he stands up straight as his eyes travel down your body. His breath has been ripped from his lungs as he watches you pick up the little girl and set her on your hip, but before either of you can speak, your daughter squeals excitedly in your ear.

“Mommy, he’s got dots, too!” Her tiny hand shoots out toward his eyebrow, pointing at the birthmark above his eye, and you nod slowly, eyes still focused on Buck. Your sweet girl is completely oblivious to the tension between you and Buck; all she can focus on is that this random man at the grocery store has the exact same birthmark as her.

“Buck,” you breathe in disbelief, watching as the realization dawns on him. He knows exactly what he just heard. Mommy. And unless he’s suddenly extremely bad at math, he knows exactly what this means.

His eyes dart between you and your daughter, now seeing the mix of your features on her face. She has your eyes, and her hair is the exact same, but she also has his bright smile, and his nose, and of course, the same birthmark above her eye.

“Is she-” he begins, trailing off as he shakes his head. He’s trying hard to wrap his head around this situation, and the only thought running through his mind is why the hell didn’t she tell me?

“She’s three,” you reply softly, unable to bring yourself to say the real truth. He’s not stupid; you know you shouldn’t need to, and you don’t want to say a thing around Delia, anyway.

“Why didn’t you-?” he begins again, but you cut him off, keeping a firm grip on your daughter as she wiggles around in your arms.

“You were miserable in Pennsylvania, I couldn’t make you stay,” you explain, your throat feeling tight as you feel all the emotions you’ve been shoving deep down for the past four years fighting their way to the surface again.

“You wouldn’t be making me stay, if I knew, I would’ve wanted to stay. You know that,” he tells you, brows furrowed.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you since he left. Leaving you in Pennsylvania was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he knew how important it was for you to graduate, and he couldn’t ask you to leave with him and throw away your own dreams for his.

Now, looking at you, and the little girl in your arms, his heart feels heavy. He feels guilty for not being there for you for four years. He wishes that he never left.

“And I wasn’t miserable. I had you,” he continues, his fists clenching at his sides as he watches his daughter wrap her arms around your neck and rest her little head on your shoulder. He wants more than anything to hold her, but she has no idea who he is, and that causes a pain in his chest.

“I’m sorry. We were young, and I didn’t know what to do,” you explain, guilt filling your belly. In hindsight, you know you should’ve told Buck; he had a right to know, but you didn’t know what to say.

“Well, I can’t just forget about this now. I can’t just go back to not seeing you, not seeing her,” he says, his tone pleading as he looks down at your daughter again, his eyes soft as he takes in her drowsy eyes.

“Delia,” you tell him with a small smile, tilting your head to the side and resting your cheek against the top of her head.

He smiles too, and you think you see tears forming in his eyes as he nods, then clears his throat.

“Delia,” he whispers. “She looks just like you,” he continues, louder this time.

You laugh softly, shrugging as you squeeze Delia tighter to you. You’re thankful that she’s been quiet while you talk, clearly tired after a long day at the park, and then running errands.

“I think she looks like you,” you reply, and he chuckles softly, feeling a sense of pride fill his chest. He can’t believe he hasn’t been there to see his little girl grow up, and that you’ve had to do this all alone.

“Please let me see you again. Please.” You smile at his words; you knew Buck would want to help out as much as he could if he ever found out. You feel guilt eating at you as you see the longing in his expression, but this feels like a second chance, and you don’t want to cut him off again.

“Okay. But, can I call you later? I should get her home and ready for daycare tomorrow. We shouldn’t really talk about this here, anyway,” you say quietly, gesturing down to Delia. She may only be three, but she understands a lot, even in her sleepy state, and you don’t want to confuse her before you know what this is.

He nods quickly, then gives you his phone to get your number, and when he has it, you say goodbye before you go your separate ways.

Your daughter waves haphazardly at Buck as you walk away, and you can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. She’s asked about her father before, and you never quite knew what to say. Maybe now she’ll actually be able to have the father she’s always asked about. The one that you’ve longed for for the last four years.

Later that night, when Delia’s in bed, you call Buck and set up a day for him to come over to spend the day with you two. You both agree not to tell Delia who he really is, at least not right away. First, you’ll just get her used to him, and then you’ll cross the next bridge when you get to it.

You weren’t at all surprised when the first time Buck showed up on your doorstep, Delia welcomed him in with a bright smile, grabbing his hand and bringing him into the living room where all her toys were scattered around. You weren’t surprised when Buck sat right down with her and played with her all day, either, only stopping for snack breaks.

Anything she would ask for, he would do, whether it was playing hide and seek, or painting with her, or throwing her up in the air as many times as she wanted while playing what she calls “rocket ship.”

Eventually, his afternoon visits ended up ending later and later, and you’d sit on the couch and talk long after Delia went to bed. You missed hanging out with him, and seeing him being so good with Delia had you falling for him all over again.

It wasn’t hard to see that he felt the same; you could see the way his eyes wandered down your body, or down to your lips when you were speaking, but you never did anything about it. Your number one priority is Delia, and you don’t want to do anything too early and confuse her.

One day, a few months after you had run into Buck, he’s sitting on the carpet with your daughter, holding two of her Barbie’s in his hands with furrowed brows as she explains to him who they are. You’re sitting with them, watching with a fond smile, when Delia stops, looking up at Buck quizzically.

“Are you my daddy?” she asks softly, her brows knit together in confusion as she eyes him.

Both you and Buck’s eyes widen, and your lips part as you try to figure out what to say. You knew this was coming, but you couldn’t figure out how to go about it.

“Why do you ask, sweetheart?” Buck finally says, tilting his head to the side as you watch them.

“Everyone at school has daddies. And, you love my mommy,” she explains, looking between the two of you. You tilt your head to the side and steal a glance at Buck, seeing the smile growing on his face. He meets your gaze for a second, raising a brow, and you nod once. You don’t know how this is going to go, but you want to try.

“Of course, I love your mommy. And I love you, too,” he assures her with a smile, bringing a hand up and tracing her chubby cheek with his fingers.

She smiles bashfully, tilting her head to the side, then stops for a moment, thinking. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she looks at the space between the two of you, spaced out, and then she looks back up at Buck.

“Will you be my daddy?” she asks, and your heart shatters when you see the nervousness in her eyes. Buck can feel tears forming in his eyes as he looks back into her eyes, and his heart somehow feels both full and empty at her words. He’s been hoping to eventually become Delia’s father for real, but hearing the uncertainty in her voice makes him want to hold her close and never leave her again.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll be your daddy,” he says after a moment, not wanting her to wait a second longer. He lets out a huff as Delia suddenly shoots up and launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and settling into his lap with an elated giggle.

“I love you, daddy,” she says breathlessly, nuzzling into his neck and squeezing him hard. You watch with a smile, tears forming in your own eyes as you see a tear slip down Buck’s cheek.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice shaky as he hugs her close to his chest.

He’s always wanted a family, and now that he has this one, he never wants to let it go. He just can’t believe he missed out on the first three years. He’ll have to make it up to his girls, he thinks to himself.

“I’m gonna go talk to your mommy for a second. We’ll be right back, okay?” he tells your daughter when she finally gets off his lap and goes back to playing with her Barbie’s.

When you’re both in the kitchen, and sure Delia’s distracted, Buck closes the space between you two, cupping your cheeks and bringing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. You hold his wrists as you kiss him back, caught slightly off guard but quickly regaining your composure as you move your lips in time with his.

When you finally pull back, you’re both out of breath, and he looks down at you with sparkling eyes, studying your face for a moment before bringing your foreheads together.

“I want to be a real family. I don’t just want her, I want you, too.” he whispers, letting his thumb trace along your skin as he holds your face in his hands. You laugh in slight disbelief, then nod, letting a tear finally fall down your cheek. The last four years without him have been exhausting, and all you wanted was this, but you never thought you could have it. Except now Buck is standing right in front of you, telling you that he wants exactly what you want.

“I want that, too.” you tell him softly, then bring your lips up to his again, kissing him with newfound fervour.

Your hands go to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer as you part your lips and let his tongue slip into your mouth, searching. He keeps one hand on your face as the other goes down to your hip, holding you flush against him as he tilts your head further up into the kiss, and a low groan escapes his throat as he feels your plush middle pressed against him.

You finally have to pull away when you hear your daughter’s squeal from the other room; yelling a high pitched “daddy!”

You both race to the living room, letting out sighs of relief when you see her sitting in the same spot on the carpet that you’d left her, with a cheeky smile on her face.

“Can we have ice cream for dinner?” You scoff, laughing softly as you shake your head. You’ve seen that sweet little expression before; she knows exactly how to ask for what she wants, but unlike Buck, you’re more used to having to say no.

“Yeah, we can have ice cream for dinner, baby,” Buck replies before you can, and your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowed. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, however, as he’s smiling fondly at Delia as she squeals excitedly and makes her way to him.

When Buck picks your daughter up in his arms and finally turns to face you, you can feel the sliver of anger slip away, seeing how Delia is looking up at Buck with a dazed smile; clearly happy about finally having her daddy.

“You’re already wrapped around her finger.” you tease, and all he does is shrug, a smile plastered to his face.

“Happily.” he replies, then leans down and gives you a gentle kiss. You both laugh when you hear Delia’s fake sounds of disgust, and when you pull back, Buck throws her up in the air, then catches her.

“Hey, if I’m gonna be your daddy, you’re gonna have to let me kiss your mommy, that’s part of the deal.” he teases as he throws her up in the air, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from her lips.

“Okay, okay, okay!” she gets out through breathless gasps, and when Buck hums in victory and lowers her back into his arms, he gives her a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

You watch with a grin, and you can’t believe that you lived for four years without Buck. But now that he’s back, you never want to leave him again.

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cruel-as-sin · 3 months ago

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you like to say that you're right | logan howlett

↳ summary: you’re bored when you and logan are about to be on the way home. so, you decide to have a little fun… but the consequences might be worse than you imagined

word count: 4.2k

song: #icanteven | the neighbourhood

pairings: old man!logan x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn light plot, unprotected p in v (practice safe sex everyone!), established relationship, fingering, mean!logan, bratty reader, orgasm denial, rough sex, a little bondage, spanking (a couple times), predator/prey dynamics if you squint (listen….), possessive!logan, lots of marks and bruises, reader has a serious degradation kink, hair pulling, reader flirts with someone else to piss off logan (plays into their established dynamic), hints of misogyny (not from logan), aftercare, no use of y/n, pet names for reader - baby, sweetheart, whore, brat; consent is key here y’all (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: okay so this wasn't supposed to be what i wrote next but i remembered a dream i had like a month ago at this point that started JUST like this does and i couldn't not deliver... so have some insight into the way my feral subconscious mind works lmao

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan knows how much you love to push his buttons. But even for you, this is a new level of crazy.

His grip on the steering wheel leaves his knuckles white as he watches you go. Across the parking lot, through the building of some random store. He’s pretty sure he can see some bullshit comic on display in the window.

When he catches you, you are in for it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Five minutes.

That's how long you have before Logan follows you into the shop and rains down hell upon you.

Your heart has been pounding nonstop since you leaned over to him from the passenger seat of the limo, your eyes flickering past him to the couple on the curb. The girl was trying- and failing- to flirt with him, and even from that distance it was clear he was uninterested.

“You know,” You began. “That girl really can’t take a hint. It’s a little embarrassing.”

His eyes flickered over to you for a moment, narrowing at your tone of voice. “What are you doin’?”

“Nothing.” You said innocently. “I’m just saying, someone ought to go over there and show her how it’s done.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually.” He said dismissively, not buying into whatever scheme you’re trying to plan.

You hummed, leaning in a little further. “Guess it shouldn’t be me though, huh? Since apparently I can’t fucking get any other guys but you.”

Your words were an echo of his own a few days prior, one of the things he’d said when he was balls deep in you. You’d loved it, of course you did. You got off on him being mean to you, because you knew he never meant a word of it. And he told you as much at the end of every night, soft words and gentle kisses lulling you to sleep, wrapped in the safety of his strong arms and sworn promises.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t use this to have a little fun.

So that’s exactly what you’d planned. His gaze had landed on you again, eyes narrowing further, his tone shifting to more of a warning. “Watch it.”

You’d only gone to this plaza to pick up some medicine for Charles- done. But you didn’t need to be back across the border for a while. So it wouldn’t hurt to, say, go into the bookstore across the street and have a look around.

“I bet I can pull any guy in there.” You said, pointing at the bookstore that rests across the parking lot outside your window.

“Is that so?” He was taking the bait- he couldn’t help it. He always did.

“Mhm. Give me five minutes, and I’ll have one of those poor boys wrapped around my finger.” You giggled. Giggled, as if your boyfriend wasn’t glaring daggers through you.

It was his turn to lean in, whispering in your ear. “If you go in there, sweetheart, I’m gonna make sure you can’t stand for the next week. You got that?”

His threat sent a pang of heat to your core. Sure, maybe this was stupid, because even if you did pull a guy, that would only piss him off more, but that’s why you liked it.

You gave him a coy smile before leaning over to open your door. “Five minutes.” Come and get me.

From the moment you got out of the car, you knew you'd fucked up- because he let you. You could feel his stare burning into you as you closed the door behind you, your heart beating so loud you were certain he'd be able to hear it the entire way through the parking lot.

Your steps were quick, hurried- not panicked, but there was a sense of urgency to your movements. The whole time you were walking through the parking lot, you wondered if this was a mistake, if you should just turn back now, fall to your knees and beg for his forgiveness before this went too far.

But it's too late now. You've already slipped through the door of the small establishment, sealing your fate with the ding of the bell and a click behind you.

The woman behind the counter looks up at you with a polite smile. "Welcome in! Is there anything I can help you find today?"

You return the smile with a slight shake of your head. "No, thank you. I'm just browsing."

She nods. "Let me know if you need any assistance."

You glance around the room, finding what you were looking for- a set of wooden steps, leading down to a basement. You head down slowly, finding the room below filled with comic books, action figures, and all sorts of trinkets.

Truthfully, you'd like to stay and look. But you're not here for that.

Pretty quickly, you spot a guy eyeing up the comic book section, as if he's searching for something in particular. You try the classic trick of wandering around the room appearing confused, wondering if he'll take the bait.

And, of course, he does. For a moment you almost feel bad that you're about to lead him on (and maybe bring down the wrath of your surely very angry boyfriend), but then he opens his mouth and all your regrets fly right out the window.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He says as he sidles up next to you. "Oh, you must be looking for a gift for someone, right?"

Yeah. Right. You internally roll your eyes, turning to face him with a wide smile.

"Actually, I was kind of hoping to start reading some comics myself." You admit, pretending to sound a little ashamed about it. "But I don't really know where to start." Your eyes light up, and before he can get out some sort of misogynistic remark, you continue. "You look like you know a lot about this stuff! Do you think you could help me?" You bite your lip in a nervous sort of way and bat your eyelashes at him.

Although he hides it, you can see him short-circuit for a moment, probably not used to so much attention from a pretty girl. I wonder why. But he comes back to his senses. "Of course I can. I'd be happy to help." He begins heading toward a set of shelves, and you follow him. "So many women get lost in this sort of stuff these days. They have no idea where to start, and just end up getting confused. I wouldn't want that to happen to you."

If Logan wasn't t-3 minutes away from storming down the stairwell, you'd punch this guy in the face.

Instead you smile at him like he's the smartest guy in the world. "Yeah, me neither. I was really worried I wouldn't be able to figure out what I wanted." You say with a giggle. "I mean, there's so many of them." You add, gesturing to the long shelves filled with comic books.

Honestly, you don’t even remember what the guy says next, or what you say back. You’re too busy thinking about Logan- he’s the real reason why you’re here, after all.

You know Logan is on his way. He has to be. And knowing that means knowing your punishment is imminent.

It's exhilarating, it's terrifying- but in a good way, in the best way. The hunt, the chase, the lying in wait for him to catch you- it’s one of the most incredible feelings in the world. And you know he loves it too.

The guy off-handedly and quite awkwardly mentions how he goes to a local store nearby for fan meetups, and you enthusiastically tell him you’d love to go with him someday. Blech.

Ding.

Even from down here, you pick up on it. You don't need anything else to know that it's him.

You swallow nervously, trying to keep your heart from jumping out of your throat. This was absolutely a mistake, the kind that was going to leave you begging for mercy the moment you two got home.

...but in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

He's already at the top of the stairwell when you reach out and put your hand on the other man's arm, laughing at whatever joke he'd just made- you hadn't even heard him over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

Logan is down the stairs in seconds, a hand wrapping around your arm in an iron grip as he pulls you away from the guy. The guy takes a step back- it doesn’t take a genius to see the fury in Logan’s eyes as he leans down to mutter to you. "Come on. We're leaving."

You pout up at him, tugging lightly against his grip. “But I wanna stay and look at the comic books, baby.” An idea comes to mind, and you can’t suppress your grin. “Plus, I think some of them might have you in them!”

The guy is long gone now, and Logan is not amused by your attempt at a joke, his voice dropping to a tone you know even at your worst moments not to mess with. "Unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here like the brat you are, move. Now."

Yeah. Okay. You nod, squeaking out an “Mhm!” before he starts pulling you away.

As he drags you up the stairwell, you regain some of your composure and lean towards his ear to whisper. "Relax, baby. We wouldn't want to make a scene."

You're playing with fire and you know it- but he relents, his grip on your arm loosening, his hand instead reaching down to lace with your own, a hold that's just firm enough to remind you of who's in charge here. "Walk." He mutters under his breath, his voice a low, rough tone that sends a chill down your spine.

And so you do, waving a cheerful goodbye at the woman behind the counter and trying to pretend like you're not beading with sweat and dripping with arousal. Logan keeps his hand tightly laced with yours as you walk into the parking lot, opening the car door and giving you a gentle push into the passenger seat before slamming the door on you.

You get a single moment of peace before he comes around to the drivers side, getting in and starting up the car. You put on your seatbelt, knowing you've pushed your luck too far now to disobey him any further.

You open your mouth to speak, to try to diffuse the situation, but the look in his eyes as he drives silences you.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Had to go and piss me off, didn't you sweetheart?"

"It's not like I actually wanted him." You lean back in your seat, unable to foresee the consequences of your words until it's too late. "He was a misogynistic asshole. I should've punched him in the face." You grumble the last part under your breath, more for yourself than for Logan- but of course, he hears it anyway.

Slowly, he turns, his eyes landing on you.

"But you didn't, did you?"

You swallow, unable to get past the dryness in your throat and attempt to poorly defend yourself before he keeps going.

"No. You made him feel like he was somethin' special, actin' like you'd ever be with anyone but me." He shakes his head again, a chuckle escaping him. "Seems like I need to teach you a lesson."

Before you know it, you're home, the glowing light of sunset coming through the windows. Your pleas die on your lips as he comes to your side of the car, opening the door and dragging you outside and up the sidewalk.

"You know I didn't mean it, Lo-" You whine.

"Stop fuckin' talking." He grabs your jaw, holding it in place, squeezing your cheeks in a little too tightly- but you like it. "Just 'cause you didn't mean it doesn't mean you don't get in trouble, baby. That's not how it works."

Wordlessly, you nod. As best you can, anyway, given his death grip on your chin.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Get inside." He releases you with a rough shove, and you fumble for your keys when you get to the door, some part of your subconscious trying to delay the inevitable- no, trying to draw it out, because you love this feeling.

He follows you in, and he doesn't even have to tell you to head to the bedroom- he just gives a pointed nod towards the hallway, and you obey.

He corners you immediately, his large frame boxing you in against the wall. "You've been a bad, bad girl, sweetheart." One of his hands grips your waist.

"I didn't mean it-" You protest, but your words quickly turn to a sharp whine as he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back.

"What did I say?" His tone drops lower, a raspy sound that makes heat pool in your gut.

Instead of continuing to argue, you just nod, another gasp escaping you when he tightens his grip and pulls a little harder.

He leans in, his breath fanning across your neck, his teeth scraping your pulse point in the teasing way he knows to be your weakness. His mouth comes up beside your ear, a soft murmur that's by far the gentlest thing you're going to hear until he's done with you. "You remember your safe word, baby?"

You nod, whispering it back to him in confirmation.

"Atta girl." He says approvingly, pulling away and returning his mouth to your throat. His grip on your hair keeps your head back, exposing your neck perfectly to him. He nips and sucks at the skin, leaving marks that won't go away for days- claiming you.

He pulls back for a moment to admire his handiwork. You lean in to kiss him, but a tug at your hair pulls you back, stopping you. "You think you deserve that?”

A frown comes to rest on your face, but you shake your head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He loosens his grip just a little. “You don’t get my fuckin’ mouth unless I’m puttin’ these on you, you understand?” He leans back in, pausing to murmur against your throat, “Lettin’ everybody know who you belong to.”

You nod in agreement- not like you have much of a choice- and he seems satisfied, nipping at your neck again. When he’s finished- Jesus Christ, you won’t be able to go out for days- he steps away, shrugging his blazer off of his shoulders and draping it atop the dresser.

His eyes are on you, a menacing stare that had you swallowing nervously before he’s even opened his mouth. “Strip.”

You don't hesitate to do as he says. You don't take your time, you don't give him a show- not tonight. You're smart enough not to fuck around now. Your clothes come off quickly- your shirt pulled over your head and tossed to the side, your bra unclasped and landing near the door, your pants and underwear pulled down in one swift motion and left pooled at your feet.

Logan wastes no time, wrapping his arms around your waste and picking you up with ease. He lays you down on the bed, mouth trailing down your body at a tantalizingly slow pace, leaving hickeys at every turn- you don’t even want to think about what you’ll look like tomorrow morning.

Finally, he reaches your thighs, and you inhale sharply as he leaves marks there too. Those always sting the most. Usually, he’d soothe the pain by moving his tongue to your clit, but his mouth strays nowhere near it today.

Instead he leans back, one of his hands trailing down your chest, the other holding you in place. His fingers move down past your clit, immediately heading to the wetness glistening between your folds. He swipes a finger through it, humming approvingly before he slowly works a finger inside you.

No matter how many times he’s filled you up this way, you’re always in awe of how even just one of his fingers can go so deep, please you so well. Your head is thrown back in bliss, and it isn’t long before a second one of his fingers joins the first.

He crooks his fingers up inside you, grinning when he hits that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. "There we go, that's the spot." You want to thank him, to verbally affirm his claims- but the moans leaving your lips will hopefully be enough to assure him that yes, that is the spot, and oh god please don’t stop.

It’s good, but not enough- and he knows it. He doesn’t touch your clit, doesn’t give you that final push over the edge. Instead he pulls his fingers out, placing them in your mouth. He doesn’t even want to taste you tonight. Obediently, you suck them clean, and he hums in satisfaction as he steps away, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Hands and knees, sweetheart." You do as you're told, a shudder going through you at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He roughly grabs your wrists, pinning them behind your back and securing them together with his belt. Moments later, you feel the tip of his cock press against your dripping folds.

You whine, instinctively trying to push back against him. One of his hands goes to your hair, grabbing it and holding you in place, while the other brings down a harsh smack against your ass. "Stay fuckin' put."

Another whine leaves your lips, but you bite your lip and stay still even as he smacks your ass again. "Say it." He growls, not taking your silence as an answer.

You nod furiously. “I’ll be good.” You say through shaky breaths.

“Good.” His hands move down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh so tightly you're sure you'll be covered in bruises the next morning.

He pushes into you slowly, stretching you out in a way that burns just how you like it. He gives you a moment to adjust- only a moment- before he pulls all the way out and slams back into you.

The pace he sets is nothing short of brutal, and he’s pretty quickly reduced you to a shaking mess. Still, as always, it’s not enough. You need more, you need him, you need-

"Lo-" You gasp, barely able to get out his name.

"Hm?" He seems entirely unbothered, his tone barely changed, as if he’s not currently fucking you senseless.

"I need-”

"What's that, baby?" He hums, thrusting harder. "Speak up, I can't hear you."

You can only respond with a broken moan, your words dying on your lips.

"Guess you must not want it that bad then." You can hear that cocky fucking smirk on his face, can practically see it when you close your eyes.

"Need to cum." You whine, your words slurred and almost incomprehensible.

"Oh, you think I'm gonna let you cum, sweetheart?" He scoffs, the condescension in his tone going straight to the pulse in your core. "After the shit you pulled, you think you earned that?"

“Please-” You beg. “Please, Lo, please, I’m sorry, please let me cum, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just let me cum, please, I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t mean it-” You’ve lost track of what you’re even saying at this point, desperately racking your brain for anything you could say to convince him to let you cum, to move his fingers down to your clit and rub it in those sweet little circles that will have you coming undone in moments. “Lo, baby- Logan, please, I need to cum, please-” Your words die down into nothing but desperation, a few words barely able to be made out amongst the rest of your nonsense.

Surely, he must let you cum now. You’ve (metaphorically) groveled for him, that’s always worked before.

But his hands stay right where they are.

It's a little embarrassing, but you never could cum without pressure on your clit. Logan is the only man you've ever met who hasn't judged you for it, hasn't let it be a blow to his self-esteem- though you're sure in the back of his mind he's made it a personal challenge to do it anyway. Today, it seems he's taking up that challenge- or he's just really, really fucking pissed off. It’s something of a weakness. On occasion, he’s used it against you, but never like this.

It's a lose-lose. Either you cum from his dick alone, and his ego shoots through the roof because you proved him right- or you don't get to cum at all, and he's satisfied that you've learned your lesson.

He's got you backed into a corner, right where he wants you. The corner, in this instance, being the bedsheets your face is now being squished into, your shaky knees threatening to give out as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, one of his hands still grabbing your hips as his other keeps your head firmly against the pillow.

It’s too much but also not enough, overwhelming you beyond comprehension yet you somehow still want more.

And Jesus fucking Christ, you think you might actually cum.

You try to tell him, to warn him, in case he truly doesn’t want to let you, but you can’t form words, let alone sentences. Instead all that comes out are increasingly high-pitched whines and gasps as your knees buckle and he hits spots so deep inside of you, you think you might pass out.

Finally, you manage his name again. “Logan-” You want to tell him, but instead you just keep going, his name falling from your lips like a mantra, a prayer. “Loganloganloganloganlogan-”

“You gonna cum for me, huh?” His thrusts become harsher, somehow impossibly deeper, reducing your prayers to nothing but babbled moans again. You don’t answer him- you can’t, how could you, with the way he’s hammering his cock into you right now?

“Words, baby.” He says sternly, but you both know you’re too far gone. Instead you just nod, pressing your face into the pillow in an attempt to muffle your cries. He grabs your hair, pulling your head up. “Go on. Wanna hear you cum for me. Cum all over my fuckin’ cock, you know you want to. Let everyone know who you fuckin’ belong to, who owns this pussy.”

You don’t think about the consequences this might have for his ego, or the way you’re not going to be able to walk for days, or the fact that maybe your neighbors might actually hear when you scream his name.

“God, you’re such a whore.” He mocks. “Pathetic.”

You aren’t even ashamed when his dirty words are the thing to push you over the edge.

You just let go.

His name rings in your ears as you scream, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train, hard and fast. You can barely hear his grunts through the cloud of ecstasy you’re floating on, “There we go. Knew you could do it, knew you had it in you- fuck, sweetheart-” He growls, and moments later you feel him twitching inside of you as his own bliss hits, causing your orgasm to just keep fucking going.

Eventually, when both of you are done shaking, Logan pulls out of you. He flips you onto your back, his once mean grip now gentle as he wraps his body around yours as you try to breathe. Soft kisses pepper your forehead, your face, your lips, your neck- anywhere and everywhere he can reach, his beard tickling your skin. His hold is firm, grounding, and he murmurs in your ear. "You did so good, sweetheart. Always so good for me." You whine when his hand brushes against one of the hickeys on your thigh. "Shit, sorry." He pulls back, littering your face with more apologies. "Was it too much?"

You're quick to shake your head. "No." A small smile forms on your face. "But I might not be able to walk anytime soon."

He grins back at you. "Told ya."

You nuzzle your face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like smoke- he always does, but that smell has become comforting to you. The two of you stay like that for a while before he begins to pull away.

"C'mere. Let's get you cleaned up." He grunts, standing up and taking you with him. He sets you down in the bathtub, turning on the water.

"I'm gonna get some water and food for you. What do you want?" The mention of dinner has your stomach growling- but the thought of him leaving upsets you. Not now, not yet. You reach out a hand, grabbing him by the wrist. He looks down at you, quirking an eyebrow. “You want me to stay?"

You can only nod, and he kneels down beside the bathtub. “Alright. I’ll stay.” Your grip on his wrist loosens, and he brings your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your skin. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

True to his word, he stayed by your side for the rest of the night. Bathing you, drying you, carrying you to the bedroom to get dressed, setting you down outside the bathtub while he showered, then back to the bedroom to put his own clothes on. He ordered dinner, even keeping you with him when he grabbed it from the porch. He didn’t leave you alone, not once, and before you knew it you were drifting off to sleep, still nestled in his arms.

tags: @flowersforbucky @thinkinonsense @gewrgia-black @wlwloverwrites @logansbaby @buckybarneswife125 @sweetverine @dilfverines @wchswift @namikyento @lokirogersgirl @nymphoniah @logansdoe @robo-writing @themareverine @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @pidgeypidge-pidge

(this is the taglist for my logan howlett one-shots. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!)

#cas one shots #old man logan x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett xmen #old man logan #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #old man logan smut

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vunblr · 4 months ago

Text

The Recipe for Us

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky sets out to surprise his girlfriend with a simple yet meaningful gesture, but quickly learns that some things are easier said than done.

Word Count: about 9k.

notes: Second Christmas story for the Roots and Branches AU

The hot water streamed over Bucky’s shoulders, washing away the day’s grime and easing the tightness in his muscles. Sawdust and sweat swirled down the drain in pale rivulets, a tangible reminder of the hours spent at Sam’s workshop. He reached for the long-handled loofah hanging on the wall, pausing for a moment as a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Seven months ago, he’d never have imagined himself using something like this. Hell, he hadn’t even known such a thing existed. But she’d gifted it to him after he’d grumbled too many times about sawdust getting into places it had no business being. “Just try it,” she’d insisted, eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and determination. “It’ll make your life easier, I promise.”

At first, he’d been reluctant, because why did he need a fancy shower tool? But now, as he scrubbed his back with the bristled brush, he had to admit that he couldn’t shower without the damn thing. It worked like a charm, reaching spots his stiff shoulders couldn’t. Another one of her small but thoughtful gestures that made his life just a little better, a little easier.

That thought lingered on his mind as he rinsed off. Christmas was coming up fast, and he hadn’t figured out what to get her yet. She was always cooking for him, spoiling him with meals that somehow tasted even better because she’d made them. Maybe it was his turn to return the favor.

His brow furrowed as he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and scrubbing it over his damp hair. Cookies, he thought, wrapping the towel around his waist. How hard could that be?

The bell above the library door gave a soft jingle as Bucky stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the late morning air. The faint scent of old books and polished wood greeted him, a familiar comfort. He adjusted his jacket, glancing around until he spotted Martha at the front desk.

The elderly librarian looked up from her paperwork and her face broke into a warm smile. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mystery man,” she said, setting her pen aside. “You’re just in time, I was about to set aside a copy of All the Colors of the Dark for you. Brand-new, hot off the presses.”

Bucky cleared his throat, brushing his fingers on the edge of the counter. “Not today,” he muttered. “I, uh, need something else.”

Martha tilted her head, rising her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Cooking books.”

There was a beat of silence before her expression shifted, and amusement crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Cooking books? My, my, that’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.”

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, suddenly regretting his decision. “Yeah, well… I just need something simple.”

Martha leaned forward slightly, with curiosity sparking in her gaze. “Simple, huh? Expanding your repertoire, are you?”

“Not exactly.” He tugged at his jacket zipper, fixing his eyes on a spot just past her shoulder. “It’s for… someone. A gift.”

Martha chuckled, with a warm and knowing smile. “A gift, huh? Have you already decided what you’re making, or are you here to brainstorm?”

Bucky hesitated, his ears-tinged pink. “Cookies,” he admitted finally.

Her face lit up, and she clasped her hands together. “You’re an absolute sweetheart, you know that? She’s lucky to have someone as thoughtful as you.”

He fumbled again with his jacket, slipping the zipper through his fingers as he looked anywhere but at her. “Thanks,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t worry,” she said kindly, moving to the shelves. “I’ve got just the thing for you. A beginner’s guide, easy recipes, step-by-step instructions. You’ll do great.”

As she handed him the book, Bucky accepted it with a quiet nod, clutching it like it was a secret dossier. “Appreciate it,” he said gruffly before turning toward the door, his heart thudding a little too fast as he stepped out into the crisp afternoon.

Sitting in his truck, he flipped through the pages of the brightly colored cookbook, furrowing his brow as he skimmed the recipes. The instructions seemed straightforward enough, at least none of them required anything he couldn’t pronounce. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he realized he had just enough time to swing by the general store before heading back to the workshop.

The bell above the store’s door jingled as he stepped inside, the warm air carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. He grabbed a basket and made his way through the aisles, collecting the essentials: flour, baking soda, vanilla essence, and a few other things he didn’t recognize but trusted the book’s guidance on.

As he reached the seasonal display near the front, he paused in front of a rack of Christmas-themed cookie cutters. There were stars, trees, and even a set of reindeer shapes. He frowned, holding up two options and debating which would look more impressive.

He was still deliberating when the familiar sound of the doorbell chiming caught his attention. His stomach flipped as he saw her walking in, coat and hair dusted with snowflakes.

Panic shot through his brain. Without a second thought, he shoved both sets of cookie cutters to the bottom of his basket, quickly covering them with the flour and sugar. He angled himself away from the entrance, his heart pounding as if he’d been caught committing a crime.

He took a breath and glanced at his basket. The cutters were well-hidden, but now he was hyper-aware of the faint clinking of metal every time he moved. Muttering to himself, he steeled his nerves and started toward the checkout, keeping his head low and his focus on not drawing her attention.

And that might have worked if Bucky’s frame didn’t stand out so much. The low shelves did little to hide him, and before he could edge toward the checkout, her gaze landed squarely on him.

Her face lit up with that familiar, heart-stopping smile, and she made a beeline straight for him. He froze, gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow shield him.

“Hi honey,” she said warmly, slipping her hand into his free one. Her touch was light, and casual, but it sent a wave of nervous energy coursing through his body. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Hey,” he managed to squeak.

Her eyes dropped to the basket with curiosity as she leaned closer. “What do we have here?” She peeked in, lifting her eyebrows as she spotted the ingredients nestled at the bottom. “Flour? Sugar? Vanilla ext-

“It’s for Sam.” he cut her quickly, too quickly. “He asked me to grab some stuff for… for the shop. I needed to come here anyway to buy something for lunch.”

“For the shop?” she echoed, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “He forgot to pick it up earlier.”

Her eyes darted back to the basket. “Okay, but what about you? What are you grabbing for lunch?”

His chest tightened. He should’ve thought this through. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, with a clipped tone.

“Not hungry?” she asked, “You’ve been working all day, Bucky. You should eat something-”

Her concern made his shoulders tense. He didn’t want her prying, didn’t want to screw up the surprise. “I said I’m fine,” he replied, harsher than he intended.

She blinked, taken aback. “Okay…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, as the guilt crept in when he saw the shift in her expression. Still, the panic swirling in his chest made it impossible to backtrack. “I just… I don’t have time to explain, alright?” he stated, in a hurried tone. “I need to get back to work.”

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but he didn’t give her the chance. “I’ll see you later,” he added, moving past her with a quickness that felt borderline rude.

“Wait, Bucky-”

“I’ll call you,” he said over his shoulder, already heading for the register. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, avoiding the weight of her gaze as he paid and left the store.

Outside, the cold air hit his face, but it didn’t ease the heat of frustration prickling under his skin. He hated how his tone had come out. Too rough, too abrupt, but he was incapable of handling it differently.

She stood by the shelves long after Bucky had hurried out, the bell above the store’s door still faintly ringing in her ears. She replayed their conversation, or lack thereof, in her mind. His curt tone, the way he barely looked at her, it was unlike him. Maybe he was just having a bad day. She hoped that was all it was.

But then a few days passed, and she didn’t see him, and the messages were almost nonexistent.

What she didn’t know was that Bucky had been using every spare moment to tackle the recipes in that cookbook. Each attempt ended worse than the last: a disaster of burnt edges, underbaked centers, or cookies that crumbled to dust at the lightest touch.

He stood in his kitchen, staring at the latest batch, which somehow managed to be both rock-hard and sticky at the same time. He rubbed a hand down his face, the other gripping the counter as frustration curled tight in his chest. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

It wasn’t just the cookies. It was the nagging feeling that he was failing at something so simple. The harder he tried, the worse it seemed to get. Maybe there was something wrong with his brain. He threw himself into fixing it, retreating further into his house and unintentionally pulling away from her.

Each time she asked to meet, he had an excuse ready.

“I’m exhausted, darlin’.” he’d said one evening.

“Not feeling great, the migraine came back,” he told her the next day.

“Now’s not a good time,” was the worst.

When she offered to bring him lunch at the workshop, hoping for at least a few stolen minutes together, he deflected. “Shop’s too busy these days,” he had added gruffly. “Wouldn’t look good.”

Her heart sank every time he brushed her off. She tried not to take it personally, but the doubt started creeping like frost on a windowpane. Had she done something wrong? Was she being too pushy? Too clingy?

Sitting at home with her phone in her lap, she stared at his last message. The usual warmth in his words was absent. She bit her lip, scrolling back through their conversations, searching for some clue as to what had changed.

Eventually, Bucky grudgingly texted Sam's sister to ask for help. He stared at the phone screen, hovering his thumb over the send button. Every fiber of his being wanted to delete the message, but he was out of options. His fingers itched to toss the phone onto the counter and forget this ever happened, but instead, he hit send.

The reply came quickly:

Sure. Meet me at the diner during my break. You’re buying lunch.

The last part made him groan, but at least Sarah had agreed. She was the only person he could think of who could help him without making it a big deal. He’d dreaded this conversation from the moment he realized he couldn’t pull off the cookies on his own.

When lunchtime rolled around, Bucky made his way to the diner, with his stomach twisting with nerves. He slid into the booth across from Sarah, with tight shoulders and fidgeting hands.

“All right,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “You dragged me out here, so spill. What’s going on?”

Bucky shifted in his seat, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I need help,” he muttered.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “With…?”

He sighed. “Cookies.”

“Cookies?” she repeated, clearly holding back a laugh.

“Yeah, cookies,” he grumbled, lowering his voice. “I’ve been trying to make them for Y/n. It’s supposed to be a Christmas gift, but I can’t get it right. Every batch is worse than the last.”

Sarah tilted her head, her expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “Wait a second. How many batches are we talking about here?”

Bucky hesitated, dropping his gaze to the table. “A lot,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’ve been working on it for… a few days now after work.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A few days? What, have you just been locking yourself in your house this whole time? Baking?”

The remnants of his grilled cheese sat on the plate in front of him, barely touched. she, on the other hand, was halfway through her fries, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she listened to him stumble through his explanation. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heat. “Maybe. You know already that when I’m fixated on something I can get-”

“So let me get this straight,” Sarah interrupted, crossing her arms and leaning back in the booth. “You’ve been holing yourself up in your cabin, failing at baking cookies, and ignoring your girlfriend because you’re too proud to ask her for help?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, no? Then what is it like?” she questioned, crossing her arms.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heavy weight of her stare. “I just… wanted to surprise her. She always does so much for me, and I thought I could do something nice for her for once. But nothing’s working, and-” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Sarah’s gaze softened, and her teasing gave way to something gentler. “Look, Bucky. It’s sweet that you want to do this for her. But you’re overthinking it. Cookies don’t have to be perfect; they just have to come from the heart, she would love them anyway.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered.

Sarah laughed. “You think I was born knowing how to bake? Trust me, it took plenty of trial and error. And maybe a few smoke alarms.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost a smile.

“Okay,” she said, brushing her hands off on a napkin. “Let’s start with the basics. What recipe are you trying to use?”

Before he could answer, the bell over the diner door jingled, drawing both their gazes to the entrance. It was just a regular patron, and Bucky’s attention began to shift back to Sarah. But then, in the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her. She stood just outside the window, frozen mid-step, a paper bag from the bakery clutched tightly in her hands.

Bucky’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t hear them through the glass, but the scene must have looked... bad. Him sitting with Sarah, leaning casually across the table, with an easy smile lighting up the booth, while his phone sat untouched, with her unanswered messages still lingering in his inbox.

He swore under his breath.

Her lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something, but then she looked away.

He could see the shift, the moment her walls went up. She adjusted her grip on the bag, straightened her posture, and turned on her heel, walking briskly down the sidewalk.

“Uh-oh,” Sarah muttered, flicking her gaze between them. “Good luck with that,” she added dryly, biting into another fry as he scrambled out of the booth.

His long strides closed the distance quickly, but as he reached out to touch her shoulder, he hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment before dropping to his side. Instead, he called her name.

She didn’t stop right away, her pace faltering for half a second before continuing, though slower this time.

He tried again and she finally stopped, turning around slowly, eyes bright with unshed tears. The sight hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, the words he had lined up fled his mind.

“I can explain,” he said, stepping closer but keeping a careful distance.

She made a small motion with her head, a tilt that told him to continue. She didn’t trust her voice to speak just yet, tightening her grip around the bakery bag.

“I was talking to Sarah,” he began, “About... about a problem I’ve been having.”

Her brows furrowed, and he stumbled over his next words. “It’s-it’s nothing serious, just something I needed... advice on.”

“Advice?” she repeated, with a soft tone but tinged with something sharper.

He nodded, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah.”

She exhaled, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled a little. “You know, I always thought I was the person you’d turn to if you needed help.” Her gaze locked on his, vulnerable yet unyielding. “It seems like it's not the case lately.”

“That’s not true,” he stated quickly, words rushing together. “I… God, I’m sorry if I’ve been... distant. Absent. It’s not you, it’s-” He paused, groaning softly as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I have my reasons.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her next words were still calm but carried an edge. “We’re grown adults, Bucky. This isn’t one of those predictable novels where the characters dance around their miscommunication until everything blows up.” She crossed her arms, crinkling slightly the bakery bag . “If something’s going on, I expect you to be concrete with me, not feed me veiled comments or excuses.”

“I know,” he admitted, slumping his shoulders slightly. “You deserve better than that. I just... I didn’t want to mess this up.”

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t drop her stance. “Then stop treating me like I’m someone you could mess things up with, and just talk to me.”

Bucky let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, with a low but resolute voice. "I’ll just… come clean."

Her expression stayed guarded, but he could see a flicker of curiosity as he shifted his weight, looking anywhere but directly at her. "I don’t… I’m not great at this kind of thing. Talking, explaining. But I know this. You, us… this thing doesn’t mean anything if it’s making you upset." He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. "I’ve been working on something. For you."

“For me?” she asked, slightly raising her brows.

“Yeah.” He looked at her briefly before glancing away again, twitching his lips with nervous energy. "Cookies. I’ve been trying to bake cookies for you. For Christmas. I thought… you’re always cooking for me, always doing things to make my life easier. I wanted to do something for you. Something meaningful." He exhaled roughly, the words spilling out faster now. "But I’m awful at it. Every batch gets worse, and I’ve been so damn focused on trying to get it right that I didn’t even realize how I was shutting you out."

As the story progressed, she could see the tension in his posture, the way his hands flexed and fidgeted at his sides, and his eagerness to make things right even as he stumbled over his words. Her expression shifted, the initial frustration melting into something gentler as she bit her lip, her emotions caught between amusement and tenderness.

“Bucky,” she murmured, stepping forward before he could say more. She dropped the bakery bag and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He froze for a moment before leaning into the embrace, hesitantly circling his arms on her back. They stayed like that, wrapped in silence, until she broke the quiet.

"You could’ve just bought me a can of cookies, you know. Then I could’ve used it to put my sewing supplies in there.”

He let out a low laugh against her hair. "Yeah, but what kind of gesture would that be?"

"A less stressful one," she teased, pulling back just enough to look up at him, with a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Maybe," he admitted, his blue eyes searching hers. "But it wouldn’t have been the same."

“How about this,” she began, in a soft yet playful tone. “We make them together.”

Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Together?”

“Yeah,” she said, her smile widening. “I’ll teach you how to make them. We’ll turn it into a little… date. You’ll learn how to do it right, and my gift will be spending time with you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a raised brow. “Before you argue, think about it. I don’t need some perfect Christmas cookies, Bucky. I’d much rather spend time with you, and make sure you don’t burn your kitchen down in the process.”

He hesitated, then gave her a slow nod. “Alright. We’ll make ‘em together.” Then a determined smile played on his lips. If learning to bake with her would give him another shot at perfecting those cookies on his own later, it was a win-win. And this time, he wouldn’t mess it up.

That afternoon, as planned, Bucky arrived at her house. When she opened the door, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him standing there with two overstuffed grocery bags in hand.

“You didn’t have to bring everything-,” she started, stepping aside to let him in.

“I did,” he cut in firmly, gripping the bags. “I’m the one learning here, and I’ll be damned if you’re the one paying for my mess-ups.”

She chuckled. “Don’t sell yourself short just yet. You might have a hidden talent.”

He gave her a doubtful look but didn’t argue. Turning fully to her, he gave her a quick, self-conscious smile before she leaned up to kiss him, a soft, reassuring press of her lips against his.

“Come on,” she said, pulling back and taking his hand. “I’ve got everything set up.”

She led him to the kitchen, where bowls, measuring cups, and utensils were neatly arranged. A checkered white-and-blue apron lay folded on the counter, which she promptly picked up and handed to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the apron like it might bite.

“Your apron,” she said simply, unfolding it and holding it up to him. “It’s going to save you from ruining that nice shirt of yours. Plus, it suits you.”

He muttered something under his breath about dignity, but he didn’t resist when she slipped it over his head and tied the strings at his back. She stepped back, tilting her head as if admiring her handiwork.

“There. Perfect,” she said with a grin.

He shook his head, but his lips twitched in a faint smile. “Alright, what now?”

“Well, first,” she began, pulling out a notebook and pen, “which recipe were you trying?”

Bucky hesitated, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “I mean… if you’ve got a favorite, we could try that instead.”

“Nope,” she replied, crossing her arms with a playful smile. “This is your project. I want to see what you picked.”

His ears turned red as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled recipe card with his handwriting, handing it to her.

She smoothed it out, scanning the list of ingredients and instructions. “Alright,” she said, looking up at him with an amused and encouraging smile. “Let’s see if we can make some magic happen.”

Bucky grabbed an elastic band from his back pocket, pulling his hair back and tying it into a short ponytail. His movements were quick and practiced, but to her, it was a sight worth pausing for.

“You know,” she said, leaning against the counter with a teasing grin, “you look ridiculously handsome like that.”

He glanced at her, his cheeks warming as he muttered, “It’s just a hairdo for workin’. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Still counts,” she replied with a shrug, stepping closer to nudge his arm.

He ducked his head with a quiet huff but didn’t say more, focusing instead on the task at hand.

When they started reading through the recipe together, Bucky's brow furrowed in concentration. “Okay,” he muttered, “this part says a cup.” As he spoke, he reached for a mug she hadn’t even noticed sitting on the counter, a large, oversized thing that looked more suited for a vat of coffee than precise measurements. She blinked, then glanced up at him.

“Bucky,” she said gently, pointing at the mug, “what have you been using for this?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight. “Uh… one from my cupboard,” he admitted, his tone almost defensive. “The grey one with the red star?”

Her lips twitched, and she pressed them together to suppress a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Not all cups are the same, especially when you’re baking. It’s not about a drinking cup, it’s about measuring cups.”

She picked up her set of cups, holding them up for him to see. “These are what you use for recipes. They’re standardized so everything comes out the way it’s supposed to.”

Bucky looked between the measuring cups and his oversized mug, and realization dawned on his face. “So… that’s why every batch turned out so bad,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Baking is like chemistry.” She added with a chuckle, “The right proportions make everything work smoothly. I guess you didn’t differentiate the size of the spoons either.” When she saw his disappointed face she reached up to gently pat his shoulder. “You’re not alone. A lot of people make these mistakes when they start. That’s why we’re doing this together.”

They moved through the recipe step by step, she perched beside him, offering guidance but letting him take the lead. Bucky tried to focus on the instructions, but each step felt like a puzzle missing a crucial piece. As he measured out flour and sugar, he couldn’t help but second-guess every motion, leveling off scoops with exacting care that bordered on obsession.

It wasn’t just the baking, it was her watching him. Her eyes followed his hands with a soft patience that should’ve soothed him, but instead left him hyper-aware of every move he made. He could feel her gaze like a weight, one he didn’t know how to carry. His shoulders stiffened further when he noticed a bit of flour scatter onto the counter.

When he started mixing the dough, frustration began to creep in. “This stuff doesn’t want to combine,” he muttered, glaring down at the stubbornly clumpy mixture.

She leaned closer, brushing her hand lightly against his back as she peered into the bowl. Her touch sent a jolt through his body not unpleasant, just… distracting. “It takes a little patience,” she said softly. “You’re doing fine, Bucky. Really.”

He wanted to believe her, but the self-doubt crept intrusive inside him. What if I screw this up? The thought lingered on a loop, heavy and unwelcome. He worked the spatula harder, tension tightening his jaw and making his movements stiff.

She noticed, of course she did. She always noticed. Setting her utensils aside, she slipped an arm around his waist, pulling herself close to his side. Her nose brushed against his chest as she nuzzled him gently, the warmth of her body cutting through the wall he didn’t even realize he’d been building.

“Relax,” she murmured, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You’re not dismantling a bomb here. No one’s born knowing everything, and you came today to learn. That’s already the hardest part.”

He let out a breath, as her words chipped away some of the tension clawing at him. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his movements were still careful and deliberate as if the dough would mock him for messing up.

She tilted her head with a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. He recognized that look and braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what she did next. Without a word, she grabbed his hand, still sticky with half-mixed dough, and brought it to her mouth.

His eyes widened as two of his fingers disappeared between her lips. The room stilled, and his focus narrowed to her. Her tongue swirled over his skin, warm and deliberate, as she sucked the dough clean. His heart thudded against his ribs, his breath catching somewhere in his throat.

“What… what are you doing?” he managed, his voice raspier than intended.

She released his fingers with a soft pop and a smug expression. “Waking you up,” she teased. “And there’s no way you could disappoint me anyway. I’ve barely been paying attention to the recipe.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

Her lips curled into a grin as her gaze swept over him, slow and deliberate. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Big guy in my kitchen, wearing my apron, looking way too good with his hair pulled back. Take your pick.”

Heat crawled up his neck, but he couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to the bowl.

When the time to cut the cookies came, Bucky rummaged through one of the bags he’d brought and pulled out a set of festive cookie cutters. He laid them on the counter, and she squealed in delight, clapping her hands together.

“These are so cute!” she exclaimed, excited.

Bucky’s half-smile turned bigger. “Yeah?”

She nodded enthusiastically, picking up one of the cutters shaped like a snowflake. “Good choice, honey.”

His chest warmed at her praise, and for once, he didn’t feel quite so out of his depth. They worked side by side together, cutting the dough into cheerful shapes. She was quick, deftly pressing cutters into the rolled-out dough and transferring each piece to the baking tray with ease. He followed her lead, slower but methodical, determined to match her precision.

In what felt like no time, the oven was full of cookies, their sweet, buttery scent already starting to fill the kitchen. Bucky leaned back against the counter, pulling her into his side with one arm. She nestled into him, resting her head against his chest as they both stared at the timer ticking down.

“You’re getting pretty domestic.” she teased, tilting her head up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, letting her lips linger there for a moment. “So,” she began, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “how are you planning to decorate these?”

He froze. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the trays, panic flickering in his blue eyes. “I, uh…” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t… I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Her laughter was light but not unkind. “It’s okay,” she said, patting his chest reassuringly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“That wasn’t the idea,” he protested, frowning. “This is supposed to be my thing. For you.”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll teach you how to make royal icing, and then you’re on your own.”

The timer dinged, and they set about transferring the cookies to cooling racks. Once the cookies were ready, she walked him through the steps of making royal icing, from mixing the powdered sugar to coloring small batches with food dye.

At first, his hands were clumsy, unfamiliar with the delicate work of piping, but soon enough, Bucky found his rhythm. He focused intently on each cookie, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he carefully outlined a reindeer’s antlers or added intricate snowflake details.

She stood back, watching with growing amazement. “You’ve got a steady hand,” she remarked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter.

He shrugged, still concentrating. “I’ve had practice. Just… not with this.”

By the time he finished, the cookies were nothing short of impressive. Each one was decorated with precision, from cheerful Santas to elegant wreaths. He turned to her, brushing a streak of flour from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Well?” She grinned, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “They’re perfect, Bucky.”

The sky was painted in soft strokes of pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Bucky stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping after hours spent hunched over the kitchen counter. “I’ll leave the cookies here to set overnight,” he said, glancing at the rows of perfectly iced cookies spread across her counter. “But I need to head over to the workshop. Got some decorations to drop off.”

“Decorations?” she asked, tilting her head.

He nodded toward the door. “Yeah, Sam thought it’d be nice if everyone pitched in this year. Made something personal for the display. I’ve got mine in the truck.”

Her face lit up. “Can I come? I’ll help you set everything up.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in her gaze was hard to resist. “Alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Let’s go.”

By the time they reached the workshop, the place was dark and locked up for the evening. Bucky fished his keys out of his pocket. “Here we are,” he muttered, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.

The workshop smelled faintly of sawdust and varnish, even in the chill of winter. A few decorations already hung from the rafters: wooden stars, garlands crafted from pinecones, and even a clumsily painted reindeer that had Sarah’s handiwork written all over it.

She wandered further inside, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in the holiday cheer. “This is so cozy,” she said, her voice echoing softly in the empty space.

Bucky stepped past her, setting a large box on the workbench. She peeked inside, smiling as she spotted a tangle of string lights. “Oh, these are perfect! Did you really make these?”

“They’re just lights,” he replied with a shrug, and a faint blush on his cheeks.

She picked up a strand and held it aloft, the tiny bulbs catching the last traces of daylight filtering through the workshop windows. “No, I can tell you put effort into this, they are gorgeous.”

Her words made his chest tighten, with a mix of pride and awkwardness. “Come on,” he said, reaching for the box. “Let’s get these up.”

They worked side by side, untangling the string lights with care. She gently teased him when he accidentally knotted a section tighter, but as they kept at it, she couldn’t help but praise him again.

“You’re so good at manual labor,” she said, handing him the next strand. “Carpentry at Sam’s, the cookies earlier, fixing things around my place... and now these lights? Is there anything you can’t do?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile, but her words stirred darker thoughts within his mind. Oh, if she only knew what else his hands were good at. Things that involve a knife, a rifle, or worse. The memories flickered like a shadow across his mind, a sharp contrast to the festive glow they were creating.

“Bucky?” Her soft voice pulled him from the spiral.

“Hm?” he mumbled, blinking as he looked at her.

“Maybe you could make some lights for me next year,” she suggested.

He exhaled softly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. “Sure.”

Sensing the remnants of whatever had crossed his mind, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his chest. Her embrace relaxed him, the warmth of her touch chasing away the cold corners of his thoughts.

“You still have the ponytail,” she pointed out, glancing up at him with a grin. “I love it.”

He rolled his eyes, though a faint flush touched his cheeks. “It’s practical,” he repeated, focusing on arranging the next strand of lights.

“It’s sexy,” she countered, her grin turning mischievous.

As he worked, her eyes fell on the remaining strand of lights still in the box, and a mischievous idea sparked in her mind.

“You know,” she began, picking up the last strand, “these could do more than just decorate the workshop.”

He looked up at her, brow raised. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

She shrugged, holding the strand up and letting it dangle between her fingers. “I don’t know. They seem sturdy enough to, I don’t know... tie something up?”

His head tilted, blue eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the teasing edge in her tone. “You mean like a post?”

“Sure, Bucky. A post,” she replied, quirking her lips into a smirk.

He took a step toward her, closing the gap between them. “Or something else?”

Her grin widened. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable. Without a word, he plucked the strand of lights from her hands and looped it loosely over her wrist. Her heart skipped, as he moved with the careful, deliberate precision she’d just been praising. Before she could react, he had her wrists gently bound together with the lights, tying them off to the sturdy handle of the workbench vice.

“Bucky,” she murmured, tugging lightly at the restraint, “I didn’t mean... here.”

His brow quirked, as he leaned back, casually admiring his handiwork. “Oh, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she squirmed a little, testing the hold. “What if someone comes in?”

“No one’s coming in,” he said, his voice calm and confident.

“You don’t know that,” she countered, darting her eyes toward the locked door as though willing it to stay closed.

He stepped closer, crowding her space in that way that always made her pulse race. “Well,” he drawled, one hand tracing the strand around her wrists, “you should’ve thought about that before suggesting this creative use for my handiwork.”

Her lips parted, a retort bubbling on her tongue, but it fizzled under the weight of his heated gaze. “I didn’t think you’d actually... do it,” she whispered.

“That so?” His voice was low and teasing as he leaned in and his breath brushed her ear. “Then maybe you shouldn’t dare me next time.”

Before she could muster a reply, his free hand cradled the back of her neck, pulling her into a rough, searing kiss. He took full advantage of her startled gasp to deepen it, lifting her effortlessly and laying her back on the workbench. Her arms were stretched above her head, her wrists binded to the handle, a tether she couldn’t help but tug against instinctively.

“Bucky,” she breathed, with a mix of arousal and reason. “We can’t... not here.”

“Can’t we?” he murmured, grazing his lips at the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. His hands, strong and sure, settled on her hips as he positioned himself between her legs.

Her protests faltered as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, trailing wet, deliberate kisses down to her collarbone.

“This is insane,” she whispered, though her fingers flexed against the strands holding her wrists.

“Maybe,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “But you don’t seem to mind.” Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, inviting his touch as he continued his slow, torturous path down her neck.

As he spoke, his hand traced up her thigh, slipping beneath the woolen skirt she’d worn to keep warm in the crisp winter air. His fingers traveled with deliberate slowness, brushing over her stocking-clad legs until they reached her mound, cupping it through her already damp panties. She gasped, tugging against the makeshift restraint at her wrists as his touch sent a jolt of heat through her body.

“In fact,” he murmured, pressing his fingers more firmly against her, “you’re enjoying it.”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t summon a denial, not with the way her body was reacting. He smirked at her silence, leaning back slightly to survey the sight of her stretched out on the workbench.

His hands shifted to her hips, sliding her skirt up higher, bunching it around her waist. His gaze darkened as he poked at her clothed entrance, watching the way she arched toward him, needing more. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he let out a low groan.

“The jacket stays on,” he growled, commanding. She blinked at him, a question forming at her lips, but he shook his head. “It’s cold, and I’m not letting you freeze on me.”

Before she could respond, he shrugged off his own jacket, tossing it onto a nearby stool. His hands moved to his belt, fumbling with the buckle and zipper in his urgency. “I was gonna take my time,” he admitted, his voice rough with restraint, “but seeing you like this…” His gaze raked over her, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her jacket, and the way her legs spread just enough to accommodate him. “I need you now, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted softly “I want you too, Bucky.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he tugged them down her thighs, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly before he discarded them onto the floor. His own pants and underwear followed in quick succession, pooling around his boots as he climbed back over her.

The heat of his body pressed against hers was a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His rough hands held her hips as he shifted between her legs and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss, grinding his cock against her slick folds. She moaned into his mouth, instinctively lifting her body toward him, chasing the friction.

“Fuck,” he rasped against her lips, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. “You feel so good, sugar. So wet for me.”

Her only response was another needy arch of her hips, and he growled softly, gripping her thighs as he lined himself up with her entrance. The tip of his cock teased her, as though he was savoring the moment despite his earlier haste.

“Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice raw with need, “please.”

His jaw tightened, his resolve barely hanging by a thread. “Don’t be impatient” he murmured. “I want to-” He broke off, swallowing hard as his cock pressed against her entrance, her heat almost enough to make him lose control. “I want to just fuck you right now, but I didn’t prep you. I’m not risking hurting you.”

She groaned in frustration, tipping back her head against the workbench. In her heated state, her filter was long gone. “I don’t care, Bucky. I want it all, right now.”

His blue eyes snapped to hers, darkened with lust but narrowing with a hint of reproach. “Don’t say things like that,” he growled with a strained voice. “You’re making this harder for me.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile, even as she squirmed beneath him. “Good.”

Bucky let out a low, frustrated groan, gripping her hips a little tighter. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was no real heat in his words. She could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as he fought to stay focused.

He shifted, moving one hand between them to guide himself, while the other kept her firmly in place. Slowly, carefully, he began to push inside, stopping to let her adjust with each inch. Her walls stretched around him, the delicious burn making her moan, pulling her bound wrists reflexively against the lights as she arched her back.

She whimpered his name, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him closer. “More,” she pleaded, her breath coming in short, needy gasps.

“Darlin' I’m trying,” he rasped, pausing to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against hers. “But you gotta let me take care of you.”

Her head tilted, locking her eyes with his, and there was so much trust and desire in her gaze that it almost undid him. “You are, Bucky,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I need it now.”

His restraint cracked, and with a low groan, he pushed deeper, sinking into her inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her.

Bucky groaned as her walls clenched around him. She mewled softly, tilting her head back, her bound wrists tugging at the lights as she instinctively moved her hips upward, desperate for more.

“See?” she murmured, brushing his lips with hers. “I told you I could take it.” She teased.

His jaw tightened, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. “You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to thrust forward again, deliberately slow despite the tension tightening every muscle in his body.

Her whimper sent a jolt of desire straight to his cock as her legs tightened around his hips, meeting his shallow movements. “Please, baby,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “I need you to move.”

“Just… wait,” he ground out, his jaw tight as he tried to keep himself in check. His restraint was hanging by a thread, but he was determined to go slow, to make it good for her despite the fire licking at his nerves. The way she shifted beneath him, her hips rolling against his, hot, wet, and utterly desperate, was unraveling him inch by inch.

And then she did it, arching her back, pressing her chest against his, and nipping at his bottom lip before her tongue darted out to soothe the sting. “Please,” she pleaded, locking her eyes onto his with wild abandon.

He snapped.

With a guttural groan, he slammed into her, hard and deep. She cried out, a sharp sound that made him freeze with guilt.

“Shit,” he muttered, his body taut with tension. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head furiously, her eyes glassy with need as she squirmed beneath him. “No. God, no,” she whimpered, her voice broken. “Don’t stop. Please, Bucky, don’t stop.”

He exhaled slowly, rough and ragged as he fought to steady himself. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, with a strained voice.

He started again, his movements slow at first, but the way her body responded to him, -arching, trembling, pushing- had his resolve crumbling all over again. He tried to quicken his pace, thrust harder, deeper, but the workbench beneath them was unforgivingly hard, and he growled in frustration, halting mid-thrust. With a muttered curse, he pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips, lifting them slightly as he pushed her skirt higher and entered her again, this time setting a punishing pace, the new angle pulling a sharp cry from her lips.

“Better?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You just couldn’t wait, didn’t you?” he grunted, gripping her hips tightly as he drove into her.

Her only response was a desperate moan, rolling back her hips against him as though to urge him deeper.

The sight of her body rippling down his, her restrained hands trying to hold onto something, and her flushed face pressed against the wood was enough to drive him wild. “Look at you,” he muttered. “So perfect like this, all laid out for me.” He pulled back, straightening, and gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks as he plunged into her with renewed force. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as he pushed her higher and higher.

Every time she gasped his name, every shudder that ran through her body, spurred him on. He felt her tense and start to tremble, and he knew she was close. His fingers slid down to where they were joined, brushing against her clit, and she nearly screamed, trembling and spiraling closer to the edge.

“Come on,” he murmured, rough and coaxing. “I know you’re close. Give it to me, sweetheart.”

Her body obeyed before her mind caught up, crying out his name, dragging him into his own release with a hoarse groan as he buried himself deep inside her one last time.

They stayed like that for a moment, with his body draped over hers, ragged breaths mingling in the chilled air of the workshop. He pressed a soft kiss at the back of her neck, and gently nipped the sensitive skin peeking through her jacket.

As the heat of the moment faded, a flicker of practicality broke through the haze clouding Bucky’s mind. His gaze drifted to the polished surface of the workbench beneath her, and the realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. If he weren’t careful, they’d leave an undeniable -and very permanent- mark on the wood.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pressing another soft kiss to the nape of her neck.

She turned her head slightly. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice soft and hoarse from her cries moments ago.

“The bench,” he grumbled, steadying her hips with his hands. “I didn’t think it through. If we…” He hesitated, just the thought of explaining the stain on the workbench’s varnish was almost as mortifying as the act itself.

Her chuckle was low and warm. “Are you serious?” she teased, her body still pliant under his hands.

“Very. Sam’ll notice, and I’m not about to answer questions about this.”

“Fine,” she giggled, smirking over her shoulder. “So, what’s the plan?”

First, he tugged at the string to sever it and free her from the handle, then, instead of pulling out abruptly, he eased back, hands steady on her hips as he helped her shift, guiding her carefully to sit on his lap. Her knees wobbled, still weak from the ordeal

“Bucky,” she began, her voice playful but still breathless, “if this is your way of sweeping me off my feet-”

“Shut up,” a soft laugh rumbled from his chest. He adjusted his grip, shifting slightly until he was closer to the edge of the workbench. With a deliberate steadiness, he leaned forward and gently lowered her until her feet touched the cold floor.

She gasped at the chill against her bare toes, instinctively leaning back into his warmth. “Not exactly a graceful dismount,” she quipped, curving her lips into a smirk as her hands found his forearms for balance.

Bucky winced, a hint of pink creeping up his cheeks. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he muttered, half under his breath.

She grinned, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “You can thank the Wild West novel I’m working on for that one.”

His brow arched as he helped her steady herself. “Oh, so you traded the laird’s sword for the cowboy’s long gun, huh?”

Her laugh bubbled out, leaning into him as her shoulders shook. “You know,” she teased, poking his chest lightly, “you’re catching on a little too quickly to these tropes.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to her wrists, still loosely bound by the string of lights he severed from the bench. His lips quirked into a mischievous smirk as he reached down, gripping the strand and giving it a gentle tug. “Oh, maybe I’m just entertaining the idea of you being my captive, in retaliation for the sheriff messing with my business,” he said, his voice low and playful.

Her laughter cut off with a soft gasp, and she feet her cheeks starting to heat. “Y-you talk about your sister’s novels,” she stammered, narrowing her eyes at him. “But I’m starting to think you’ve read this kind of thing. As a horny teenager, or… I don’t know!”

He chuckled. “You think I spent my teenage years reading romance novels?

“Well,” she said, with a playful tone, “not everyone had the internet back then, and I’m sure there was a limit to how many dirty magazines a boy could buy with his allowance. Especially in a small town.”

Bucky’s brow shot up. “Dirty magazines, huh?”

She grinned, shrugging as she leaned into him. “What can I say? I can totally imagine young, innocent Bucky Barnes, desperate for... enlightenment, flipping through anything he could get his hands on.”

“I didn’t-“

“Don’t try to deny it. It’s not like you had endless options. A boy’s gotta make do.”

Bucky shook his head, his ears visibly red as he muttered, “We are not having this conversation.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” she teased, her grin widening as she poked his chest again, delighting in his flustered expression. “Come on, enlighten me. What did you do for fun in a town like this as a teenager?”

“Worked,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as if that would end the conversation.

“Worked?” she echoed, incredulous. “That’s it? No sneaking out, no rebellious shenanigans, no awkward first crushes?”

Bucky sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor as if avoiding hers might shield him from the conversation. “I guess eventually you’ll find out,” he muttered, “since it seems the people of this town love to gossip like it’s a local sport.”

She tilted her head, intrigued by his sudden reluctance. “Oh? And what juicy tidbit am I missing out on?”

He hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line before finally relenting. “I was... erm, popular with the girls ’round here,” he confessed in a low and gruff tone, like he was confessing a crime.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she barely contained a laugh. “Popular? Like, homecoming king popular or...?”

“Not exactly,” he cut in quickly, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Let’s just say I didn’t exactly have to grab a magazine to see... you know...” He trailed off, making a vague gesture with his hand that only deepened the flush on his cheeks.

Her mouth fell open in mock shock, one hand flying to her chest. “Bucky Barnes,” she gasped, “are you telling me you were the town’s resident heartbreaker?”

“I didn’t say that!” he shot back, his ears turning red.

“You didn’t not say it,” she teased, leaning closer with a wicked grin. “Now I need details. How many hearts did you leave shattered? How many windows did you sneak out of at the crack of dawn?”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he insisted, though his flustered tone betrayed him. “And I didn’t sneak out of anyone’s window, thank you very much.”

Bucky’s hand dropped from his face, his expression shifting into something more subdued. “Anyway,” he said, his voice quieter, “it was a long time ago. Sometimes it feels like it was another life.”

Her playful grin softened at his tone, her teasing instinctively halting as she watched him carefully.

“I left the town when I enlisted,” he continued, glancing away as if looking for the right words. “And only came back after fifteen years. When they...” His jaw tightened for a moment before he finished, “...decided I wasn’t enough anymore to be serving.”

Her heart ached at the weight of his words and she stepped closer, reaching for his hands as she studied his face. “Bucky…”

He shook his head slightly, offering a small, forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “’s fine,” he said, though the tightness in his tone suggested otherwise.

Her grip on his hands tightened. “You’re more than enough. To me. To everyone who really knows you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile turned genuine, though still tinged with a trace of sadness.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

Suddenly she sneezed, suddenly and sharp, breaking the fragile silence. Bucky blinked as if pulled out of a trance, and his gaze swept over the two of them.

He was naked from the waist down, her feet still bare on the cold workshop floor. His brows knitted together as he tousled his hair, flush creeping up his neck. Without a word, he reached for his boxers, handing them to her in a silent but clear gesture.

She took them, understanding immediately, and began to clean herself as he turned away slightly, reaching for his pants. The sound of fabric sliding and belts clicking filled the space, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Once his jeans were on and fastened, he turned back to her with a soft expression. “We should go. We already did what we came to do…” his lips quirked in a faint, amused smirk, “and more. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

She stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Do you really have to go back to the cabin?” she asked, “My house is closer to the workshop. You could sleep a little longer before work... and you’d get a proper breakfast.”

Bucky paused, studying her face as if weighing her offer. “You trying to bribe me with food?” he asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

She arched a brow, feigning indignation, “Do I really have to bribe you to convince you to sleep with me?” she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head.

“I-” He opened his mouth, then closed it, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted to the floor. “T-that’s not what I meant,” he muttered.

She tiptoed and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “I know, honey,” she murmured, affectionally. “I was just messing with you.”

“Still,” she continued, her gaze searching his as her hands settled gently on his chest. “Will you come? I really missed my man these days of cookie quarantine.”

Every time she called him her man, Bucky’s chest swelled with an unspoken pride. His blush crept up from his collar, painting his cheeks faintly pink as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a low murmur, a small but shy smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll give my woman whatever she needs.”

Her grin was warm and triumphant, and she gave his chest a playful pat. “Good answer.”

Bucky chuckled softly, pulling her into a loose embrace. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, you know that?”

She tilted her head, with an amused glint in her eyes. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice lilting with curiosity. “Well, if you were a little more selfish, you’d know that you could ask me anything, and I’d give it to you.”

His brow furrowed slightly at her words, “Anything?” he asked softly as if testing the weight of her promise.

She nodded, her fingers brushing lightly over his chest. “Anything,” she confirmed warmly.

For a moment, Bucky didn’t reply. Then he gave her a faint smile, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, tracing a soft arc along her back with his thumb.

His gaze flickered to the window where the night stretched on and cleared his throat. “We should head back,” he suggested. Then, after a beat, his lips quirked into a soft smirk, adding, almost shyly, “Maybe I’m feeling a little selfish tonight.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, the corner of her mouth tugging into a grin. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Bucky shrugged, drifting his hand to the small of her back as he gently nudged her toward the door. “Guess you’ll just have to come home with me and find out.”

Dividers by: @/saradika

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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osarina · 17 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 TWO SLOW DANCERS, LAST ONES OUT

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: your one day of pretend with dazai is over, but something isn't right. there's more going on than what he's led you to believe, and you're desperately trying to figure out what it is before it's too late.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: WAHHHHHHHHHHH PMREADER BEAST AU IS OFFICIALLY DONE. CAN U GUYS BELIEVE IT. what was supposed to be a 15k one-shot turned into a 40k monster </3 one day i will learn to be casual about things, but i fear it is not today </3 and especially not with beast au. wahhhhhh guys this was such a pleasure to write & share with you all, thank you all for bearing with me throughout it and showing me so much love. i put my full heart into this one :') and a special thank u to miss river & one of my irls who beta'd this whole monster for me and cleaned it up for you all to read. if you guys had seen the number of commas that river had to fix for me naifhsaiudfhsdu HUMBLING TRULY. anyway i love the both of you so so very deeply this couldn't have been done without you. as always, reblogs appreciated! MWAH love you guys <33

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, beast!dazai, tragedy, angst, canon compliant.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: mcd (suicide, canon), hints toward suicidal thoughts at the end.

SEE: TWO SLOW DANCERS SERIES MASTERLIST

The next morning, the two of you dress in silence.

You don’t know what to say—you don’t even know if you have anything to say. Or you suppose that’s not true, you have a lot to say, but most of it you’re sure will just be answered with more ‘I can’t’s and you just don’t want to deal with the disappointment. Plus, Dazai seems to be done with whatever day of ‘weakness’ he had yesterday. His expression has been cold and withdrawn since he woke up an hour ago—he’s hardly even spared you a glance.

He slept well, though. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first time he’d slept through the night in months—years, even. The moment he rested his head back on the pillow, one arm curled around your waist, Dazai was out for the night. He ended up shimmying closer to you so that he could rest his head on your chest, breath even, expression peaceful for the first time in… too long.

You were not quite as lucky.

Your eyes are heavy as you button up your dress shirt. You spent the whole night awake, restless as you watched him sleep; hours were spent carding your fingers through his hair, relishing in intimacy and trust he hadn’t given you in years, and hours were spent with your fingers curled around a paper-knife he left on the nightstand, considering the drawbacks of putting it through his throat while he slept in your arms.

You could’ve done it—you almost did do it. You had the tip of the small knife pressed to his pulse point for twenty minutes, fingers trembling, each breath he took making the sharp edge press deeper into his bandages. Dazai is usually a light sleeper, so you suppose it’s a testament to how tired he was and how much he trusts you that he didn’t even stir with a knife against his throat.

You weighed out the pros and cons. You would get away with it; who would even try to punish you for it? The Flags? Itou or Klaus? Chuuya? Over half of the upper echelon wants him dead, and the other half has no love left for him after he murdered Mori—Dazai is alone; he has no friends left, and he has no allies. The only reason people put up with him as boss is because of how the Mafia has prospered under his reign, and that will only be enough for so long. There are already whispers of incompetence and madness because of his recent decisions with the Armed Detective Agency. So, not only would you get away with it, but you’d be rewarded for it, you’d be given the seat and the scarf and full control over the Port Mafia. The worst you’d deal with is Chuuya’s irritation because he wanted to be the one to put Dazai down.

And Dazai deserved it, didn’t he? After the four years of hell he put you through, after murdering Mori—Dazai deserves to die, and you deserve to be the one to do it, Chuuya would understand that. Dazai treated him like shit too, but it was nothing like what he put you through. He’s only as insistent as he is now about being the one to do it because he doesn’t think you can handle it. You gave him better than he deserved—a whole day of being able to pretend nothing changed between the two of you, being able to pretend his actions didn’t ruin what you had with him… it was more than he deserved by all accounts.

You almost don’t know why you didn’t go through with it.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asks, voice still rough with sleep, all of the warmth from yesterday gone.

You look at him from the corner of your eye as you pull your suit jacket on. He’s not looking at you—he’s adjusting his scarf, making sure the ends are even in the mirror. His lips are curled down, bandages back over the left side of his face, and when you don’t respond immediately, his gaze flickers up to look at your reflection. You immediately look away.

“That I regret not putting a knife in your throat last night,” you tell him flatly.

Dazai lets out a noise, you’re unsure if it’s a laugh or a scoff. You stiffen when you hear him padding across the bedroom in your direction. You can feel his presence looming behind you, fingers brushing over your hips before he lifts a hand to your chin, tilting your head back enough to force you to look at him over your shoulder. His touch is light, but it’s so different from the gentle caresses from last night that it sends shivers down your spine. It’s almost… you aren’t even sure how to describe it—oppressive, possessive, taunting? It’s light, but somehow the weight of it is unbearable—like he knows he’s going to say something to upset you and he’s waiting for you to react just as he wants.

You’re back to the mind games and power plays.

“You’re so quick to say such cruel things,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. His eye glints with something unreadable—amusement, maybe, like he knows something you don’t—but all you care about is the confirmation that yesterday is really over. You know that for sure now with him looking at you like this. “But you always come crawling back to me, don’t you?”

You slap his hand away hard, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Fuck you,” you say coldly. “Do you want to know why I didn’t?”

Dazai tilts his head to the side, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. His gaze is half-lidded as he looks over you, but he finally raises his eyebrows, beckoning for you to speak.

“Because last night, I finally realized how fucking miserable of an existence your life is,” you tell him, but you don’t find any pleasure in the way he draws back ever so slightly. “Death would be too easy for you.”

For a moment, the air between you stills, thick with something neither of you wants to name. Dazai’s expression is unreadable, but you don’t miss the flicker of pain that crosses his face. Just as quickly as you catch it, it’s gone, replaced with that infuriating smirk.

“Oh?” he hums, rocking back on his heels. “And here I thought it was your inability to let go of the past kicking in again. You’re too fond of me to ever hurt me.”

“Fond of you?” you scoff, taking a step closer, ignoring the way your heart races when he doesn’t move away. “What is there to be fond of, Dazai? Chuuya is right, you’re a walking corpse. I haven’t been fond of you in years, I’ve been mourning you.”

You don’t mean the words; you’re just looking to hurt him, but his expression shifts again, something raw in his gaze as he looks down at you that he can’t quite push away fast enough. Your stomach twists, but before you can say anything, his sharp grin returns. “Ah, and yet, you stayed. How many times did I give you the opportunity to leave?”

You shake your head and move to walk past him. You can’t stay in this place any longer—it’s suffocating, too much of a reminder of what could’ve been. Before you can get far, his hand darts out to grab your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn your head to the side to look at him from the corner of your eye.

“Just out of curiosity,” he finally asks, a cruel edge to his voice that has you stiff, “how much of yesterday did you actually believe?”

His words and the implication of them don’t cause the pain that he clearly wants to make you feel. They can’t, not with the way you can feel his fingers trembling around your wrist. You look down at them pointedly and then drag your gaze back up to his face. Dazai snatches his hand back and shoves it into his pocket, but the damage has already been done.

“Not even you’re that good of a liar, Dazai,” you say quietly. Before you can change your mind, you turn to face him, lifting your hand to cup his cheek. His lashes instinctively flutter shut as he leans into your touch; the immediate reaction only serves to prove you more. “I don’t regret yesterday, but I hope you do.”

Dazai’s throat bobs beneath his bandages as he looks down at you. He looks young suddenly, even with the black cloak acting as a shield and Mori’s scarf hanging around his neck. He looks like a kid who knows he’s done something wrong but doesn’t know how to fix it. His lips part slightly, then press together again, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. The usual playful glint in his eyes has dulled, replaced with uncertainty, fear even.

“I should,” he replies, voice hoarse. “I really should, but I’ve always been too selfish when it comes to you. I’m sorry.”

You exhale, thumb running over his cheekbone gently. “I wish I could hate you.”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a small, wry smile. “Me too.”

Your hand drops from his face as you look away, gaze lowering to the ground. “We should go.”

Dazai lets out a quiet hum of agreement, following you out of the bedroom and to the front door. As you step outside, the early morning air is crisp, biting against your skin. The world feels too quiet as if it knows the weight of what happened between you and Dazai. He walks a step behind you, subdued.

You pause when you see that there are two cars waiting outside, your throat tight. If you’re not going back to headquarters together, then… You can’t help the wave of panic that starts to claw at your chest when you realize what that means. You look back at him and ask too quietly, “Are you… sending me away again?”

His expression shifts into a softer one when he sees the genuine fear that crosses your face. His lips curl up into a small smile, and he reaches out to brush the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“Just for a meeting,” he says to ease your panic, voice low and soothing, fingers lingering against your face as if he’s reluctant to pull away. “The Family reached out, wanted us to send someone to Rome to meet with them. Didn’t want to disclose why over the phone.”

Your brows furrow. “Goldoni reached out to you?” you ask suspiciously, wondering why he wouldn’t have just reached out to you instead.

Dazai raises his eyebrows. “I am the boss,” he replies dryly, amused. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You frown but decide not to press any further, letting it go with a shake of your head. You look back over to the cars—Albatross and Iceman are in one, two of Dazai’s personal guards are in the other.

“Itou and Klaus are already at the airport getting things ready,” Dazai answers your unspoken question. “Albatross and Iceman will escort you there.”

“Chuuya has a mission in Tokyo today, Lippmann is filming in Nagoya,” you say quietly, watching Dazai’s face carefully for any flicker of a reaction. “Who is going to be back at headquarters with you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, much to your displeasure. When he sees the flinty expression cross your face, he smiles. “Atsushi-kun and Kyouka-chan will be there. So will Kouyou-kun and Piano Man. I’ll be fine.”

You’re still unsettled; something about it isn’t sitting right with you as you turn your attention back to the two cars. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. Dazai is many things—careless isn’t usually one of them. He’s the smartest man you know, every action he takes is perfectly calculated. If he says he’ll be fine, then logically, you know he will be.

But logic doesn’t soothe the pit in your stomach.

“Fine,” you say at last, though it’s clear you don’t mean it. You step toward the car where Albatross and Iceman are waiting, but before you get down the front steps of the porch, Dazai speaks again.

He says your name. His voice is light, almost teasing, but there’s an underlying weight to it that makes you pause. When you glance back, his expression is unreadable, dark eye giving away nothing as he stares at your face, almost like he’s trying to memorize the picture of you beneath the early morning sun.

“What?” you press after a moment when he doesn’t say anything else.

“Will you… kiss me one last time?” he asks, his voice raspy and his gaze flickering with uncertainty as he looks down at you, fingers twitching at his side.

Your breath catches at the request, and for a second, all you can hear is the faint rustling of the trees, the distant chirp of a bird somewhere overhead, the engines of the two cars waiting for the two of you running. The morning light is soft, golden, and his eye looks like a pool of honey beneath it, gentle and inviting, warm.

You swallow, heart stuttering in your chest. One last time. He watches you carefully, waiting, fingers curling slightly at his sides as if he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. You’re acutely aware of the four pairs of eyes trained on you from inside the waiting cars.

You could say no. You should say no.

Yesterday is over, you’ve already given him more than he deserves.

But you step forward, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. His breath hitches, the soft expression on his face shifting to something closer to yearning. You barely breathe as you reach up, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw as you tilt your face toward his.

Neither of you close the distance for a moment. You stand there, lips just almost brushing, dizzy with the feeling of sharing each other’s air. You finally lean in that last bit, lips grazing his. The kiss is soft, hesitant at first, and then he exhales shakily, pressing his lips firmly against yours. He shudders as your hands slide up to thread your fingers through his hair, kissing you with a type of aching desperation that makes your chest tighten. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let go. Like the moment is slipping through his fingers even as it happens.

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven. His fingers linger on your waist, reluctant to let go.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just close your eyes, willing away the sudden tears that spring to them. You don’t even know why you want to cry—maybe because it feels too much like a formal goodbye, that this is Dazai telling you that things will never be the way they were again, and he needs you to let go.

“I love you,” you tell him quietly, voice cracking.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath, eye sliding shut as he finally pulls away. His hands drop to his side limply, and you pull yours to your body, wrapping your arms around your waist as you look up at him.

“I know,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t. I’m sorry. I love you, too. Always.”

You make your way over to the car, but before you can open the door, Dazai speaks again.

“I—” he starts to say, and when you look back at him, there’s a conflicted expression on his face that makes you concerned. “I’ll miss you.”

You hesitate. “I’ll miss you too. See you in a few days.”

A smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes tugs at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t say anything more. You slide into the car, shutting the door behind you. Neither Albatross nor Iceman says anything as you get settled in the back, your chest feeling impossibly heavy as you stare down at your lap.

“I didn’t understand,” Iceman says after a moment, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You still don’t understand,” you reply tightly, swallowing the lump in your throat as your gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror. Dazai hasn’t budged from his spot on the steps, lips curled up into a small smile as he watches you pull away. “You can’t understand.”

“I know,” Iceman agrees quietly as Albatross drives down the long driveway of the beach house, “but I understand enough to know that I was wrong.”

You don’t reply, resting your head against the window as you stare into the side mirror until Dazai finally disappears from your line of sight. You don’t see the way his smile fades as soon as the car turns out of view, but that unsettling feeling returns, curling deep in your stomach like a warning that you can’t quite decipher.

You exhale slowly, trying to shake it off, and prepare to meet Itou and Klaus at the airport. It’s more important for you to figure out what this meeting with the Family is going to be about before you get there, but the further you get from Dazai, the bigger that pit in your stomach gets.

———

Klaus has been insufferable since the plane took off. He’s excited to be going back to Europe—it’s his first time back since you brought him back to Yokohama with you three years ago. Every five minutes, he’s asking if you guys can go to Munich after business is handled with the Family, and you don’t know how to tell him no without feeling like a bitch, so you keep giving Itou pleading looks to make him be the bad guy, but the man has the audacity to blatantly ignore you, whistling as he looks out the window.

He’s calmed down for the most part now, though. He’s lounging back across the seats behind you and Itou, playing on his phone while you guys try to theorize why the Family wants to meet so suddenly. You’ve been dancing around the subject of what happened yesterday, and you know he wants to ask because he keeps side-eyeing you but just can’t figure out how to go about it.

“Just ask, god,” you finally say irritably when Itou gives you another long side eye before dramatically sighing. “Stop pretending to be coy.”

Itou lights up like a kid in a candy shop, straightening in his seat before leaning forward, green eyes gleaming. “Tell me what happened yesterday. You were with him, weren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, distantly noticing that Klaus stopped tapping away at his game and is probably eavesdropping. You shift in your seat, trying to decide what exactly you want to say—neither of them are particularly fond of Dazai. Klaus especially dislikes him and doesn’t even really try to hide it when the two of them are face to face. So, you have to put in an effort to ensure that Klaus never has to go up to his office, that way you don’t have to deal with the repercussions of him disrespecting the boss to his face. Itou isn’t quite as upfront with his feelings about Dazai, but you know and that’s why you also know that in spite of his gossip mongering attitude, he wants you to tell him that his suspicions are wrong because he doesn’t like you spending time with him.

“Why do you even care?” you finally ask flatly. “You already know the answer.”

As you expect, disappointment flashes across Itou’s face, and Klaus lets out a scoff of disgust, hanging above your seat to intrude on the conversation. You shake your head and look back down at your phone, frowning when you realize you still don’t have a response from Goldoni. It’s still the middle of the night back in Italy, but you’re becoming increasingly more concerned about all of this—the disconcerted feeling you’ve had since the beach house has only become more intense with each moment away from Dazai.

“I want to hear it from you,” Itou says flippantly, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “What happened?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Klaus parrots, tossing a leg over the other seat so he can climb over to sit next to you. He leans in obnoxiously before he’s even fully climbed over and says, “Tell us.”

“Yeah,” Itou agrees with a smug smile. “Tell us.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh?” you question with a smile that neither of them trusts from the way they exchange looks with one another. “You want to hear about how good he fucked me?”

Klaus recoils immediately, freezing mid-climb, knee awkwardly bent over the seat, and Itou stares at you aghast, like you’ve personally betrayed him.

“Gross,” Klaus gags, not even bothering to sit down next to you, going right back over the seat into his own area of the plane. He spits something else out in German that you can’t quite make out before sneering at you and saying, “You’re so disgusting. God. Don’t look at me, I can’t even stand the sight of you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Itou demands, looking thoroughly perturbed as he turns his attention back to the window. “That was so unnecessary.”

You laugh, delighted by their reactions. “But you asked,” you say sweetly, resting your chin on your hand. “You wanted details.”

“Not those details,” Klaus snaps at you from the far end of the plane, clearly trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. “Obviously.”

“I was thinking more like, where did he bring you? Why did he bring you somewhere other than his office? Not—” He gestures vaguely, looking genuinely disturbed. “Not whatever nightmare you were about to unleash on us.”

Your smile softens as Itou rubs harshly at his eyes, still thrown off by your comment. You sigh as you look down at your lap. “I don’t know. It was… weird. He was acting weird.”

Itou looks up at you again, frowning. “How so?”

“I… I don’t know, I can’t describe it,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

You won’t explain it. How are you supposed to explain the stuff he was saying without him sounding insane? You trust Itou and Klaus with your life, but that’s exactly the problem. Their loyalty has never been to the Port Mafia, it’s been to you. They’re already of the opinion that Dazai is bad for you, you don’t need to fan the flames with information that could confirm all of the rumors circulating about Dazai’s deteriorating mental state.

Dazai doesn’t need more people working against him right now, so until you can figure out exactly what he meant at the beach house, you’re going to keep the information to yourself.

Klaus has drawn closer again, standing in the aisle next to your seat. He frowns, uncharacteristically serious, “Why not? What did he do?”

You hesitate, fingers tightening in your lap. “Just… off,” you say, knowing it’s not enough but not sure how else to put it. “Like he wanted to tell me something, but he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.”

“That bastard never has an issue running his mouth,” Klaus mutters, ignoring the flinty look you give him. “What? It’s true.”

“Watch your mouth,” you tell him flatly, picking at your nails.

He isn’t entirely right—Dazai never has a problem running his mouth when it serves his interests, but he’s notoriously prone to withholding information from people when it doesn’t. You’ve known since the day you met him that there was something… odd going on with him, that he doesn’t tell you everything, but the things he was saying back at the beach house… they just didn’t make sense. You couldn’t understand the jumbled explanations he gave you, so there was no way anyone else would.

Itou leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice is soft, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it—one that reminds you just how serious he can be when it comes to you. Sometimes, you forget just how ruthless he is, how easily he’ll turn to violence if he thinks you’re in danger. Klaus might be the louder of the two and quicker to act, but Itou is the one who follows through without hesitation. Of all of the members of the Port Mafia, he’s the one with the most blood on his hands—more than Iceman, more than even Chuuya.

“No,” you say immediately. “No, he didn’t. He—he just… He said things. Things I don’t really understand yet.”

Itou and Klaus exchange another look, the kind that makes your stomach twist. They don’t trust Dazai, and you can’t even blame them for it.

“And you’re not going to tell us what those things were,” Itou sighs with a frown, but he doesn’t push more than that.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

Klaus rolls his eyes but changes the subject as he nods down to your phone. “Goldoni responded.”

You sit up straight in your seat, turning your attention down to your phone. Itou shifts in the seat across from you, leaning forward as he waits for you to read the message. You almost fumble as you open your phone; the unnerved feeling that’s been clinging to you since you left the beach house returns so suddenly that it almost makes you sick.

Goldoni: We don’t have a meeting. Did I miss something?

“Well?” Itou asks, but his voice is distant, muffled, like it’s coming from underwater. Your ears ring as your eyes track over the words over and over again, trying to figure out if you’re reading them correctly. “What did it say?”

No meeting? But then why—

You feel sick to your stomach as you force yourself up to your feet. A cold wave of nausea crashes over you, head swimming, and Klaus has to steady you. His lips move—he’s saying something—but his words are lost in the deafening thrum of your pulse pounding in your ears. You blink down at your phone, fingers tightening around it as if the message might change if you stared hard enough.

Dazai lied.

But why?

“We need to get back to Yokohama,” you breathe out, voice hoarse and uneven. “Right now. We need to go now.”

“What?” Klaus demands, disgruntled, but concerned more than anything else. “What’s going on?”

“Just breathe for a second,” Itou tries to soothe you, but your heart is racing out of your chest, the dark claws of dread ripping you open. “Breathe, what’s going on?”

But you can’t breathe. Not when your stomach is twisted in knots, not when your mind is racing through the implications at a dizzying speed. Your thoughts are unraveling, and panic is clawing its way up your throat, heart hammering against your ribs erratically.

Dazai is moving pieces.

He sent you, Klaus, and Itou to Europe.

He made sure Chuuya was out of the city.

Lippmann is up in Nagoya.

Iceman and Albatross are occupied all day with missions.

Are Kouyou and Piano Man even at base? Atsushi and Kyouka? Or was that a lie, too?

It’s not a coincidence, not chance—nothing ever is with Dazai Osamu.

He planned this. He’s clearing the building out of all of the Mafia’s most capable members, all of the people who protect him.

But why? What is he trying to do?

Only one answer comes to you—your hand flies to your mouth to hold back the nausea that suddenly pushes at your throat.

“There’s no meeting with Goldoni,” you gasp, stumbling in the direction of the cockpit. Your body is moving solely on instinct, driven by fear. “He lied. We need to get back to Yokohama right now.”

Itou pushes past you to get to the pilot, not wasting any more time, and Klaus leads you back to a chair to sit down before you collapse. Your mind races, trying to piece together answers, dragging you through every interaction you’ve had with him the past two days, a whirlwind of fragmented moments flying around you. The lingering looks, the flashes of everything he refuses to speak in his eyes, the way he cried after he called you up to his office. The unusual tenderness, the beach house, all of the apologies, all of the regret, all of the refusals when you begged him to explain.

You’ll never forgive me.

You still don’t understand, I hope you never do.

You were never supposed to be the price of this.

I’m scared. I’m so scared for what comes next.

I knew how things were going to end from the beginning.

I tried to rid myself of you to make things easier on both of us.

How did it take you so long to realize?

Your hand flies to your mouth as you gag, vision blurring—you should’ve realized, you know Dazai. You knew something was up, it never should’ve taken you so long to figure this out. If you hadn’t been blindsided by everything at the beach house, caught up in the fleeting illusion of everything that could’ve been, maybe you would’ve understood sooner.

“That’s why he brought me there,” you gasp, trying to rock back and forth to calm yourself down as horror sinks into your chest. “That’s what yesterday was about. It wasn’t—he wasn’t—it was a distraction. It was to distract me. We’ll never get there in time.”

You can text Iceman and Albatross to go back, but Chuuya won’t look at his phone until his mission is complete. Dazai knows this—he planned this, he counted on it—and you’re sure he also accounted for you putting together that there isn’t actually a meeting in Rome with Goldoni, which means—

Which means whatever Dazai is doing, it’s already started, and you’re rapidly running out of time to stop it.

———

Headquarters is a mess by the time you, Klaus, and Itou arrive. The air is thick with gunpowder and the acrid scent of burning rubber. Muffled shouts echo from inside the building, and the crack of gunfire ricochets through the parking lot. Albatross and Iceman are in the parking lot shooting at an enemy you can’t see, crouched behind a line of abandoned cars, Chuuya hasn’t even read your text yet, you don’t know where Kouyou and Piano Man are, you don’t know where Atsushi and Kyouka are, you don’t know where Dazai is. He hasn’t read any of your texts either, and every passing second has your heart crawling up your throat.

“What’s going on?” you demand, yelping as Albatross reaches out to drag you undercover with him and Iceman. You hit the ground hard, barely catching yourself on one hand as bullets pepper the pavement inches from where you were just standing. Klaus and Itou follow quickly. “Al—”

“It’s the Armed Detective Agency,” Albatross snarls with a bitter expression, reloading his gun with quick, practiced movements. “I don’t know how the fuck they got inside headquarters. We can’t get in—every time we manage to take one down, that fucking doctor of theirs heals them right back up. They’re holding us at the entrance while their other members do… whatever the fuck they’re doing in our base. We don't—”

You go still. Albatross doesn’t notice your reaction, but Iceman does. His sharp gaze flickers to you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yosano is… here?” you ask, suddenly feeling too cold. You don’t really know what you were expecting—you knew Yosano was with the Armed Detective Agency, and you figured that with the rising tensions, you’d be forced to see her soon, but you didn’t expect it to be this soon. “Now?”

Iceman looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You know the Agency’s doctor?”

“It’s a long story,” you say distantly, swallowing thickly as you try to push away all of the old insecurities that claw their way to your throat. You can’t think about any of this now, you need to get to Dazai. You still don’t know what he's planning, but you know it’s nothing good, and if your suspicions are right… “I need to get over to her. I can convince her to let me through.”

A lie. Or at least a gamble. Yosano has always been sentimental, and you’re betting your life on her feeling guilty over having left you behind on Tokoyami Island when she blew it up, but you can’t let your uncertainty show; otherwise, Itou and Klaus will never let you try.

“You’re not going over there alone,” Itou immediately says, as you expect.

“They won't let all of us through, Itou,” you say quietly. “We don’t know how many there are. We can’t waste time fighting. I need to get to Dazai now. I’ll have an easier time convincing her to let me through alone than all of us. She knows I’m noncombatant.”

“No,” Itou snaps, his voice low but firm. “We’re not splitting up. The moment you stand up, they’ll be shooting at you—”

“I’m not asking permission,” you interrupt coldly. “Don’t forget who’s the executive here.”

His jaw tightens. Klaus shifts beside him, uncertain, glancing between the two of you. Albatross swears under his breath. The tension is thick enough to choke on, and you’re becoming increasingly more desperate—time is passing too quickly, and you’re already out of it.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re an executive. I’m not letting you die for whatever fucked up scheme that bastard planned,” Itou spits at you. “You said yourself that he set this all in motion for whatever reason. You—”

“Let her go.” It’s Iceman who speaks up, expression grim as his gaze settles on you. “She knows the boss better than any of us. If she thinks she needs to get up there, then she’s probably right. I’ll cover you if they don’t stop shooting.”

Itou gives Iceman a betrayed look, but Iceman keeps his gaze trained on you. You think maybe this is supposed to be an apology for the argument that happened the other night. You nod at him in thanks.

You don’t give them time to change their minds. Before anyone can stop you, you brace yourself, inhale sharply, and then run right into enemy fire. You brace yourself for the pain—the bullets don’t immediately stop, one grazes your ear, another your bicep. It’s a miracle that you’re not struck in the chest or head. It’s an agonizing three seconds before the gunfire comes to a halt, and when it does, you almost wish that you had been shot because you turn your gaze to the doors of headquarters, and Yosano Akiko is standing there staring at you like you’re a ghost.

She doesn’t move. She just waits there, eyes wide, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. The last time she saw you, she was being dragged off the Schwalbe Ritter after planting explosions that would have killed you, her, and everyone else still on the ship.

Behind you, you hear someone shift, but no one dares open fire. Your gaze drags behind her—you only see two gunmen, a boy with orange hair and a blonde man, but that doesn't make sense, does it? It seemed like there were far more than just two gunmen.

“You…” she breathes out, a haunted expression on her face. “I—”

“I need to get through,” you say, not wasting a second. You have to force your voice to stay steady. “Now.”

Yosano doesn’t answer right away, grip tightening on the weapon in her hand, but she doesn’t raise it. Her expression twists—guilt, disbelief, and hesitation all war in her eyes before something else creeps in. Something colder. Your stomach drops.

“I can’t let you through,” she says quietly. “We have people in there and—”

“I don’t give a damn about your people,” you interrupt. “I need to get to Dazai. Please, Yosano.”

The words taste like acid—you hate begging, but you especially hate begging her. You think you’d rather swallow glass; it feels like reopening an old wound with your own hands. Yosano is the last person you ever wanted to need anything from, and yet here you are, standing before her, forcing yourself to beg her to let you into your own headquarters. The bitterness in your chest is suffocating, but you force it down and lock it away. You can’t afford to let it cloud your judgment, can’t let it stop you from what matters most right now—Dazai. Getting to him before he does something stupid.

“Please, Yosano,” you force yourself to say it again, a hint of desperation clinging to the words this time. “I can’t lose him too.”

Yosano’s face cracks at your words. You see the guilt in her eyes and the way her shoulders slump, and you know you’ve won, but the sweetness of victory is tainted by her bitterness over the situation.

Her gaze lowers as she steps to the side. “Go.”

You rush past her, pausing just long enough to murmur, “In the future, you shouldn’t be so sentimental with enemies. This kind of hesitation will get you killed one day.”

Yosano scoffs, folding her arms. “You really are just like him now. Can’t even manage a simple ‘thank you’ without slipping into a lecture about emotions. Go. Before I change my mind.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “It’s nice to see you haven’t changed, Akiko-chan.”

“You have,” she replies quietly. “I’m sorry that things went down the way they did back then. If I had done things differently… maybe we both could’ve gotten out of there.”

Your throat spasms as you swallow. “I guess we’ll never know,” you reply, and before she can say anything else to unsettle you, you make your way into headquarters.

The detectives of the Agency haven’t actually killed anyone, you realize as you see the unconscious bodies strewn across the lobby. You think that’s more impressive than if they’d slaughtered everyone in here—the fact that they out-classed so many of the lower-ranking members of the Port Mafia to the point that they’d been able to fight with non-lethal force against lethal force is… unnerving to say the least.

It’s not something you can waste any time thinking about right now, though. You need to figure out where Dazai is. Because the emergency lights are on, you know that the building’s power must’ve gone out, and with it, the building’s elevators. You figure that it must’ve been Dazai’s doing because you doubt the conflict would’ve reached down to the electrical room. And if Dazai went out of his way to make sure the power was out, to make sure nobody could use any of the elevators, that leads you to believe he can only be in one place:

The roof.

You take off without hesitation, sprinting toward the nearest stairwell and throwing the door open with a slam. The air inside is stifling, heavy with the scent of concrete and dust. Your legs burn almost immediately, but you force yourself to push through, taking the steps two, sometimes three at a time.

There are forty stories in the main building of headquarters. It’s an impossible distance, you know that—you’re already panting as you drag yourself up each flight of stairs, but you can’t give yourself time to stop, to think even. You can hear the rapid thud of your footsteps, the harsh drag of your breath, and the distant gunfire from outside resuming. Your muscles scream for relief, and your heartbeat hammers in your ears, but you force yourself to push it away—each step you climb, you become more and more certain that Dazai is at the top, about to do something terrible.

By the time you get to the roof, your body wants to give out—tears sting your eyes, your legs tremble violently, and you can barely breathe. Sheer adrenaline gives you the strength to push open the heavy metal door that leads to the roof; you don’t even notice Atsushi and a detective lying slumped on the ground, gaze focused on the familiar figure behind both of them standing on the edge of the roof.

Dazai is breathtaking under the light of the setting sun—it’s almost enough to make you forget where the two of you are, that he’s on the edge of the building, that you’ll never be able to reach him in time if he steps off the side. The warm golden hues cast soft shadows over his features, his black hair taking on an auburn sheen in the fading light—his eye widens as soon as he realizes you’re standing there, the usual dark void closer to a shimmering amber in the sunset.

“You… got here faster than I expected,” he says breathlessly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice shaky. “Dazai, come away from there.”

His smile is soft as he looks over you, gaze lingering on every detail like he’s trying to memorize the sight of you. His fingers twitch at his side like he wants to reach out for you but knows he can’t, so he resigns to committing the image of you to memory. There’s something almost reverent in the way he studies you—like he knows that this is going to be his last chance.

Dazai tilts his head slightly, gaze focusing on yours. “You always did have a way of making things difficult,” he says fondly. “I thought it would be easier if you weren’t here.”

Your heartbeat thuds painfully loud in your ears. You try to take a step forward, but he tilts his head to the side, warning you silently that if you come any closer, he’ll step right over the edge. You feel sick, hands trembling because you don’t know what to do—you’ll never get to him in time, and once Dazai has his mind set on something…

“Easier for who?” you demand, stomach lurching as you fumble desperately for something to say to convince him to come away from the edge. “For you? For me? Did you think I wouldn’t care if I wasn’t here?”

His small smile doesn’t waver, but something in his expression cracks just for a second. You notice his own fingers are trembling at his side and you remember his words from last night: I’m so scared for what comes next.

How hadn’t you realized?

“I know you would,” he murmurs. “Don’t you understand now? That’s been the problem this whole time.”

You don’t dare take another step forward, but you find yourself leaning forward a little even though you know you can’t reach him from this distance. The wind whips around him, tugging at his long black coat and scarf. Each gust has your heart in your throat.

“Then come down,” you beg. Your cheeks are wet, vision so blurry that you can barely make out Dazai’s figure on the edge of the roof. “Please, Osamu. We can figure something out. I know we can. If you need to disappear, we can make you disappear—Tolstoy, his cousin’s ability, he can wipe everyone’s memories of you, and we can run. We can go back to the beach house or go to the countryside. We can get away from all of this. Nobody has to know, it’ll just be us.”

His smile softens, lashes lowering as he looks down at the ground. His voice cracks as he says softly, “That’s… a really nice dream.”

“Please just come away from there,” you rasp. “We can find a different way. Just—just explain everything to me, Osamu. Tell me what’s going on, what all of this is really about, and I’ll find a different way, you know I can. Give me that chance. Give us that chance. We deserve that, at least. I deserve that.”

Dazai exhales sharply, tilting his head back as the wind rushes around him, tousling his hair. The setting sun casts his silhouette in gold, and for a moment, he looks ethereal—untouchable, like something not meant to exist in this world.

“I know it’s selfish,” he says, voice raw with emotion as he looks up at the sky. “I didn’t want you to be here for this, but I’m glad I got to see you one last time.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as his words slowly register. You shake your head, desperation clawing at your throat, and your lips part to speak, but the words die on your tongue when Dazai tosses you a bright smile, a genuine one that hurts more than anything else. It’s the kind of smile you’ve longed to see on him for years, the kind that has haunted your dreams since he took over as boss—warm, bright, alive, happy. But now, you only feel dread at the sight of it.

Terror grips your chest. “Osamu—”

“Thank you,” he whispers, and though you know you should be racing toward him now, your entire body locks up, feet planted to the ground. “For everything. I love you.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, time seems to slow. You scream his name as his body tilts over the edge, but instead of rushing to the edge, you turn back the way you came.

Five.

You know you’ll never make it—you studied physics with Chuuya when he was learning how to refine his ability. The force of gravity is 9.8 meters per second squared, the Port Mafia headquarters is forty stories, around 130 meters—you know the equation like the back of your hand; it was one of the first things you learned.

You don’t have more than five seconds before he hits the ground.

But you can’t accept what’s happening—your brain isn’t letting go of the futile hope that maybe Klaus or Itou will see what’s happening and they’ll do something, that maybe Chuuya got back and he can do something. You know they can’t. Logically, you know that they can’t use their abilities on Dazai, but you think maybe there’s a chance, that maybe you’ll get down there and Dazai will be—he’ll be okay.

Four.

Your heart races, the seconds stretching impossibly long as your feet carry you down the stairs with reckless speed. You leap down them three, four, five at a time, pain shooting up your shins to your knees with every jump, but you don’t let yourself lose momentum—you can’t because the moment you stop, you’ll fall apart.

Three.

The whole world narrows, your heartbeat thrumming painfully loud in your ears. The seconds count down, mocking your attempts to hope against the inevitable, but still, your legs push forward, faster, harder. You know it’s futile, you do, but that tiny thread of hope, the denial your heart clings to, refuses to let go.

Every time your eyes slide shut, you see him—you see his smile, you see the soft expression on his face, and you see him falling. You can still feel him, his hands on your waist, cradling your face, his lips brushing yours. He was in bed with you this morning, his body warm, curled up next to you, his breath against your skin in even puffs, and he was at peace. How did things go wrong so quickly?

You’ve barely eaten anything today, but you feel your stomach churning like you’re about to throw up. Each deep breath has you choking, your head feels dizzy because the air just isn’t getting to your lungs, but you can’t stop moving.

Two.

You could’ve done something different. You know it. If you hadn’t been so blind, you would’ve realized something was seriously wrong at the beach house. You knew it was some sort of goodbye, but this? You thought it was his way of indulging in one last day of pretending before he cut you off altogether, but you should’ve realized it was something deeper. The way he looked at you should’ve clued you in—he told you he was scared for what’s next, he tried to stay away because he knew he planned on dying. How didn’t you fucking realize?

If you had more time, you could’ve convinced him. You know you could’ve; you saw the look on his face when you tried to convince him to leave with you, you saw the yearning. He wanted it, and if you had more time to persuade him, you would’ve been able to. If you’d realized back at the beach house what was going on, you would’ve convinced him to choose another option. This was your fault.

One.

Your foot slips on the next step, and when you crash against the middle landing, pain shoots through your wrist and spreads—you don’t hear or see the impact of Dazai’s body hitting the ground, but you feel it. The pain in your wrist is sharp, a violent jolt, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that floods through you like a tidal wave. It’s like every bone in your body shattered the moment his body hit the ground, like his ribs, his spine, his skull fracturing on the pavement, is happening inside of you, too.

You can’t hear anything above the terrible buzzing in your ears, you think you must be screaming because it feels like knives are dragging through the inside of your throat, and you can taste blood in the back of your mouth. You feel it all—the way his body must have crumpled, the way his breath must have left him in one final, shuddering exhale, you feel it all.

A crushing weight slams into your chest, pressing down until you can’t move, can’t even breathe. The pain is unbearable—not just in your wrist, not just in your body, but everywhere. In your heart, in your soul.

Dazai is gone, you know it.

You don’t know how long you lay there—it could’ve been seconds, minutes, you don’t know. You don’t think it could’ve been that long because it’s when you start to regain your hearing and the numbness in your body from the pain starts to fade, you realize that the whole building is shaking. The rumble vibrates your bones; first, a low, resonant hum, but it becomes violent quickly.

Chuuya.

Chuuya felt Dazai’s death in the same way you did. Of course, he did. The three of you have always been bound together since the beginning. It was never just the two of them, and it was never just you and Dazai—whether it was a curse, a bond, or just fate, it didn’t matter. One way or another, the three of you have always been tied to each other.

The thread that bound you together was woven of something that transcended logic and reason, something that all of you had become too dependent on, something that none of you could live without, and the loss of Dazai causes it to unravel, causes you to unravel, causes Chuuya to unravel.

It was always supposed to be the three of you together—there’s no world where one of you can just die, and the other two go on with their lives. Maybe Dazai knew that, and that’s what his incoherent ramblings were about back at the beach house, but if that’s the case, and he tried to push you and Chuuya away so the two of you could live on after his death, then he did a shit fucking job at it.

The metal of the building shrieks, and the very foundation trembles with the force of Chuuya’s grief and anger. You don’t know where he is, but he must be close, and he’s losing control. You need to get to him before that shitty corruption god wakes up inside of him to take advantage of his loss of control.

You push yourself up weakly, wrist screaming in protest, but you don’t care. You drag your body forward, forcing yourself to move, forcing yourself down the stairs, because you can’t lose them both—not in the same breath, not ever, you won’t survive it.

Your legs threaten to give out beneath you as you stagger down the stairs, breath ragged and body screaming for rest—you can hardly see in front of you, vision blurry with tears. It takes too long for you to get back down to the lobby. Your whole body is trembling, and you’re so unsteady on your feet that when you push open the door out of the stairwell, you almost topple right into the room.

You’re not thinking as you make your way forward. Distantly, you notice that you don’t see the Agency anymore, and you realize that the Flags, Itou, and Klaus are in the lobby dealing with the now waking subordinates who had been neutralized by the detectives, which means the Agency either left or was driven further into the building. You don’t care about any of that—your brain has you on a one-track mission to get to Chuuya before you lose him too, and you don’t consider what you might see stepping outside until you catch a glimpse of red from the corner of your eye through the window as you approach the door.

Is that—?

You don’t even have a chance to focus your gaze on what you’re looking at.

Immediately, Itou is launching himself at you, only just now realizing in the chaos that you’ve finally arrived. He grabs your bicep hard and yanks you toward him, one hand flying up to cover your eyes as his other wraps around your waist, holding you close. The noise that escapes your lips is inhuman—animalistic, almost—something caught between a scream and a wail that rips from your throat before you can stop it. Every cell in your body screeches in protest, instinct demands that you tear yourself from Itou’s grip and look, but he holds you tight, fingers digging into your skin and hand firm over your eyes.

“Don’t,” he whispers, voice raw, desperate for you to listen. “You don’t want to see that.”

“Let me go, Itou,” you scream, thrashing against him, blind with grief, fury, denial. You know it happened. You felt it the moment it happened—the moment he hit the ground—but knowing and feeling is different than seeing. “Let me go to him, let me go!”

“He fell forty stories,” Itou rasps, voice cracking. “You don’t want that to be your last memory of him.”

You fight, claw, kick—anything to get to him—but Itou doesn’t loosen his hold. He shifts, adjusting his grip so you can’t break free, keeping one hand over your eyes and the other locked around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Please,” you choke out. “Please, I need to—”

“No,” he says again quietly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

A sob wracks through you, violent and gut-wrenching. You sag against him, body unable to take anymore as the weight of everything crashes into you at once, pressing down on your chest until you can’t breathe. When you stop fighting, Itou’s hand slides from your eyes to hold you more gently, but you don’t reopen them—you can see him, you can see Dazai bathed in the sunset, you can see the golden glow, his soft eyes, his smile.

You try to breathe in but end up gagging over the air. Itou is quick to make sure your hair is out of your face before you vomit what little you have left in your stomach onto the ground. You hear Albatross and Iceman shouting for all of the lingering subordinates to clear out of the room. Klaus is somewhere in front of you, expression fraught as he watches you fall apart. Your chest heaves as you choke down another sob; your mind feels disconnected from your body, floating somewhere between numbness and agony, trapped between the image of Dazai in that golden light before he fell back over the edge and the knowledge of what’s left of him beyond this wall.

“I should have—” The words crumble before you can finish them, dissolving into something incoherent. You should have known, you should have stopped him, you should have been faster—you’re always too slow.

“You did everything you could.”

A lie. You know it’s a lie.

Your hands tremble as you clutch at his sleeve, desperately trying to ground yourself, but all you can feel is the cold creeping in, the emptiness hollowing out your chest where his heart used to beat.

“I need to get to Chuuya,” you finally gasp. Your whole body is shaking, you can’t even bring yourself to sit up straight. “I need to—”

“Chuuya is gone.”

Your gaze lifts to focus on Piano Man, who looks grim as he steps into the headquarters with Kouyou, who can hardly even stand to look at you. Klaus dragged a table over to where you’d caught that glimpse of red, blocking your view of it.

“What do you mean?” Itou demands, arms still tight around you, hands running up and down your biceps to calm you down. “Yo, would you fucking—”

Piano Man doesn’t reply to him. Instead, his gaze focuses on you; there’s no trace of the whimsiness you’re used to as he takes a few steps forward to kneel in front of where you’re wide-eyed and shivering in Itou’s arms on the ground. His throat bobs as he swallows, and you can tell that he’s warring with himself before he finally speaks.

“You need to pull yourself together,” he finally says quietly. Itou tenses behind you, but you only stare at Piano Man, hardly registering what he’s saying. “The government sent a special ops squad to handle Chuuya. They sedated him and took him and are bringing him to a government facility to keep him imprisoned.”

“How the hell did the government react so quickly?” Klaus demands, voice shrill with nerves. “How does that make any sense?”

“We don’t know,” Piano Man answers flatly, keeping his gaze trained on you. He reaches out to hold your hands tightly as he focuses on you again. “You are boss now, and I am so fucking sorry it has to happen like this, but the Port Mafia is not in a good spot right now. Once word spreads about Dazai’s death and Chuuya’s imprisonment, we’ll have half of the criminal underworld on our doorstep. We need to get Chuuya back before that happens. Do you understand me?”

Your mouth is dry as you stare at him. You don’t think you could respond if you wanted to. You see the frustration fly across his face, and Itou tenses again, ready to intervene if Piano Man acts out of line, but his shoulders only slump as he takes in a shaky breath.

“You know what happened to him when he was a kid,” Piano Man says tightly. “He is the strongest ability user in the world. Every second we waste, we give them the chance to do that to him again—and they will do it again because if they could find a way to replicate his ability or understand more about Arahabaki, they could make themselves the most dominant military power in the world. They will keep him locked up in whatever facility they bring him to, and they will experiment on him night and day, and he will not survive this happening to him again. It will break him. Do you understand me?”

You nod, throat spasming as you swallow thickly.

“Okay,” Piano Man agrees after a moment. “Then pull yourself together. We need to get working.”

“Fucking hell, Piano Man,” Itou spits out. “She hasn’t even had the chance to process what just happened, let her fucking mourn, she just lost—”

“There is no time to mourn during transitions of power,” Piano Man says coldly. “She knows this better than anyone.”

The words cut through you deeper than a blade ever could have, and the silence that follows them is suffocating.

Your whole body begs for rest, for just one moment to grieve, to let the pain consume you—Dazai is dead, Chuuya is gone, and the weight of the Port Mafia is crashing down onto your shoulders before you’ve even had the chance to breathe. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the crime lords of the Eastern Hemisphere catch wind of what happened here, and when they do, all bets are off.

You swallow hard and force yourself to sit up. Itou moves with you, steadying you, hesitant to let go, but you shake him off. You need to do this on your own. Piano Man watches you, unreadable, waiting to see what you say.

“We need to consolidate power first,” you say. Your voice is weak, too shaky. “I need to talk to Mishima and Tolstoy. Goldoni too. We need two executives to replace—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. You can’t speak their names. Your throat tightens again as you try to swallow down the lump of grief threatening to choke you.

“We need two more executives,” you say instead. Itou shifts closer to you, trying to remind you that he’s here, that you’re not alone, but it still feels like you are. You feel hollow, empty, alone in a world where both Dazai and Chuuya are gone—it was always supposed to be the three of you. It was never supposed to be just one. “I’ll reach out to Mishima and Tolstoy. We—we have to move quickly.”

Your gaze tracks back over to where you’d gotten a glimpse of red before Itou pulled you away. Your voice is far away as you whisper, “We can’t leave him there.”

“I’ll handle it,” Itou promises quietly.

You nod, taking in another deep breath, and at once, everyone gets to work. Everything around you is a blur, and you can’t tell if it’s a testament to how quickly everyone is moving into action or if it’s because of the tears that threaten to roll over your cheeks. You don’t let them—not now—you just need to keep it together a little while longer for Chuuya, and then, maybe, you can finally let yourself rest alongside Dazai.

———

Dazai Osamu is dead.

There’s no arguing with Chuuya about it because he’s gone, too. There’s no clashing with the Flags because they saw it happen. There’s no disagreeing with Itou and Klaus, because they were the ones who cleaned up his body. There’s no warring with yourself because you felt it the moment it happened.

Dazai is dead.

You haven’t been in his office since it happened two weeks ago—you haven’t had the time. You haven’t stopped moving, haven’t stopped making decisions, and haven’t let yourself feel anything beyond the fear of knowing that one mistake could lead to everyone else’s deaths, too. You’ve been in Tokyo talking to Mishima, you went to Vladivostok so you could talk to Tolstoy face-to-face and tell him what happened yourself, you’re leaving for Rome tomorrow to talk to Goldoni, and you’ve been trying to solve things peacefully with the government to get Chuuya back.

Everything is a mess—Mishima and Tolstoy are in conflict with Cao Xueqin, trying to buy you time to get Chuuya back before the Red Chamber is at your doorstep, and Goldoni is distracting the Guild, who evidently are preparing to come to Yokohama for Atsushi, but the government is refusing to hand Chuuya over. Atsushi and Kyouka are missing. The Agency has gone silent after causing all of this, and you don’t have time to deal with them either.

You haven’t had any time to grieve him, but standing in the space he left behind, it hits you all at once.

Dazai is dead.

“You’re such an asshole,” you breathe out to the empty room like he can hear you, staring at the desk he sat behind. “How could you just leave me with all of this?”

Everything is exactly as he left it. Papers stacked haphazardly, a pen resting at an odd angle, a half-empty cup of stagnant tea. It’s like he could walk through the door at any moment, like none of this ever happened—this is just another one of his games, sitting back with that infuriating smile, waiting to see how you’ll react so he can hold it over your head, mocking you for taking everything too seriously, teasing you for mourning him.

You don’t even remember why you came up here—you had a reason for it, otherwise, you would’ve avoided it for as long as possible. Your fingers ghost over the edge of his desk, hovering above the polished wood hesitantly before you finally let your hand fall down against it, fingers dragging across the wood as you walk to the other side of the desk.

You shouldn’t be here. You’ve avoided this room for a reason.

But instead of leaving, your legs decide to give out on you. You take in a breath that’s too ragged as you sit back in his chair, burying your face in your hands. The weight of his scarf around your neck is suffocating, a weight that you’re not strong enough to bear—it was the only thing Itou could salvage from his body, and as much as it makes you sick with grief, you can’t bring yourself to part from it. You swear you can almost still catch the faint scent of him on it, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend that it’s the weight of his arms draped around your shoulders as he hangs behind you, back pressed to your chest and chin on top of your head as he uses you as a shield to antagonize Chuuya without consequence.

You need to get yourself together. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes up here looking for you, and you don’t want to be spiraling when they get here. Now isn’t the time to mourn—Chuuya is still out there, trapped, waiting for you, tortured with god knows what horrific experiments the government is performing on him. You have to get him back. You have to keep the Port Mafia from falling apart. You have to keep yourself from falling apart. Now isn’t the time for this.

You exhale shakily and rest your hands down on the arms of the chair to push yourself up so you can leave the office, but you pause when you see one of his desk drawers not fully closed. You press your lips together, hesitating, before reaching out to open it the rest of the way.

Inside, neatly stacked and untouched, are documents, mission reports piled up, but your eyes aren’t drawn to that. They’re drawn to the single envelope sitting at the very top and the very familiar, small metal trinket sitting next to it.

It has your name scrawled across the front in Dazai’s handwriting.

Your pulse roars in your ears, breath catching.

Slowly, almost afraid that it will disappear if you touch it, you pick it up. The paper is thin beneath your fingers, fragile, like it's been sitting there for years instead of days. The weight of it in your hands is unbearable.

You don’t know if you should open it.

You shouldn’t open it.

You know you shouldn’t.

But your hands are already shaking as you slide a finger beneath the fold, breaking the seal with excruciating slowness. You hardly breathe as you pull it out of the envelope, swallowing at the address written on the back of the paper before you unfold it.

The handwriting is unmistakable. All across the page, you see characters crossed out and rewritten where water had blotted the ink. Dazai had been crying as he wrote it.

My sweet hime,

If you’re reading this, then everything has probably settled by now. I can already imagine the look on your face. Don’t frown too much—it’ll leave wrinkles.

Kidding. I wasn’t going to write anything. I thought a clean break would be easier for you. But after the day we spent yesterday, I realized I’d already ruined things enough. I figured a goodbye wouldn’t do more damage than anything else I’ve already done.

There was nothing you could’ve done differently to change what happened—I know that’s what you’re probably thinking. You’re going back through every moment, trying to find all of the places where you could have said something, done something to change my mind, but it wouldn’t have mattered. This was always how this was going to end. This plan had been set in motion long before you and I ever even met.

I wish I could’ve spared you from this. I really did try. I told myself for months leading up to our meeting that I wouldn’t let myself get close to you. There were so many plans that I made, so many ways I convinced myself that I could keep my distance. I wasn’t even supposed to go with Chuuya on the mission to pick you up, but when Mori dangled it in front of my face, I couldn’t stop myself.

Loving you was my biggest and only mistake. Not because you weren’t worth it but because I was never meant to have you. Not in this life. But you always made me weak. Reckless. I never think straight when you’re around, even when you’re not around, you’re always in the back of my mind. But I thought that knowing how things were going to end would be enough to keep me from slipping up. I thought I would be satisfied with admiring you from afar and knowing you would be okay when I was gone. I should’ve known better—I never should’ve let myself get close to you when we were younger, I should’ve been cruel from the beginning, I should’ve made you hate me.

But I was selfish. I let myself love you, and I let myself be loved by you, and now you’re alone dealing with the consequences of it.

I’m sorry.

Once I realized I let things go too far, I thought I would be able to make you hate me after I took over as boss. I thought if I could be cruel enough and cold enough that you would finally turn your back on me, but you are just too goddamn stubborn. You kept coming back again and again, and I was too much of a coward—too selfish—to push you away the way I should have.

You were right back at the beach house—I was frustrated and angry that I couldn’t stop myself from seeking you out, and I was even more frustrated and angry that you kept coming, and I put you through four years of hell because of it. I’m sorry for that, too. I’m sorry for a lot of things that I know you’ll never forgive me for.

I wish I could explain more, I wanted to tell you everything. Do you know how many times I almost did? How many nights I almost turned to you and let it all spill out? I know you would have believed me, I know you would’ve shared the burden with me, but this was never supposed to be your price to pay. I wish I had done things differently because it became yours anyway, didn’t it?

I hope you hate me. I hope you find a way to curse my name and let me rot in the hell I’ve made for myself. I don’t deserve for you to mourn. I don’t deserve to be remembered by you at all. But I know you, and I know you’ll mourn, and I know you’ll blame yourself even after reading this, so I hope you just remember that this was something bigger than you and I and the ending was never going to change no matter what you did differently.

I love you. I’ve always loved you, I’ve always been yours. In this life and every other one. I’m sorry we couldn’t be happy in this one, but I promise I’ll make it up to you when we find each other again in the next. I’ll love you better in that one, the way you deserve, I’ll give you all of me, every piece I held back in this lifetime. And in the next, I promise I won’t make you say goodbye. We’ll live a quiet life—we’ll go to the countryside, and we’ll grow old, and we’ll be happy. Maybe we’ll even drag the slug along, force him to be our farmhand, give him a new flock of sheep to herd.

Now to business.

Dark times are coming to Yokohama. I know you’re probably sick of me saying sorry, but I’m sorry that I’ve left you to deal with everything like this. There are foreign threats coming—the Guild, the Order of the Clocktower, and Fyodor Dostoevsky. All of the files below this envelope are full of information I’ve put together for you. Abilities, strategies they’ve used, how everything has gone down in different timelines—I’ve put it all together so you can figure out how you want to handle this. I left some suggestions, but it’s all very dependent on how things played out after everything settled.

The Armed Detective Agency will be a valuable ally going forward. Don’t blame them for what I did—they were only pawns I used to get everything set up. Everything that happens today is what I’ve planned, my actions and theirs. They’ll help protect Yokohama from the coming storm, and you’ll stand a better chance working with them.

I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said that’s not in the folders. Don’t underestimate Fyodor Dostoevsky. And I know you’re going to say ‘I spent many months with him when you sent me abroad blah blah blah’ but there’s so much more to him than you can ever imagine. You’ll understand when you read through everything.

There’s no perfect way to end this letter. I could apologize a million times and it wouldn’t be enough. Just know I meant what I said before—I’ll find you again in the next life, and we’ll be happy. I’ll love you better. I won’t leave you behind.

Live well. I’ll always be with you.

Yours always,

Osamu

———

beast au fun facts:

i think i made it pretty clear, but for those of you who read wykyk, essentially ages 16-18 were what wykyk would’ve been if dazai wasn’t emotionally incompetent. he was obviously still a little bit hot and cold with her, but he was quite clear with how he felt about her from day one, which is why it was so hard for her to reconcile how rapidly everything changed.

she finds mori at the address dazai left for her. the first thing she asks when she gets over the shock is if dazai is here too. she thinks maybe he too might’ve faked his death and is here with mori.

reader dies several weeks later. during the operation to break chuuya out of the government facility, they need all hands on deck. she stays behind in headquarters because it’s safest for her there. she ends up leaving headquarters to go visit dazai’s grave and is assassinated while she’s sitting at his grave. like with dazai, chuuya feels it when it happens but refuses to believe it until they find her body.

this was unfortunately intentional on reader’s part. this is actually something she does or has tried to do in multiple universe: she uses her life(/death) as a weapon for the port mafia. we will see it (or attempts of it) in canonverse and civzai. her death triggers multiple powerful organizations coming to the assistance of the pm, and she knows this, so when the pm is backed into a corner and threatened on multiple fronts, she’ll manufacture a situation where she’ll be assassinated because she knows the only way the pm will come out of it intact is if they get help, and the quickest and most surefire way of getting that help is if she’s killed.

make no mistake: it IS a last-resort option when there’s really nothing else they can do. although, i'll also say that i don't think the pm WAS backed into the corner here, but our girl was ... very tired after losing dazai and everything that happened afterward. she only wanted to push through things long enough to rescue chuuya.

it does indeed work btw. after she dies, tolstoy & the three deaths wipe out cao xueqin before coming to yokohama to help with the guild and dostoevsky. the family engages the clocktower in open conflict to keep them out of yokohama.

the conflict takes about a year to come to an end, chuuya only lets himself die once everything is settled. pmtrio indeed became the price of a world where oda can live.

this is the only universe where itou & klaus outlive her. this is also the only universe where they meet. idk if anyone guessed it, but the reason dazai sent her away after he took over was so she could meet klaus.

dazai genuinely didn’t think that his death would ruin her and chuuya the way it did since he ensured that the flags, itou and klaus were all here for them. he was wrong

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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malum-forev · 2 months ago

Text

Never Casual

Part 2

You knew something was very wrong the second you walked out of your apartment building.

For years, your routine always included a morning run. Before the sun came up, before anyone was awake, you’d go out.

Months ago, when the weather was cool, you’d have Bucky by your side, making the outing feel like a warm hug.

“You’re lacking a bit.” He’d give you a dazzling smile, running backwards like it was nothing, while your lungs burned.

“That’s not fair,” you’d huff. “I need motivation.”

“More motivation than this?” He drags his hands up and down his chest playfully.

You loved seeing Bucky like this. Out and about without a care in the world, without his mind telling him that everyone around him is judging him.

Bucky lowers his pace. “If you beat me, I’ll let you braid my hair.”

“But only if you leave the house with whatever style I put you in.” You start running faster.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He follows you.

“I can’t wait to see you in pigtails.” You laugh, running until you couldn’t feel your legs.

But now, the weather is warmer but you’ve never felt as cold. Without him by your side, even the sticky air seems icy.

On every single lamp post all around your route, there was a poster of Bucky.

Vote Bucky for Congress.

You scoff at the fake smile plastered on his face. It must have taken the photographers hours to get that shot. You more than anyone know how hard it is for Bucky to hide what he’s feeling.

For a second, you consider tearing down all the posters but you pick up your run before you can act on the impulse.

——————

“What is he doing here?” You couldn’t mask your disdain this time, as you see Bucky walk into the headquarters.

“C’mon, you’re not excited to see the old team back together?” Joaquin asks, sitting down at the chair next to yours.

“Not keen on having dinosaurs coming to check our work.” Your eyes never leave Bucky’s figure.

He hasn’t looked over at you once, avoiding your stare.

“Hey, could you help me with something inside the conference room?” You ask Torres with a devious smile on your face.

Joaquin eyes you suspiciously but follows you inside, and says nothing as you shut all the blinds.

“This drawer gets stuck sometimes,” you say, turning the hidden lock and pocketing the key. “Could you help me open it?”

“Sure,” he drags out the word.

“Put your weight into it.” You recommend, smiling as the desk starts rattling once Joaquin tries to get the drawer open.

“Yes, yes!” You chant, knowing that with Bucky’s supersoldier hearing, he’d be able to recognize the grinding of the desk and your moans.

He can’t erase from his memories the things the two of you have done in this same conference room.

“There you go.” Joaquin smiles, finally ripping the drawer open.

“Good boy,” you pat his head with a smile.

You barely have time to fluff your hair and make your clothes look a little disheveled when someone slams down the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Buck?!” Sam yells, taking in his now open-concept conference room.

“I-I-I just,” Bucky stutters, eyes bouncing from Joaquin back to you.

He must have heard wrong, but he can’t get the sound out of his head. The breathy moan from the back of your throat you used to give out, the rhythmic scraping of the desk, the good boy.

That phrase is what made him go crazy. Your praises used to be reserved for Bucky and only Bucky.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky gulps, cheeks painted red.

“Excuse me, Congressman.” You slip past him, but not fast enough for him not to catch your perfume.

“You changed it.” He calls after you, not caring that anyone heard.

You stop in your tracks. “What?”

“You changed your perfume.” He says so matter of factly.

“I did.”

“Why?” He sounds hurt almost.

Bucky had found that perfume at a shop one time he was away on mission in Berlin. He couldn’t help but stop by. He spent hours there, trying to find something that was as perfect as you.

“I grew out of it.”

You walk back to your desk, ignoring a very confused Sam and Joaquin. You were going to keep acting like nothing happened, even if Bucky’s facade is starting to break. And even if it breaks a piece of your heart to know that Bucky still recognized your perfume.

—————

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You mutter, walking in to Isaiah’s gym.

There, standing in his full glory, was Bucky.

“Oh man isn’t this great!” Joaquin jumps up beside you. “We get to spar with Bucky!”

“Great,” you tighten your jaw.

Bucky and Sam spar in front of you, the blue eyed man having the upper hand, as always.

“Hey, remember what I told you?” You trail the tips of your fingers up Joaquin’s hand, stopping at his pumped biceps. “About us?”

His eyebrows furrow but just for a second before remembering your agreement to act like you’re dating.

“Here too?” Joaquin looks around the almost empty gym.

You nod, noticing that Bucky’s guard lowered the second Joaquin brought you to his side.

With a punch, Sam sends the supersoldier down on his knees.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Sam cheers around the ring, never noticing that Bucky’s eyes are only on you.

“I’m up next.” You call out, slipping your hand out of Torres’.

“Break the old man in half!” Isaiah yells from your corner.

“Congressman.” You address him, trying not to let his stare get to you.

Bucky tries to look menacing but his eyes eventually soften.

“You’ve got this, honey!” Torres calls out.

“I thought you said you never wanted a cheerleader.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

You tried to keep your focus on him but you couldn’t help but think back at the time you’d told him that.

At first, you were the one who wanted to keep things a secret. Saying that exact same thing, I don’t need a cheerleader. I don’t need someone who publicly applauds me. I want someone who treats me right.

“I realized I want someone who doesn’t hide me.” You grit, throwing three punches.

Bucky stops all of them but one.

“Yeah! That’s it!” Joaquin yells as your punch comes in contact with Bucky.

But your punch doesn’t make him want to win the spar, it makes him drop his guard.

“What’s going on?” You push his hands up.

Bucky lets out a soft smile. “You know I could never spar with you.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” you huff. But the Sergeant doesn’t change his stance.

“C’mon sweets,” he whispers just for you, jutting out his jaw. “Give me your best shot. I know you want to do it.”

You roll your eyes, throwing the boxing gloves on the floor of the ring. “I wouldn’t want to give your make up team more work. Covering a bruise would be tough.”

Joaquin is the next one up.

“Don’t go easy on my Sarge,” Torres laughs, but Bucky has no intentions of doing the same.

His blue eyes narrow and before Torres even realizes it, Bucky kicks his legs and drops him to the floor. Joaquin tries to bounce back up but Bucky uses his vibranium arm to slam him on the floor again. Pushing his metal forearm to his chest, making Joaquin start to cough.

“That’s enough!” You yell but Bucky seems to be fixed on the young man.

“Stop it! You’re going to hurt him!” You yell again but nothing gets through to the old man.

Joaquin taps the floor three times but Bucky is restless.

Sam and Isaiah share a look of concern.

“Bucky! It’s fake!” You finally let out. “We’re not dating!”

The second his name leaves your mouth, the trance is broken.

“What?” Bucky looks back at you, letting Joaquin slip from his grasp.

“We were pretending.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Were we believable?” Joaquin croaks out.

“You were faking it?” Sam’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

“So you could send me undercover.” Joaquin gives Cap a smile.

“I made it up.” You look down at the floor.

Sam’s eyes widen. “Again, why?”

“To make me jealous.” Bucky drags his hand down his face. “And it worked.”

“You’d be jealous, of me?” Joaquin looks extremely surprised.

“It was a stupid thing and I shouldn’t have done it, I’m sorry.” You wipe the sweat from your face. “Let’s just drop it.”

“No, of course I’m not going to drop it.” Sam throws his hands up.

“We dated.” Bucky gulps, looking back at you.

That’s what you always wanted. Right? For Bucky to admit that what the two of you had was more than casual. But it didn’t feel right.

“W-wait what?!” Joaquin’s eyes bounce from you to Bucky. “You dated the fossil?”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“No.” You finally speak up. “We never dated.”

“Oh c’mon! Stop with the lies and the bullshit!” Bucky yells, stunning everyone in the room. “I’m sick of this war brewing between us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You look down at your feet.

“Tell me it didn’t mean anything,” Bucky comes closer to you. “I’ll leave you be if you look in my eyes and tell me it didn’t mean anything.”

“You were the one who wanted things like this!” You raise your voice. “You were the one who pulled away, you were the one who ended things! You don’t get to come back into my life after you wanted nothing to do with me!”

“That’s not-“

“You left! You destroyed me!” Your voice cracks. “My whole life was turned upside down, all because of your stupid career. You left me behind like I was nothing. Like I was just a casual fling.”

“Well maybe I made a mistake!” Bucky’s nostrils flare. “Maybe I was stupid and clueless and took advice from people who know nothing about me!”

Your chest heaves, his words make your body sting.

“And maybe I’ve regretted that same decision every day!”

“Well it’s too late for regret, Congressman.” You whisper.

His steel blue eyes burn into yours. “Tell me it meant nothing. And I’ll leave, forever.”

“Please, just leave.” Your voice trembles.

Bucky runs his hand through his dark hair. “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you really want.”

“It is.” You gulp, the words leaving a bad taste on your tongue.

Bucky walks out of the gym, but your heartbeat thumps faster the further away he is.

———-

You’d come back from a mission on an incredibly rainy summer day. The weather was hot and suffocating, the worst combination. But at least you were home.

You zipped off your tactical suit, turning on the tv just enough to drown out the rain pattering outside your window as you made a cup of tea.

“Breaking news coming from DC,” you faintly hear the news reporter on your screen. “Voters are now changing views after future congressman James Buchanan Barnes’ speech today.”

“What the fuck-“ you turn up the tv as Bucky’s face takes up the screen.

“I am here because I want to make a change in the world. But with change, comes comprehension. My life has been spent serving the public, but I cannot let that dictate my private life. I am in love with an amazing woman who has also dedicated her life to protecting the people. And if voters cannot comprehend that, then they shouldn’t vote for me. Because I refuse to let the love of my life walk away just because she isn’t what you think-“

Before you know it, tears well in your eyes. It’s been weeks since your heart was ripped out and now, it’s finally feeling like it’s healing. But maybe time wasn’t what you needed, you needed the man you love to tell the world that he loved you too.

Three knocks on your door make you shoot up from your couch.

Slowly, you open the door to reveal Bucky. Standing on your doorstep, drenched by the rain.

“Sam told me you were back.” He mumbles, his eyes grey and cloudy. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to see me but I- I just can’t be away from you.”

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice trembling from tears. “Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth.” He takes your hand in his. “I love you. And I was stupid to not see it then but I want you to know it.”

“I’m so tired,” tears fall down your cheeks, “tired of acting like I don’t want you. I yearn for you. I ache for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky kisses your temple. “I was scared to admit that I love you. But I do, I love you like nothing else. I should have never said that. Please, I’m begging you. Forgive me.”

You melt into his touch, finally finding what you lost all those weeks ago. “I forgive you.”

Bucky holds your face in his hands. “You were never casual. You’re the love of my life.”

Authors note: hihiiii omg thank you so much for the love on part 2 and 1!!! Alsooo, I’ve just posted new chapters for my book! I’d love if you could give it a look over! Thank you and love you.

Tagged:

@toldyouitwasmelodrama @ellabellabunny123 @cjand10 @oikarma @ironwinnerwonderland @whoreforbarnes @aio-Targaryen @athenabarnes @Natlovesu @bonnyclydecat @shanksstrawhat @yeonjunarchives @sassysteph56 @ordelixx @mostlymarvelgirl @sh1zhu @erinallene @the-bucky-one @unaxv @kodzukenie333 @g1g1l @hanacheryl @ironwinnerwonderland

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky

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frostiexavier · 2 months ago

Text

˖⁺(undoubted attraction)_🖤

☆ MINORS DNI | 18+ ONLY ☆

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

✮♱✮ summary: Sylus was invited to a luxurious party with you as his plus one. Unfortunately the dress you were planning on wearing does not fit the way you wish it would, making you doubt yourself. But don’t worry, Sylus is there to give you all the reassurance you need.

✮♱✮ warnings: sylus x fem! reader, unprotected p in v sex, reverse cowgirl (kinda), mirror sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), praise from sylus, dom sylus, reader feels insecure about how a dress fits, i think thats all sorry if i missed anything hehe

✮♱✮ word count: 3.2k

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆꒷꒦꒷⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

“Here you go Miss, it just arrived this morning. Boss will be in later so he said to take all the time you need to get ready”, Kieran said while handing you a beautifully decorated black box with a silky red ribbon attached to it.

“Thank you boys”, you reply, looking at both Luke and Kieran.

“No troubles, we will leave you to get ready. Make sure to smile when we take pictures later”, Luke states as the boys exit the room.

You giggle at Luke and Kieran as they shut the door giving you a thumbs up. You smile widely at the box. This is the first time you are going to something this fancy and you are going with Sylus of all people. You want to look your best and you picked out the best dress a couple months ago while you went with Sylus to get measurements done.

You excitedly unwrap the bow and open the black box to see a layer of sparkly black tissue paper. You slowly move it away and gasp as your jaw drops. It's more beautiful than you had remembered it being a couple months ago. The dress was black but had red accents all throughout the dress. It has a glittery shimmer to it and there was a slit where your right leg would be. You stood up excitedly and held it up to your figure in the mirror.

You could not wait to try it on and accessorize it. You hung the dress up on a velvet black hanger on the door before heading to the bathroom.

You played your favorite music as you started to curl your hair and do your makeup. You are so excited to go to this event with Sylus and try new foods, maybe dance with him. You blush at the thought of dancing with Sylus in public but it also makes your heart flutter. Like he read your mind, you got a text from him as you were putting on your final touches of makeup.

Sylus: Hey Kitten, almost ready for tonight?

You: Yes! The dress is so beautiful. I can’t wait!

Sylus: Me either, see you in 20 mins sweetie.

You set your phone down and finish the look off with some lip gloss that gives a red dewy look to your lips. You admire yourself in the mirror and you look stunning. You run back to the bedroom and remove your robe you were wearing to put the dress on.

You unzip the back of the dress and step into it pull it up by the straps and over your shoulders. Everything is going well until you zip the dress up. You are able to fully zip it but for some reason the dress feels tight. You turn around to look in the mirror. The dress is tucking underneath your chest area making your chest pop and your stomach pudge. You frown a second and try to readjust your dress but it keeps scrunching up in the same area. You take it off a second and grab a measuring tape and see you have gained an inch or 2 since you last were fitted. You knew you had gained a small amount of weight but thought it was just bloating or period related.

You try to think of what to do and decide to try a bodysuit underneath to see if that would cinch your waist a bit but it failed you, the dress still looked awkward. You tried to pick your brain and google solutions but everything you attempted still didn’t make the dress look right. You checked the time and it was almost time for Sylus to be home and take you to the event. You couldn’t help but start crying. You were angry and frustrated, you just wanted this night to be perfect. You wished the dress looked and fit like it did that day a couple months ago.

A knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. You quickly wipe your tears away and tell whoever is behind the door to come in.

Sylus walks in with a small smile on his face which quickly fades as soon as he sees you. He had a small box in his hand that he quickly sat down before walking toward you.

“Have you been crying? Did Luke and Kieran say something to you? I’ll kill them.” he states about to run out the door to the boys when you stop him bu tugging his arm back.

“No, No Sylus it's not them”, you state and his demeanor calms down.

“Then what is it, Kitten? Why have you been crying?”, he says lifting your chin to look at you properly.

You can’t help but shed another tear and look away from him, pulling your chin out of his grasp.

“I look horrible in this dress”, you say just above a whisper.

“I didn’t catch that, say it again?”, Sylus asks, leaning closer to you so he can hear you through your sobs.

“I said I look horrible in the dress, it doesn’t fit me”, you say softly while sniffling back some of your tears.

“Stand up, let me see”, he says and watches as you stand up from the bed and turn toward him.

Sylus examines your body up and down and he looks dumbfounded. He raises an eyebrow before he replies.

“Kitten, I don’t quite understand what you mean?”, he lowkey chuckles and you roll your eyes at him.

“Right here, it looks awkward”, you say pointing to the area that you are displeased with. He moves his head side to side and looks back up at your face.

“I think it looks great, nothing awkward about it. I think you look beautiful in that dress”, Sylus explains honestly as he sits on the bed admiring you.

“Of course you would say that. I wish it just looked the same as before, it looks so ugly on me now.”, you say, turning away from him and tearing up more; slightly ruining your makeup now.

Sylus gets up from his seat on the bed and walks behind you and looks at you in the mirror, your back facing him and both of you facing the mirror.

“I don’t lie, sweetie. You look gorgeous in my eyes, always. If you aren’t comfortable we can find you a new dress”, Sylus states as he tries to wipe the tears off your face.

“That’s not the point Sylus”, you say facing toward him. “I want this dress to fit me like it did a few months ago. But I just had to gain a little weight and now it looks ugly on me. I look ugly”, you say looking downward as a tear falls off your cheek.

“What did you just say?”, Sylus asks, his tone sounding different. You feel his fingers lift your chin up, your eyes meeting his crimson red ones that are now a shade darker than before.

“Huh?”, you asked with a shaky breath.

“I said, " What did you just say?”sylus asks, taking a step toward you. Sylus doesn’t like it when you degrade yourself. You are everything to him and he will stop at nothing ro make sure everyone, including yourself, knows just how precious and beautiful you are. You normally are quite confident in yourself but tonight your own expectations just weren’t met.

“I said I look ugly”, you repeat as a nothing tear decides to crawl its way down your face.

“Turn around and don’t move”, he states and whips you around facing the mirror.

You let out a small gasp at the sudden motion of turning around so quickly. Sylus makes his way to the front of you and gets down on his knees.

“What are you doing?”, you ask him and he piers up to look at your face.

“I’m going to show you how beautiful you look in this dress”, he says as he snakes his hands from your ankles and slowly makes his way up to your thighs.

“Sylus, we don’t have time for this”, you say, wiping the remaining tears from your face.

“We have all the time in the world if it means making you realize that you’re wrong about this.”, he says and grabs at your black lacy panties, pulling them down in one swift motion.

He pulls off your red heels and hooks the leg coming out of the dress's slit over his shoulder. He wastes no time and licks a long stride up your heat.

You gasp feeling him on you so suddenly. He laps at you a couple times when he notices you staring at him.

“Don’t look at me. Look in the mirror”, he states firmly. You draw your attention to the mirror, the imagine of him between your legs on his knees makes your legs feel like jello. He is so incredibly attractive like this but his voice draws you back.

“Look at you, not at me”,he says firmly. You hesitate for a moment but do what he says.

As soon as you look at yourself he continues. He licks another stride up your folds and the latches you clit between his lips, gently sucking. You moan out, throwing your head back.

He stops and slaps your pussy and you look down at him with a frown.

“Eyes forward, only on you or I stop, got it?”, he replies and you nod. You look back at the mirror facing yourself and he goes back to sucking your clit.

Lick after lick, suck after suck and you feel yourself dripping down your leg. You want to close your eyes so desperately but can’t because the Sylus would stop. You know he is watching you to make sure you behave so you just continue to look at yourself in the mirror.

You feel him insert a finger inside you and you grip his head with your right hand leaning forward placing your left hand on the side of the mirror. You are very close to your reflection at this point and you can feel Sylus smirk against you. He doesn’t lighten up with his tongue on your clit as he inserts another finger, using both fingers to pump in and out of you.

You scratch his head with yohr nails and he groans in your pussy.

“You got your claws out now kitten?”, he asks, making you squeeze around his fingers from his comment.

“You’re so beautiful, this dress is nothing without someone like you wearing it”, he compliments in between sucking your clit.

You tug at his hair again but he keeps going.

“No one could wear it like you can, let me ruin you in it like you can”, he moans and your legs start shaking. Between his words and having to stare at yourself coming undone you don’t know how much longer you will last.

He moves his fingers in a “come hither” motion and you push his face toward you move, practically riding his face at this point.

“Sylus I’m-“, you can’t finish your sentence but he knows you.

“Go ahead kitten, show me how pretty you look cumming in that dress”, he says while moving his fingers fast and sucking harshly on your clit one last time.

You watch yourself come undone in the mirror and grip his scalp, hoping you aren’t hurting him.

He growls and laps up your sweetness as he works you through your orgasm.

After you come down a bit, he licks one more stride and stands up to face you. He uses his thumb to wipe any remnant off his face and pops into his mouth and sucks it.

“Mmmm you always taste so good, but I need more. I also don’t think you are fully confident yet either”, he says, stepping toward you until your thighs meet the bed. He pulls you toward him and spins you both around. He takes a seat on the bed and unzips his black pants and pulls them down along with his boxers. His large girth stands tall with a slight curve that fits you just right.

You can feel his gaze on you, a shade of warm pink painted on your cheeks.

“I love the admiration kitten but tonight’s not about me.”, he says and turns your body around.

He bunches your dress up and makes you walk back toward him to take a seat on his lap.

“Now, I’m going to please you until you can see it in yourself what I see in you”, he whispers while kissing up your neck to your ear. His seductive voice sends chills up your spine.

“I won’t stop until I hear you say it”, he says aligning himself with your entrance.

He slowly helps you sink down on him, inch by inch and you both groan as he is fully sheathed inside you. You close your eyes to feel him filling you up completely.

“Eyes open kitten, this is your last warning”, he says, thrusting out and then back up into you, making you bounce on him. You open your eyes immediately from the jolt and he takes your face in his left hand. He grabs your face and makes you look in the mirror once again. This new position surprising you, not knowing if its because sylus is also right behind you but you look attractive in this angle. He starts thrusting into you at a fast and hard pace, making you bounce up and down on him. He continues to kiss you from your neck to cheek to ear and repeats in these areas, making sure to tug your ear a few times with his teeth.

“Come on kitten, say something, tell me how pretty you look right now, taking me like this”, he continues. You moan at his words and nod. You do think you look pretty right now, at this moment.

“I look pretty”, you reply and he shakes his head.

“Say it like you mean it”, he says as he moves his right hand down your abdomen to your clit. Rubbing it in figure eights.

“Oh god Sylus fuck-, I look hot taking you like this”, you say looking at where you two are connected, his finger have you spread open were you can see everything. He jerks your head up slightly to meet your own gaze once again.

“and?”, he asks, wanting you to continue.

“I look stunning in this dress, it was made for me, I look beautiful and I feel beautiful”, you say and he looks at you with admiration in the mirror.

“That's my good girl”, he says and starts to rub your clit faster and thrusts into you deeper. You grip his thighs so you don’t fall off of him. He lets go of the grip he had on your face and wraps it around your abdomen to keep you close to him.

He starts moaning into your ear and you face him. You place your palm on his cheek and admire his features, you pull him into a passionate kiss and when you let go you rest your forehead against his.

“You make me feel beautiful”, you admit tk him and that's all it took for him to let go.

“I love you”, he says while he paints your walls inside white with his cum.

His release and confession makes you come undone as well. Sylus makes sure to work you both through your highs.

He bounces you up and down a few more times before he removes himself from you.

“Sorry, was that too much?”, Sylus asks and you giggle and shake your head.

“No, you were perfect. Thank you for making me feel better”, he kiss his cheek.

He chases after you and catches your lips, kissing you with love.

“Well, if anything you can blame me because I think I ruined your dress”, he says and you look in the mirror. You look at it but nothing seems to be wrong with it.

“No I think my face and thighs are ruined”, you laugh looking at your makeup smeared face and the juices painted all over your thighs.

“Wait right here I can help you fix it”, Sylus gets up and wipes himself off with a tissue before stuffing himself back into his pants.

He leaves to the bathroom and comes back with your makeup bag, a washcloth and a few safety pins.

He wipes your thighs off and hands you the makeup bag. You wipe your makeup off completely and start over.

“I have to make a quick call and I’ll be right back”, he gets up and leaves the room but returns in a matter of minutes.

After you are satisfied with your makeup he gestures to you to stand up.

He unzips the back of your dress and moves your hair to the side. He grabs a few of the safety pins and pins the two parts together leaving a little bit of space. He grabs your hair and places it over the area to hide the safety pins.

“Okay now look, does that seem better to you?”,he asks and you look in the mirror. The place you hated before was fixed just like that. The area now lies flat against your stomach, not making it look bunched up in an awkward way.

“How did you do that?”, you turn around and look at him in surprise.

“I called the seamstress to see if I could fix it somehow, apparently it just takes a safety pin”, he says smirking down at you.

“I think it’s perfect now”, you smile and he kisses your forehead.

“It was perfect before, I just want you to be comfortable”, he smiles.

“I know, I just had momentary insecurity thats all”,you say and look away from him.

“Well I am glad it was momentary, you know if you ever think poorly about yourself I will always reassure you”, he says, lacing his fingers with yours, holding your hand.

“I know, thank you sylus”, you lean up to kiss him and he kisses you back with a smile. A knock at the door breaks you out of your kiss.

“What is it?”, Sylus grumbles.

“The car is here for you sir and misses”, Luke and Kieran say in unison.

“Be right there”, you say and look back at Sylus and giggle.

“I hope they didn’t hear us”, you admit to Sylus.

“Probably wasn’t the first time and won’t be the last time Kitten”, he winks and you swat at his chest. He pretends you hurt him and you move to exit the room.

“Wait, I got you something”, he says while grabbing the small box he sat down earlier.

“What is it?”, you say as you stop to turn to face him.

He opens the box to reveal a thin silver chain necklace with a crimson red gem dangling from the end.

“Sylus its beautiful”, you say and he grabs it and places it around your neck then connects it in the back for you.

You go to the mirror to look at it. It's absolutely stunning and goes perfectly with your dress.

“Shall we my lady?”, he says with his arm held out for you. You nod and wrap your hand around his arm as he escorts you to the car outside.

You both had a wonderful time at the event, you both had some champagne and people gave multiple compliments to your dress, making you smile. You and Sylus both enjoyed your time but the night was far from over when you both got back that evening.

♱⁺.⊹꒷꒦ ꒷꒦⊹.⁺♱

a/n: Sorry guys if this was trash but hopefully it met the sylus girlies expectations <3 I love sylus girlies fr 🫂 anyways, Xavier my pookie freakie pie will be last and then ill probably write headcannons for a while and take a break from all the smut until im ovulating again muhahaha

#love and deep space #love and deepspace #lads sylus #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus smut #lads smut #lads x reader #lads

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ceesimz · 2 months ago

Text

Wings (part one)

You return to the Norway National Team. (autistic!reader)

Reverie fics here! I've put a lot of time and care into this one as I wanted it to feel absolutely right because it's been a plot point since the very first few paragraphs of the original reverie story. So, I really hope I've done it right and done it justice and that you all believe it fits too🙃 (and a p.s. thank you to @pickledwoso for coming up with some perfect ideas for me to work with and keeping me sane whilst writing, v v v grateful <3)

“Ingrid, I have something to tell you.”

It felt right to tell her the decision you’d come to only a few hours before, in a cable car somewhere in Norway; the decision you never thought you would be able to make again. A decision you knew Ingrid had hoped to hear for years.

“Okay.” Ingrid said sceptically, dragging out the ‘y’ at the end as she did so.

You held the phone away from your ear for a second, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Bringing up the idea to Alexia had been one thing. Telling Ingrid about your intentions was another. It made it… real. Very real. And the words felt alien on your tongue, you sort of felt like they didn't belong to you. But, as Alexia and your family had encouraged you to the highest degree, welcoming and respecting and celebrating your decision with open arms, they did belong to you.

“I…” That deep inhale came right back out. Your mouth was dry and when there was a lump in your throat that prevented you from speaking clearly, your voice trembled and cracked with nearly every syllable in your next words. “I think I might try to… come back to the national team.”

For Ingrid, who was some hundred miles away in the same country, that might have been the last thing on earth she thought you would say in that moment. Not because she didn’t believe in you, of course not. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You are serious!?” The dark-haired woman exclaimed, almost leaping out of her chair where she sat at the dinner table with her family. Her brother rolled his eyes, used to her theatrics, meanwhile her parents glanced up at her with an anticipatory look.

Ingrid had been thinking about your situation with the national team for quite a while. She was certain that, at this point of your life, she could put her hand on her heart and say you would flourish if you went back. But you never spoke about it, so she never spoke about it, because it was a line she didn’t want to cross as it could have been catastrophic if she did. You had spent months thinking about your decision to leave all those years ago, you were a shadow of yourself as you struggled with the hectic nature of the career you’d delved into once the popularity of the women’s side grew, as well as the unkind and unfair treatment of the staff at the time. You almost didn’t come out the other side of it.

Your best friend had had a front row seat to how beautiful your life had turned out after your move to Barcelona. And this, well… she knew it would make your self-esteem, your confidence, your faith in yourself, it’d all sky-rocket. She didn’t have the words to express how utterly proud she was of you; it consumed her whenever she saw you smile, laugh, joke around with your teammates without overthinking everything or just going mute to prevent the possibility of an ounce of embarrassment. Whenever a tough situation came your way, you took your time to figure out the best way to get through it, and faced it head-on. You’d taken these last few years to discover yourself, to find out what you needed, what you were best at, and who you wanted in your life. There wasn’t a more perfect time to take advantage of all those lessons learnt, and tackle the one final thing that weighed on your mind.

“I think I might be.”

The squeal you were met with was deafening. However, despite how the pitch of it almost made your ears bleed, it overwhelmed you with relief. It didn’t matter that your fellow Norwegian hadn’t actually said anything yet, because that reaction spoke volumes. Literally.

“I am speechless.” Were the words she finally did land on. There was some hushed speaking in the background before you heard her excuse herself, followed by the sound of quick and heavy footsteps until it sounded like she slumped back onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. “You are joining the national team again.”

“Might, Ingrid. I might.” You corrected her, cautious that she was getting ahead of herself. Then, she had the audacity to click her tongue like it was you in the wrong. “There needs to be a lot of thinking going into it. I can’t just do it on a whim. I need to plan, and talk about it, maybe meet with the staff, I need to see what support they can give to me and h-”

“Okay, okay. I know this. Just let me be excited for a moment, let yourself be excited.” You could hear the smile on her face as she spoke, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t ease your anxiety a little. “We can plan it all another time, not right now. Be happy for yourself, this is a big milestone.”

Alexia, who had stepped out the room a little while ago to give the two of you some privacy, walked back in at that moment when you let out another deep breath, trying to will away the pit of nausea in your stomach. She expected you to be done on the phone now considering it had been a bit of time, however she was none the wiser to the twenty minutes of hesitation you had at pressing the call button. The door closed softly behind her and she leaned back against it, waiting and giving you the space you needed.

Honestly, having her there as you talked with Ingrid was comforting. Much more comforting than you thought. You weren’t sure why that was and when your opinion about such a situation had changed; normally these were situations where you did need to be on your own. It was a subtle change, it happened without you knowing, but it was a pretty big one. Having Alexia there helped to remind you that you could do this.

“It is.” You placated quietly, tracing your finger along the scratches and dents in the wooden desk that’d been in your bedroom since you were a teenager. “I am excited. Just very worried, and… stuff.”

“I am so proud of you.” Ingrid rushed out suddenly, and there was quite a significant amount of emotion in her voice then. “So proud. I- oh my god.”

“What?” You said, somewhat concerned at the slight shock she seemed to be experiencing. It was all explained when, no less than a second later, Ingrid bursted out into full-on sobs. “Ingrid, are you okay?”

“Yes! I’m okay.” She blubbered, to which you turned to Alexia with a slightly amused glance until you felt tears brewing as well. “Just proud. So proud. I can’t even say how proud.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” You mumbled shyly whilst she continued to cry. It was all very… dramatic. But it also couldn’t have gone any better than it did.

“When we get back to Barcelona, I’m gonna come see you and I’m gonna hug the life out of you, okay?” Ingrid said sternly, and it was that determination of hers that made your first tear fall. “And then we’re going to make a plan together. We’ll get whoever we need. Me, you, Ale, maybe Caro or Esmee or Frido, whoever you need. We’ll sort things out and make sure you get to do this how you want, how you need. I promise.”

“Okay.” You nodded though she couldn’t see you. Another tear fell, and you realised you felt way too many things then to be able to express what you wanted. It was a flaw you loathed, but a flaw other people accepted. So you learned to accept it too. “I love you, Ingrid.”

“I love you too. I know you don’t like phone calls so I’m going to let you go, but just in case you didn’t know already, I am really proud of you for this.” You let out a huff of amusement and smiled at her. “Please text me whenever you need to about it, no matter when or what it is. Anything you need, snuppa. Always. I’ll see you soon.”

You thanked her, bid her goodbye, hung up, let your phone fall to your lap, and covered your face with your hands. Alexia waited a minute or two, trying to gauge your feelings, a frown on her face at the sporadic sniffles that came from you. She cautiously took a few steps closer as you leaned forward and took your hands away, resting your arms on the desk and your chin atop them.

“Ingrid is really happy about it.” You murmured, breaths stuttering as you told her. Alexia smiled and came to stand beside you, going to put a hand on your back before hesitating, and opting for the back of your chair instead.

“That’s good.” She hummed, to which you nodded. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

Her smile doubled in size and she moved behind you, her arms wrapping around you and her hands landing on top of yours, her chin on your shoulder as she pressed her lips against your cheek.

“You should be. You should be so proud. We’ve all got you through this, I love you.”

You would never tire of hearing that.

—

Ingrid really wasn't lying when she said she'd hug the life out of you next time you were together. In fact that might have been an understatement.

At your favourite café, the one you had your first date and were soon to plan your biggest personal milestone at, you were nearly hugged to death by the person that'd watched you grow and had helped you get to this point. Alexia laughed quietly from her chair at the surprise on your face, clearly having underestimated the truth in Ingrid's promise. But then the three of you sat down together, Ingrid across from you with Alexia beside you, and delved straight into it. They didn't hover on the novelty of the decision, knowing too much attention on it might cause you to shut down and close off about it.

You spent almost two hours with them, making a plan and discussing what accommodations and support you would need to make sure things went as well as possible. An initial list was written, and once you had spent some time thinking about it and finalising everything, then you'd tell the staff at the Norway National Team that you intended to return. Your target was the February international break, but you hadn't written off the possibility that might be too soon. Ingrid and Alexia did well to remind you that it didn't matter when you went back. All that mattered was that you felt you were in a place that you wanted to go back. That was enough of an achievement in itself.

Some days you woke up determined that you could do it, it’d be a breeze, and nothing could dim your excitement. Other times, you were wracked with anxiety. So much so, it was hard to think clearly about it, which is where Alexia and Ingrid came in. Any time you got too overwhelmed at the fucking gigantic obstacle that stood before you, they brought you right back to reality. They gently eased your concerns, offering solutions and words of wisdom and comfort and rationality, to the point you wondered why you’d gotten so worked up in the first place. That happened countless times over breakfast at the café, and you got through it with the end result being a plan to get you back where you belonged.

“I think this is a good starting place now, no?” Alexia smiled over at you and Ingrid whilst you put the lid on your pen and slumped back in your chair, inhaling deeply.

The list was fairly long, featuring things like you getting to choose who you room with or even maybe rooming on your own (though you were sure you’d most likely want to be Ingrid for some peace of mind), making sure there was no pressure to participate in anything you didn’t want to do social wise, being able to drop out of camp at any point should you need to, having the final say in if you want to play in the matches or not, and a number of other things too. It was a good starting place, you were satisfied with the things the three of you had brainstormed so far. Though, it hadn’t done a thing to ease your overall anxiety. Sure, these things might help, but it’s still a terrifying thing to go through with.

After all, what if the staff there just say… no? To your requests? You can ask for help but you can't choose how people decide to help you, which makes such a crucial step so petrifying to approach. Especially when they had no qualms in doing so in the past, and it was probably why you never wanted to tell anyone at Frankfurt about your disability.

You’re an adult, you don’t need these things.

It’s unfair if we make these accommodations just for you and nobody else.

You’re being ridiculous and unnecessary, you have nothing to be so anxious about.

If you can't handle it, maybe you don't belong here.

Those were the kind of things they said to you back then and they still echoed around your mind anytime you thought about asking for support from anyone. What people don’t understand is that they have a much longer lasting impact than most realise. For the people saying them, they’re just a momentary thing, they’ll forget they said them an hour after the conversation ends. That’s not the reality for you. Hours, days, weeks, months, years after, their words will continue to taunt you and mock you, adding fuel to the fire of the malicious thoughts your brain musters up whenever you’re struggling.

The fact that your entire experience anywhere in the world lies in the hands of the reactions and opinions of other people, both in terms of support and general behaviour, is… there’s no words to describe the fear it induces. A large portion of the world won’t ever need to even worry about having to go through that, yet they’re the ones controlling the puppet strings. It’s very ironic, and unfair.

“It is. Anything else?” Ingrid asked you gently, to which you shook your head. Your face communicated differently, like you still had a million and one things on your mind, which didn’t surprise either of them. “What are you thinking? Anything for right now or shall we finish up?”

The two of them gave you your space to think as you decided whether to voice these fears or not. They’d heard them a hundred times, Ingrid especially, but you still had them anytime you did something new and it would always be this way.

Your mouth opened and closed a couple times as the last remnants of hesitation slipped away, before you took a sip of your water and spoke afterwards.

“There is so much that’s out of my control.” You began, talking almost in a whisper as the weight of your fear prevented you from speaking any louder. Like, if your voice was half a decibel higher, the staff at the national team all the way in Norway would come storming into the cafe with pitchforks at the ready. “I tried for years to advocate for what I need and they hardly gave me anything. They could just do the same again.”

Alexia knew that was something Ingrid would have to answer to; not only because it was the team Ingrid played for as well, but also because… she’d had to fight for things at Spain camp too, everyone knew that, and everyone knew that things didn’t go well and still weren’t going well. So, instead of floundering to find the right words she didn’t have, she reached out to put her hand on your knee. Within a second, your hand slipped under hers, and she squeezed it instantly to offer some more comfort. You glanced at her and just one look at her face, at her soft smile that spoke volumes of her confidence in you and her eyes that were so loving and free of judgement, it grounded you. How was that possible?

“The staff that are there now aren’t the same as who were there in the past. There has been a lot of reshuffling over the years to try and make it a better place for everybody and I’m certain that it is much better. I would never lie or sugarcoat that, I mean it absolutely.” Ingrid answered honestly, and you could tell by the seriousness in her face that she did mean it absolutely. You looked at Alexia again for a moment, feeling extra secure in the response to your question when she nodded, even if she had no idea whether Ingrid was telling the truth or not. “The only person that is still there is Heidi, who you-”

“She does the best kjøttkaker med potetmos!”

At the mention of the one person that still worked for the national team, your face and mood lit up. Ingrid grinned and nodded, whilst Alexia chuckled softly with a shake of her head. Even in the time you’d been with her, which was years after you last played for Norway, Alexia had heard all about Heidi’s, one of the chefs hired by the team, excellent cooking, especially for one of your favourite safe foods from back home.

…surely, in only a few years, she hadn’t lost her talent?

“She’ll be so happy to see you again, kjære.” That reminded you of another worry you had.

“What about everyone else?” You mumbled sheepishly, insecurity clear in your tone that had your girlfriend frowning beside you.

“Trust me, they will all welcome you back with open arms. Please don’t doubt that for a second.” Ingrid said firmly, ensuring she didn’t leave any room for you to still fear such a thing.

It was understandable, of course it was. Both Ingrid and Alexia knew why you would be worried – in situations like that, the people you’re surrounded by could make or break your experience entirely. Regardless, it still killed them to hear you sound so uncertain if your return would be well received, and it hurt them even more that they couldn’t swear on their lives that it would, because it was just an unknown where the only way to tackle it was… by going through it.

If they could change the world to make it a better experience just for you, no matter the cost for their own livelihoods, they would do it in a heartbeat. They didn’t believe it was fair you had to live with these anxieties all the time, but if they could help by at least being there for you, then they would settle for that.

“Don’t forget that you aren’t doing this alone, engel.” Alexia chipped in softly as her hand squeezed yours once more. “You will have Ingrid there, Caro, Frida, Maren. There will be some you haven’t met or spent much time with and it’s normal to be worried about meeting them, but you won’t have to do that alone. You’ll have people there that love you. And I will only be a phone call away, for anything.”

These were all things that, when you were in the right mindset to think rationally, you knew. The anxiety that’s experienced with autism is a hard thing to describe, it’s different to a general anxiety disorder. Anxiety from an autistic perspective doesn’t involve just the fear of the unknown, it’s the chaos and the unpredictability of what is known. You know there’s people out there that hate you because of how your brain works, they could be next to you and you wouldn’t know until you do something that ‘provokes’ a reaction from. You know there’s people out there that believe you’re weak, that you’re worth less than the average human because of some minor things you can’t do, that are waiting for you to trip up so they can make a laughing stock of you. You know there’s people out there that are looking for an excuse to use your disorder against you. And there’s almost nothing you can do about it.

Nothing, but live your life how you want to. So that’s what you’ll do.

“Okay. I think that might be it for now.” You decided as, by that point, you were a little overwhelmed and in need of some time to process everything that had been discussed and planned. The two of them nodded, but they didn’t say anything. Ingrid especially just… looked at you. Very peculiarly. “What’s that face for?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged, though it was very clear she was fighting off a rather large grin. Then, it hit you what she was thinking and dying to do.

“Don’t say i-”

“I’m just so proud of you.” She beamed, and it was a miracle she didn’t start running laps of the café judging by the excitement on her face. You groaned and rolled your eyes, covering your face with your hands as Alexia laughed and put an arm around your shoulder to pull you into her side.

“I’m so proud of you too.” The blonde murmured, her lips grazing your temple in a soft kiss that had Ingrid rolling her eyes at the hopeless state of you both.

“We’re done. Home time.” You told them, shy and a little embarrassed under their constant praise, standing abruptly in your chair. They laughed, not at all offended because it was so you, and stood up too.

The three of you tucked your chairs in, you folded up the piece of paper your list was on, slipped it into your pocket, then suddenly found yourself in the centre of a group hug.

“Gruppeklem!” Ingrid called out a tad too loud for the small café you were in, though you didn’t find yourself caring. As they wrapped their arms around you and embraced you tightly, literally surrounding you with their love, you realised you couldn’t care less about the people around you when these two were by your side at all times.

Despite how well the planning had gone, the topic was still on your mind for the rest of the day – a day which was relaxed, with no plans, to allow you the time to come down from your stresses and process the onslaught of information you’d taken in over breakfast.

Luckily, you had the perfect solution to all your problems that evening.

A combination of two of your favourite love languages: physical touch and quality time. However, it wasn’t quality time in the normal sense, rather for people like you, it was more commonly called parallel play. Being in the same space as Alexia whilst you both did your own individual things, in your own worlds, was something you adored and wouldn't ever be able to describe why. And you both were in your own worlds; you playing a video game on the TV whilst Alexia had her nose stuck in whatever true crime book she’d chosen that week.

The midfielder was lay back against the sofa cushions as you sat against the arm of it, your legs across her lap and her hand on your thigh trailing her fingers absentmindedly, the only time she stopped being when she turned a page. Dinner had been and gone, it was late evening by that point, and a good forty minutes had passed since you last exchanged even just a word with each other. Because it wasn’t necessary.

On the other hand, Alexia knew that your mind was going a million miles per hour, she swore she could almost hear it. Instead of disturbing you, she let you be, like always. You would come to her if you needed it, which was exactly what you did. Even though you knew you were probably getting a bit repetitive at this point, sometimes you just needed a single reminder to put you at ease.

When you paused your game, Alexia noticed, but she didn’t react. You seemed hesitant to speak, though she knew you would eventually, so she didn’t push. You were almost certain you didn’t love anything else in the world more than how well Alexia knew you.

“You seriously think I can do this?” You whispered.

In an instant, her book was closed and her attention was on you. Her now free hand reached out for yours, her head dropped back against the cushions, and she gazed at you with a smile that revealed her answer before she even spoke.

“I have never been more confident in anything in my life, than I am in you right now.”

Well, what more could you ever need?

“That’s a bold statement, Ale.” You teased her lightly, a hint of a smile on your face with some pink cheeks that Alexia swore was her favourite sight in the world.

“It is one I believe in and you should too.” The look she fixed you with was a mix of sternness and softness, but it did little to settle you much. With a sarcastic roll of her eyes, she gently pushed your legs off of her and shuffled closer to sit on the edge of the couch, putting her hands on either of your cheeks. She kissed your forehead, a featherlight brush of her lips that caught you off guard with the pure tenderness of it, before she gave you that same look from a moment ago. “Stop thinking for tonight, okay? It’s not doing you any favours, so stop. Give yourself a rest. What can I do to help?”

You shrugged, not giving yourself a second to consider it because you didn’t want to ask for anymore from her. Until she raised her eyebrow at you, a light scolding that made you laugh quietly.

“Can’t we just… lay here, together? You help without even having to do anything.” You sounded incredibly shy as you answered her, she couldn’t help but grin in turn. Though, secretly, that was an admission that she was sure she would remember forever; it was all she could wish for.

So for the rest of the evening, that’s exactly what you both did. Alexia instructed that you lay on top of her with your head on her chest, which you were more than happy to comply with, and she resumed her story as you put on a show on the TV. One hand held her book whilst the other slid under your shirt, splaying out on your back and soothingly tracing shapes with her fingernails up and down. Then, the two of you retired to bed later on, and you woke up the next morning without feeling like an elephant was seated right upon your heart. God only knows where you would be without Alexia.

—

February came around much sooner than you anticipated, which meant it was time to leave. You decided a few weeks before that this was the right time to go, and with some back and forth meetings with the necessary staff, your accommodation requests had been met. Without any hesitation or argument or frustration. It went… oddly smooth.

The meetings and video calls were not good for your heart due to the anxiety they caused, but Alexia was there by your side when she could and you got through them all like they were nothing. Most importantly, you stood your ground. If someone suggested something else or wasn’t sure if it could be done, you hardly flinched, and assertively told them exactly what it was you were asking for. It was kind of hard not to be distracted during them when Alexia would grin like a proud maniac off camera every time you advocated for yourself.

And fortunately for you, by some miracle, the day you both had to leave her flight was later than yours, so you managed to spend the morning together where she helped to make sure you were absolutely ready to go, both in the sense of packing and how you were feeling mentally. You’d never reach a perfect state of mind about going, you were still an anxious wreck, but it was more nerves than anything else. You were prepared, you were ready, you wanted to do this and you were going to do it. Not only that, you were going to try your damned hardest to make sure it went well.

When you received the call that you were officially part of the lineup for the next camp, and when you saw your name in the call-up announcement, it was an unmatchable feeling. Sure, you already knew that you were going to be part of it considering it was all you thought about for weeks, but having your name down with your teammates, old and new, there were no words to describe it.

You were minding your business when the email came through, in the physio room after training for Barça when your phone went off with the notification. With no idea what it could be, you opened it, only to gasp so intensely you could have actually created a blackhole in the room for a second. Where in the past you would have kept that moment to yourself, you couldn’t help but turn to Esmee on the bed beside you and show her it. Her reaction was somewhat like yours, just a little less oxygen-stealing and a bit more reserved. She hardly had time to give you a hug before you were darting out the room and beelining straight for the locker room.

In the midst of your rushing, you nearly knocked over three different members of staff, all of which received flustered apologies from the culprit, you, who was already rounding the corner and out of sight. You hadn’t ever run so fast in your life outside of a football pitch, and you then gave each teammate the fright of their lives by how utterly loud the door slammed open. But it was worth it to see you so consumed by joy, it was written all over your face the minute you walked in. You didn’t exactly mean to announce the news to everyone in there, you only intended to tell Alexia and Ingrid what had happened, but in your excitement you sort of forgot to keep your voice at a minimum. That meant that one second, everybody was quiet and intrigued at what had caused such a reaction, and the next they were all surrounding you with their pride and their congratulatory words when you burst out the news.

You knew the time would come at any point after you had your last call with them, yet it still took you by surprise. It was one of the best feelings you ever had. And for once, the anxiety didn’t completely overboard you, you were on cloud-nine and your mind let you.

Until you actually had to leave, and the moment you were stood by the door with your suitcase, heart racing unbearably fast as you said goodbye to Alexia, it all came flying straight back.

You were, on paper, back where you belonged. But you had to actually get there first, which was a challenge in itself because it felt like the second you stepped out the door and closed it behind you, there really was no going back.

Though, you had to do it eventually as no amount of stalling with minutes spent in Alexia’s embrace was going to hold off the inevitable. It’s just that… two weeks apart from her sounded really unappealing. This international break felt different than the rest – whereas beforehand you would stay in Barcelona as Alexia went to Madrid or whatever country she was playing in for Spain, this time you were obviously heading to Norway. You were grateful that both games for you were played at home, but god you were going to miss her during the break more than you ever had when you’d been apart.

With a sickening amount of reluctance, you eventually did manage to drag yourself away from her and down to the car where both Ingrid and the driver had been waiting a bit longer than they’d hoped for you.

Then, a couple hours later, you were in Norway.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here.” You breathed out shakily as you and Ingrid stood before the hotel the team had booked in Oslo.

“You are actually here.” Ingrid beamed beside you, her arm linked through yours and nudging you out of excitement.

First order of business was finding your room, that was easy. But after that, there was a whole team dinner. Hell.

“I think I might be sick.” You swallowed nervously as the woman beside you laughed and shook her head.

“We’ve got this! Are you ready to go in?”

“‘Ready to go in,’ she asks.” You scoffed, though you contradicted yourself with how you headed towards the entrance. Ingrid tried her best to control her excitement, but she was very self-aware at the fact she probably looked somewhat in pain due to the intense smile she was holding off. Thankfully for her pride, however, you stopped in your tracks just outside the doors to go in, and in turn she frowned a little. You glanced at her, then the doors, and back at her again. “You’ll stick with me always?”

There was only one suitable reply from Ingrid.

“Like glue, søster.”

If there was anyone that stuck to their word, it was her. And it was that final push that gave you an ounce of confidence that was enough to go inside.

Luckily, the two of you were some of the first to arrive, and the others that also had were already up in their rooms, which made your first order of business just that bit easier. Introductions could be saved for later, at dinner.

A whole team dinner. Where the whole team would be. The team you hadn’t seen in years, or hadn’t even met. The team that could either love you or hate you for not representing your country once in the last few years. The team where each person would do anything for the crest on their jerseys, the names on their backs, and the anthem that played before each match.

What on earth had you done.

“Ingrid, I don’t know if I can do this.” You fretted a little later in your room after spending some time there, unpacking and overthinking, before you were due down for dinner. Time had gone far too fast for your liking.

Ingrid had a hand on the door handle as you stood behind her, shaking with nerves and sick to the pit of your stomach. Even forgetting what felt like your inability to socialise and greet people in that moment, you probably wouldn’t even be able to stomach a forkful of food during the meal either. It was merely a recipe for disaster.

“You can, I believe in you. I’ll be there the whole time, alright? You know that. Once you get there and get sat down, we’ll be okay.” She reassured you.

God knows how many times she’d uttered those words or similar over her life, yet she had no qualms doing it then and probably forever. It never failed to amaze you how much patience this woman had.

At that, you followed her out the room and down to the hotel restaurant with a feigned confidence that you wore like armour. If you told yourself you belonged, maybe you would start to believe it. So that’s what you did; you walked in, head held high and a calm expression on your face that you hoped worked as a good disguise for the absolute reactor meltdown happening inside your mind. Alarms going off, red lights flashing, system on overdrive, workers in hazmat suits running riot like headless chickens, buzzers beepi-

“Is this table okay?”

It was one of the ones at the back of the room, a little bit away from the front where Gemma, the manager, would stand with the rest of her staff to welcome everyone back.

Oh fuck. Would she welcome you back and make a big deal out if it?

“Kjære?” Right.

“Sorry, yes, here is fine. We’re the first ones here?” You asked, looking around at the sparse room apart from the cooking staff setting up off to one side.

“Looks like it.”

Over the next ten minutes or so, your teammates slowly began to trail in. Each one came over after spotting Ingrid first, until they spotted you. And every time, their faces lit up immeasurably more when they realised who they'd bumped into.

They were happy to see you. Or at least they seemed it, you weren't a mind reader so could only take their kindness at face value. One by one, they took their time to catch up with you or to properly introduce themselves, bright smiles on their faces and their tones welcoming. Maren and Ada gave you a huge hug, Caro wandered over with a quietly proud look in her eye, Frida immediately took a seat beside Ingrid and delved the three of you into conversation. Karina, Teri, and Celin filled the rest of the table after greeting you, followed by a couple others coming over before finding their seats within the room.

And as simple as that, the hardest part was over.

Did your hands tremble like a magnitude 8.0 earthquake? Yes. Did the amount of strangers in the room terrify you? Undoubtedly. But did you make it through regardless? Of course you did.

You were capable of so much more than your anxious mindset gave you credit for. It was cruel and it was evil, the tricks it’d play on you to make these sorts of things seem much more daunting then they were, but some things would never change and the terror that filled you in the anticipation and the build up to a nerve-wracking occasion was certainly one of them.

You’d built the situation up in your head so much that when you got through the ‘scariest’ part, you didn’t exactly know what to do with yourself or where to go next. All your focus had been on meeting everyone again, when it was over, it all felt very… anticlimactic. T’was a little humbling.

“You coming to get dinner? There’s someone there waiting for you.” Ingrid grinned slyly. Apparently you were so deep in your daydreams you’d missed how everyone had left to go collect their meals. That was a habit you could never shake off.

You stood and trailed behind the dark-haired woman, queueing up along with the team and slowly padding your way to the front. You heard her gasp before you saw her.

“Look who's back!” Heidi. God was it such a relieving sight to see someone you knew, someone that worked for the national team that didn't resent you when you asked for what you needed like they all did in the past. It was refreshing, relieving, and the exact perfect reminder that it wasn’t all doom and gloom, if at all.

The older woman didn’t hesitate in rounding the corner of the buffet setup to engulf you in a bear hug that felt comforting, like a warm welcome back.

“It’s so good to see you again.” You told her, only for her to squeeze you harder, almost forcing the oxygen out of your lungs with the sheer strength of it.

“You don’t say!” She let out a hearty laugh, and despite the years that had passed, not a single thing about her had changed.

Her hair, silver-streaked and woven into the neatest plait on earth, was hardly tucked away under the net she wore and the cool colour of it did nothing to distract away from the warmth her demeanor oozed, nor did the ice blue of her eyes. She was the picture of what living a true, kind life could lead to; one could only hope to age as well as her. Wrinkles dotted her face, though they weren’t from age alone, they were from decades of time well spent, laughing and smiling with people she truly valued, people like you. People whose lives she made a hell of a lot better by being who she was.

There was something about her that, upon first meeting, made you feel at ease, like you had at least one person who understood you in an environment where most didn’t. And years later, you still felt that way and more in her company. Even just her presence gave you a spark of hope, which would sound strange to some, but she was the type of person that restored one’s faith in humanity. The talented chef had stories for centuries, and somehow each had a different life lesson that left every listener dwelling on it in awe the rest of the night. She’d lived through some hardships, many more difficult than most could grasp, yet there was no bitterness in her.

Only when someone dared to mention retirement to her.

“You will never understand how happy I am that you are here.” After she let you go from her embrace, her weathered hands cupped your cheeks with a delicateness only someone like her possessed. They trembled the tiniest bit as her thumbs ran along your cheekbones, gazing up at you in wonder, as if you joining the national team again was like the second coming of Christ.

“Took me some time but nevermind.” You smiled shyly, only for her to tut at you with a stern eyebrow raise and a shake of her head.

“None of that. I have something for you.” Before you could stop her, tell her there was no need, she was rounding the counter and ducking down to grab something from the hot cupboard. She stood up straight, in her arms a silver food platter. And when she took the lid off to reveal a steaming hot meal, there was only one thing it could be. “Your favourite!”

It wasn’t on the menu, not at all, yet she went out of her way to make it anyway. No matter how small a gesture it may seem to others, it meant the world to you. Heidi didn’t have to do that, she didn’t have to treat you like her own blood, but it was just in her nature to be that kind of person. It turned your whole day around.

“Heidi!” You exclaimed, looking at the dish with an ecstatic expression. Single-handedly, she had just solved your food concerns for that evening, because the offer of a safe food cooked by the best that made it was simply no match for whatever tricks your anxiety tried to pull on you. “I can’t believe you! Thank you!”

“I also will make your favourite breakfast tomorrow too, the best vafler in the land.” The wise lady grinned coyly with a wink. “Think of it as a welcome back, to get you settled in, okay? I’m proud of you for coming back, now go sit yourself down before you miss the briefing. Come find me afterwards for a catchup.”

Speechless. You were utterly speechless at her kindness. Every time you saw her again, she seemed to one-up herself without fail.

Internally, Ingrid marvelled at the smile on your face as you sat back down with your food and took a photo of it to show it off to Alexia, before immediately digging into it. It was like night and day, what that one act of kindness had done, because suddenly you weren’t stuck in your head overthinking everything, and instead were just happy to be there. You hardly even flinched at the small message Gemma gave in her briefing at your return, you simply smiled and forgot about it when she moved on to the next topic.

Some things were so simple and easy and small, yet somehow always made the biggest differences. If more people understood that, how far a little kindness could go, God only knows what the world could look like not just for people like yourself but for everyone. For now, however, you were happy to settle for some incredible kjøttkaker med potetmos and the warm, bubbly feeling in your chest at the fact you were surrounded in your life by people that adored you so wholeheartedly, they’d even get excited at a fairly bland meal whilst they were hundreds of miles away in a completely different country.

Alexia decided to refrain from telling you about the teasing she got as a result of checking her phone every minute in the hopes of a text from you, and the gigantic smile with a pink tinge to her cheeks she adorned whenever she did get a message. That was information you would never let her live down.

—

With little fanfare and fuss, the first training session the next day was… fine. It was good. It was different from Barcelona and Frankfurt, every team’s training was wildly different, but you found your groove fairly quick. Some of your teammates and staff even went so far to say it was like you never left, you adjusted that well. Which felt like the highest compliment you could receive, and it was, considering the way it never left your mind for the rest of the day.

What came with your list of amendments and accommodation was the freedom you had to choose how your days went, aside from the football related activities. So once training finished and the cool down in the gym, where you were left alone from anyone you knew previously with a bunch of the players you’d newly met, went off without a hitch and the tactics discussion for the upcoming game came and went, you had the rest of the day to do whatever you wanted.

Initially, you floundered at the overwhelming prospect of plans thrown around by the people you and Ingrid hung around with, as well as others piling in their suggestions, so heading back to your room for a little while seemed like your best bet for the time being.

In your mind, as you sat on the edge of your bed, every idea someone had was an opportunity to try and fit in socially with the team. Slotting in well on the football side was good, best case scenario really and all you could ask for, but feeling like you belonged as a person and not just a player would be the cherry on the cake. So you thought through each suggestion, approaching them like they were tactical styles for a game and trying to guess which one would end in the best result for you, your hands tapping endlessly on your knees as you stared out the window in front of you.

Going out with Celin, Teri, and Karina could be fun, but they were a loud bunch. You were notoriously shy around people you didn’t know, you didn’t want to bring the mood down by being with them. So you could tag along with Caro and Guro and Sophie and a few others, though again apart from Caro you didn’t know them all that well. With people you don’t know, you can’t prepare for hanging with them, which opens up a world of awkwardness. There was Maren who wanted to catch up with you, Frida wondered if you and Ingrid wanted to go to a cafe she liked in the area, there were so many possibilities yet you had no idea where to start. It felt like you had too much to do with too little time, even though it was only the first full day.

Ingrid kept an eye on you from afar, ensuring you didn’t work yourself up too much, until that exact thing happened and you stood abruptly with a groan.

“What’s bothering you?” She prodded gently, dropping her phone to the bed and fixing you with a reassuring look.

“I don’t know what to do the rest of the day.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as Ingrid smiled. She stayed silent, giving you space to think. A moment later, you collected your thoughts and tried your best to construct them. “I just don't know. There's so many choices, I didn't know what was on the agenda for today so I couldn't really think in advance. I also don't want to drag you away from whatever you want to do, so that ma-”

“You know by now that I don't care about that. And if I ever did, if there was something that I was unbelievably desperate to do, I would tell you. But there isn't. I love spending time with you, that'll never change, you're my best friend. So, talk it through with me. Do your thinking out loud, it'll help rather than keeping it all stuck in there and overwhelming you.” Her interruption was stern but with good intentions, a minor warning that ticked all the right boxes.

“Okay.” You nodded, took a deep breath, and sat on the end of her bed, facing her with your legs crossed. “I want to get to know everyone if I can. I want to fit in as a person, not just a player. But I don’t know where, or who, to start with. Everyone is so welcoming and I didn’t really expect that, and now I don’t want to disappoint anyone by not seeing them today.”

“We have two weeks here, remember? We don’t have to do everything possible in Oslo today. Take it easy for today, do what feels right, what you want to do and not what you think everyone else wants you to.”

You considered it for a moment. Then decided that actually made a lot of sense.

“Getting coffee with Frida sounds good.” You stated sheepishly. You’d made a big thing out of nothing, once again. Though, you didn’t spend too long dwelling on that because to the people that mattered, they couldn’t care less about it. In a good way, that is.

“It does. So that’s what we’ll do.”

And that’s what you did.

An hour after your momentary blip, you were out walking the chilly but sunny streets of the capital. You hadn’t been there in a long time, so spending your first day refamiliarising yourself with the city with Frida and Ingrid was a good way to ease into the next fortnight. The young blonde midfielder was great company, and honestly you were glad to finally have the opportunity to get to know her more. Ingrid had sung her praises plenty of times, so to be with her now as well as the dark-haired defender as a buffer was perfect.

The whole afternoon was perfect. The three of you spent hours, dipping in and out of different trinket shops and cafes, whilst conversation flowed easily throughout. Most importantly, you didn’t feel the need to mask much, and that was always the best sign of a budding friendship for you. So when you trudged back to your room, bidding Frida a goodbye as you went your separate ways with Ingrid, you felt you’d had a pretty successful first day. Really, it couldn’t have gone any better if you tried.

There was just one niggle in the back of your mind as you slipped your shoes off and slumped down onto your bed; it was only the first day, and already you missed Alexia a million times more than you thought. You would have done anything to be able to have her waiting for you in the hotel room, ready to welcome you back with open arms and endless reminders of how proud she was. But no, she was in a different country, doing her own thing with her own team on her own schedule, and there was no getting around that. You took a glance at your phone to see it void of notifications from her, just to top it all off.

As a result, despite the day you’d had, you were left feeling pretty flat.

Unfortunately, when you got stuck spiralling, your mind was your own worst enemy. You took your longing for her as a sign that you possibly relied on her too much. Without giving it much thought, you decided that had to change. She didn’t need you nagging her, constantly talking about yourself and how your day went when she had to pull her team and its dividedness together. Distancing yourself from her was for the better, for her sake, or so you thought.

Not much could get past Alexia, however.

“Hi!” The Spaniard said down the phone the second you picked up a couple hours later, after dinner when you were just about to get into bed. Then she cleared her throat, trying to quell her unbridled excitement. “Hola, engel. How was your day?”

“It was good. Nothing… nothing much.” The first red flag of the phone call.

“Oh, really? Your first day training with Norway again was nothing?” She teased lightly, not quite catching the gist of your plan.

“Yeah, it was.”

There was an awkward silence as Alexia frowned in confusion where she waited in the elevator for it to reach her floor. She'd ran from the dinner hall the moment she could get away, just to talk to you. She was expecting an upbeat version of you, not the one she got.

“Are you okay?” She murmured. All she got in response was a half-assed hum.

Ingrid, who was gathering her things from her suitcase to have a shower, couldn't help but eavesdrop. She knew exactly what you were doing, hell, she'd been on the receiving end of it a number of times in the early days of knowing you.

Other people's opinions terrified you, and one sub-topic of that was how scared you were of people thinking you were incapable of doing anything on your own. Incapable of being your own person, of not depending on anyone, of needing your hand held through every little life event. And as someone that hadn't ever been in such a serious relationship before, and had also been called childish and other insults a million times for apparently ‘lacking’ independence, the line between missing someone and being too clingy was blurred for you. Consequently, you did what you did best: avoiding situations that made your chest ache and your mind spiral.

Except that was hard to do when you were doing it in front of two people that knew you best.

“Are you sure you're o-”

“Yes, I'm sure, Alexia.”

Alexia thought she might have been sick, it was so far from how she pictured the day ending. When she called you, she swore she could almost hear you relaying your day with a shy excitement to your voice before you'd even picked up the phone. As it turned out, things couldn't have been further from the truth.

On the other hand, the outsider in all this rolled her eyes. When emotions weren't tied into a situation, it was actually pretty easy to see the real picture.

With absolutely zero hesitation, Ingrid dropped her things on her bed and marched over to you. She could vaguely hear Alexia fumbling a response that you weren't paying a single bit of mind to, but before the midfielder could finish, the phone was snatched from your hands and put on speaker.

“Ingrid! What the hell are you do-”

“Alexia, please don't be discouraged by her. She's panicking because she misses you. And she's worrying because she's never had anyone to miss before, she doesn't want you to think of her as clingy or anything. When we both know she's not clingy, she's in love. So, be her girlfriend, tell her you love her, and get her to tell you how successful her day was. Thank you.”

Just like that, she handed the phone back to you and headed into the bathroom, the lock clicking behind her.

For a few seconds, the line was silent between you and your girlfriend. You were frozen in place where you lay, whilst Alexia had her hand on the handle of her hotel room, a small, amused smile beginning to make its way onto her face at the strange turn of events. Although it upset her to hear what you were really thinking, it was fixable, with only a few words of reassurance. And it just so happened to be that expressing how much she adored you was one of her favourite things to do.

“Is that true?” She asked, finally stepping into her room and leaning back against the door as it shut. There was another pause, until you scoffed lightly, and Alexia broke out into a grin.

“...Maybe.”

Some soft laughter down the phone had you groaning and slapping a hand over your face, whilst the culprit of your embarrassment slumped down on her bed and kept the grin on her face.

“Why would you think that, engel? I told you before you left that I want to hear from you, always, whenever you want. I have my phone notifications at full volume so I don't miss any of your calls or texts.” The blonde recalled the teasing she'd received the night before after Laia called her out for her attachment to her phone, the same teasing she was adamant she wouldn't tell you about. Well, she'd do just about anything to make you feel better. “Everybody keeps teasing me for being on my phone so much, apparently I don't leave it alone.”

“Apparently?” You joked, a small smile growing at the chuckle she replied with.

“Sí. How do you know I'm not checking the weather all the time? You know I hate the rain.”

“No, you just miss me too much.” You weren't wrong there.

“I do, and it's normal for you to miss me too much too. There is no such thing as too much, amor. You're not clingy. I want you to tell me everything, I wish I could talk to you all day every day, I wish I could be there in the cold with you. So please, tell me everything. Even all the boring things. Nothing is boring or too much with you, because it is you. Do you understand?” She spoke earnestly, not an ounce of judgement or mockery in her tone. She spoke with every intention of getting you to believe her, and you fell for it everytime, it was impossible not to.

“I have never missed anyone as much as I miss you right now.”

It was an admission you weren't expecting to voice but one you believed with every fibre of your being. It came out quietly and shyly, because you were sharing a certain truth that scared you. Alexia didn't scare you, that couldn't be further from reality. But sometimes when you thought about it, when you thought about how she was the first person in the world you showed every single part of yourself to, it terrified you of what she could do with all that. You hadn't done that before, ever.

Then she walked into your life, strolling over to you on your first day at Barcelona with an ease to her that gave you butterflies, and all of a sudden half your life was merged with someone else's. You'd spent years building up a wall between your heart and the rest of the world, something you didn't have much of a choice in if you wanted to protect your sanity and will to live. Someone was on the other side of that wall now, had your heart in the palm of their hands, and whilst that was the scariest thing you'd ever done, more than rejoining the national team, when you stepped back and remembered who it was, there wasn't a thing about it you would change.

The back and forth of fear and serenity was tiring, but it was happening less and less. This time, however, you knew it wouldn't happen again when-

“I feel the same way.” She stated definitively, leaving zero room for you to disbelieve her. “I would do anything to be there to watch you play in a Norway jersey with my own eyes. If I wasn't one more thing away from being kicked off the national team then I'd be there for you, of course I would. I really would give anything to be there in person.”

“Really?” You mumbled sheepishly.

“Yes! Yes I would. Without a doubt. I know it scares you that you feel like this, it scares me too. But nothing truly good ever comes without it being at least a little terrifying. Like now, you’re in Norway, playing for your country. It was the scariest thing you’d ever done but you’re there now and in only a couple days you’ll be out on the pitch, doing what you’ve wanted to do for the last few years. It’s always worth it in the end, no?” The last sentence was said with a knowing, soft intonation behind it.

To hear she felt the same was surprising. She was Alexia Putellas, someone that never appeared to show a bit of weakness or fear in anything she did. There was you, who could barely stomach the thought of going to a farmer’s market on a busy day. None of that mattered when you were on the phone with that very ‘fearless’ woman, who was openly admitting that the things she felt scared her, though she knew it was worth it. That you were worth it.

“I had no idea you felt the same way.” Again, she let out a little laugh, a sound that made your heart skip a beat even if that was an incredibly cliche thing to say. You were quickly learning that love actually was quite cliche, and you weren’t the slightest bit mad at it. As someone that never had anyone to experience the cliches with, you wanted to experience all of them, no matter how sickly sweet.

“This is why we talk about things, engel. It’s just me. You know I will never judge you for anything you say to me.”

“I know that.” You told her. Then you went quiet for a few moments, because something that you’d realised a couple months back suddenly made itself known, and in a second it felt like it became a life or death matter to tell the very person it concerned. “Ale, you’re my safe person.”

The woman in question didn’t know what that meant. It still made her blush nevertheless, and she lay in bed with a redness to her cheeks and a coy smile on her face like a lovesick teenager.

“What does that mean?”

It was your turn to blush as you turned to momentarily hide your face in your pillow even though she couldn’t see you. You weren’t embarrassed as such to tell her such a thing, but in your world it was a pretty big title to give someone. Hell, it was the biggest.

Like you had your safe foods, safe routine, safe places, Alexia was the encyclopedia for all that, as well as your best friend and someone you didn’t need to mask around and someone you were madly in love with. If telling her that didn’t scare her off, you might just have to start believing that she did in fact want to spend the rest of her life with you.

However… that didn’t seem like such a shocking thing to you anymore. Maybe in her books, it was a year too late to start thinking that for yourself. But it was new for you, unheard of actually. It brought you immeasurable amounts of comfort, contentment, and pride. It was one of the first notable steps of progress you could recognise within yourself that you felt deserving of, and that was sure to give way to a world of possibilities for your confidence.

She definitely was your safe person, there was no denying that, and you didn’t want to deny it. You didn’t want your insecurities in the way anymore. Ale loved you and that feeling was unrivalled; you couldn’t wait for a lifetime of it.

“It means… I love you. More than anyone or anything. It means that being with you is the greatest comfort of my life and nothing could compare to it.” You started, and Alexia swore she could feel herself growing emotional. “You make the world seem quieter and feel safer. You make me feel like I can do anything because I have you, whether that’s when you’re beside me or just on the phone. I’m more myself around you than any other person on the planet and I’ve never experienced that before. Even better, you love me like that. You love me. The true me. Not the masked version where everything people normally don’t like about me is hidden. You love me even when I don’t love myself and that makes me feel safe. Because in that I feel valued, adored, all those kinds of things and the security that gives me is something I've never had before. Now, I… don't know what I would do without it. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.”

Coincidentally, to Alexia, it was also the biggest compliment she could ever receive. All that you said, was all she could ever dream of hearing and achieving. There was a rush of emotions she felt as a result of your short ramble, too fast for her to identify anything so soon, but there were two outliers that she’d be able to recognise no matter what; love, and pride. God, she felt so much pride towards you and towards herself, because you had gotten yourself where you were then, and because she was the exact person she wanted to be in her relationship. The worries and doubts she had at the start with you couldn’t be further away, there was no world they could exist in when you were saying such unimaginable things to her. Fortunately, she didn’t have to imagine them, they were the truth. They were the reality of the dynamic of your relationship.

Neither of you could ever ask for anything more – from each other, from the world, from your lives. Everything you needed was within each other.

“I will always try to be that person for you, engel. There is nobody else I would rather be.”

That was a pretty big statement in itself.

She didn’t care for being a footballer, for being Alexia Putellas. All she cared for was being your girlfriend, your safe person, the best version of those two she could be. The rest were just bonuses to her now. The gravity of what she just said wasn’t lost on you, it was perhaps the greatest verbal demonstration of her love she had ever given. You were pretty sure your life peaked in that moment.

“So, stop making me cry and tell me how your day went.” Alexia said, and you heard her sniffle quietly afterwards. You laughed, and she laughed too, both nearly delirious with the affection you had for each other. “I only have so long before Irene comes back and she is not seeing me like this. Hurry. I want to hear it all.”

At her request, you spent the next half hour relaying the events of your day, whilst Alexia lay there on her back, staring up at the ceiling, a hopeless and proud smile on her face and a hand over her heart, trying to calm the fluttery feeling in her chest that only increased with every bit of good news you revealed. She would simply never be able to vocalise how proud she was, the short five letter word simply wasn’t enough for her.

But with a miserable amount of reluctance, there came a time where you had to hang up for the night. And as silly as it may seem, going from talking to her, albeit on the phone, and having the comfort of her again, only to hang up and have nothing but an empty bed was a downer. Thankfully though, you did still have the woman that led you to have that conversation with you.

After you dropped your phone to the bed with a grumpy sigh, you looked to your left where Ingrid was on her bed, earphones in on her laptop. It seemed you were filled to the brim with adoration that night, because you got up and went to join her. You slumped down beside the dark-haired woman and rested your head on her shoulder, though opted out of speaking. This, Ingrid knew, was a silent way of saying thank you for her intervention earlier. She smiled slyly, leaning her head down on top of yours.

“I did it for you, you know. Not to be against you or aggravate you. There was no way I was letting you sit there and prevent yourself from letting her be there for you just because you were too worried and caught up in your own head. She loves you, she wants to be there for you. You love her, so allow her to be there for you, alright?” You smiled and nodded, though it quickly turned into a fairly dramatic frown at the mention of the woman you’d just had to say goodbye to.

“I miss her.”

In another country’s capital, a certain Spaniard was in the exact same position. She hadn’t moved from where she was when she was on the phone to you, and the smile on her face hadn’t shifted either. Just her luck that Irene walked into the sight, and Alexia had no choice but to sit up, slide one of her hotel slippers off her foot, and lightly launch it at the defender, who laughed at her for the dramatic Romeo and Juliet-esque scene she stepped into.

When Alexia went to sleep that night, her cheeks aching from the sheer amount of time she spent smiling, it was to the sounds of her brainstorming of all the ways she could show off her pride when she had you back in Barcelona.

But before then, you had a game to think about.

—

Part Two

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #ingrid engen #woso fic #alexia putellas #fcb femení x reader #woso #woso community

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celuere · 2 months ago

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New to this whole requesting stuff and leaving this b4 i forget but here goes nothing, sorry for the language. You work as arlecchino's maid in a mansion except everyone absolutely fears her, and here you are on her lap with dick/strap inside you scared for your life

I swear to you that sounded so much better in my head BELEIVE ME

help me get away from myself.

pairing: vampire!arlecchino x fem!maid reader

cw: bloodsucking, cockwarming, arle‘s fat dick, kinda forbidden relationship, no actual plot arle is just a horny fuck for you

anon i allowed myself to add a little extra to your request because vampire arle with her human maid... oh i’m SOLD. also kinda shirt but i really like this nonetheless, will probably be making a lil nasty series out of this… please go wild about this in my inbox. ignore the request break. just throw them at me.

thursday 3pm: dust off lord arlecchino‘s study.

that was your task. one might think it couldn’t get any easier than that.

she was by no means an easy person and there was barely a subordinate or one of her children who didn’t fear and/or respects her.

but trying to do your job turned out extremely difficult when you were sat down on your lord‘s dick as she buries her fangs into your neck.

„m-my lord-”, you couldn’t help but press yourself closer against her, wanting a bit of comfort to the stinging sensation that spread like a wildfire over your shoulder.

she only hummed against your skin, a low moan getting swallowed up from her side at your sweet taste. cursed hands coming up to further strip you of your already messed up attire, freeing your beautiful tits and rubbing her index fingers over your hardened nipples.

it only contributed to how tightly you were clenching around your master’s cock you were nestled onto. like a doll she was keeping in place.

she slowly let go of your burning skin, letting the blood run down your perked up tits before staining the fabric of your dress „you‘re tasting particularly sweet today, my dove…“, she leaned in before you felt her tongue gliding over your dirtied skin and savoring the crimson fluid. you tasted like salvation and sin at once. the forbidden fruit she wasn’t allowed to have. mocking her lack in self discipline. an ancient vampire- a vampire turned by her majesty herself- unable to keep her hands off of the sweet human maid that stumbled into her mansion a few months back. poor you was merely looking for a shelter from the rainy weather. you didn‘t plan on becoming your lord‘s pretty little bloodbank. her very own sanctuary. but the tip of her dick oh so gently pressing against your cervix wasn‘t exactly helping you to feel at least a little humiliation from your decision. you choose to stay here after all.

her fangs suddenly piercing the soft flesh of your right tit caused you to yelp, hips buckling into her as you watched arlecchino suck on your breast for all you were worth. the other hand resting on your thigh was now digging its nails into your muscle, trying to somehow fuse her very being with your poor soul. you didn’t know how much more your pussy could take like this with how arlecchino was practically moaning into your breast.

usually the lord was a feared figure within the fatui ranks. the clan was known for their ruthless agenda, yet its leader was kind right down to the bone. arlecchino forgot the details of her mortal life long ago, but something about the fragile mortal taking her cock while allowing her done on her crimson nectar. she was absolutely besotted with you.

the metallic taste spreading over her tongue with each gulp made her feel… alive. she forgot what it felt like. to feel. to be able to look at herself in the mirror. to be human.

to be weak.

you tried pulling away when she started taking bigger gulps of you. her grip no longer desperate but almost hurtful.

arlecchino often debated wether she should kill you or not. to leave you alive meant leaving a weakness in her profile. a weakness she couldn’t allow to influence her.

but who would suspect the knave having a soft spot for the mortal maid she kept hushing around like a dog?

the soft plea for her to let go of you pushed her out of her thoughts and surprisingly… she obliged. retreating her fangs from your flesh before pressing a soft kiss to your wounded skin, your consciousness was hanging by a simple thread. a thread she loved playing with. wether it by having you pump your fingers in and out that greedy cunt or watching you strip in front of her. she always found new ways to entertain herself with you.

just when she wanted to open her mouth, the soft knock against the door to her study reached your ears „my lord, some letters have arrived for you.“

your heart rate picked up and suddenly warming your master‘s cock seemed like a horrible idea to you but the hand resting on your ass kept you firmly pressed down on her shaft. she only clicked her tongue in slight annoyance.

„not now. i have…“, two fingers delicately rubbed over your already hard nipple before pinching it. you barely managed to cover up the yelp.

„important business to tend to.“, the corners of her lips quirked up at her wording. that terrified look amused her way more than she‘d like to admit.

„mh… did you really think i‘d just… let him come in?“, the black hand palming your behind was now gently tapping against your skin. she wanted you to start moving.

your mind was still hazy from her huge blood intake, but you were still the master of your senses enough to stay put on her aching dick.

„a-ah… m-maybe… i-i wasn’t sure…“

„now, now… i have no desire to show you off to the world while you’re riding me senseless.“, the woman leaned back in her chair, legs seemingly spreading wider as the red crosses in the void of her eyes lit up, „get to bouncing, pet.“

#albarequests #genshin arlecchino #genshin impact #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x female reader #genshin x female reader #x reader #genshin smut #arlecchino x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #fatui x reader

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cup1dluvhss · 30 days ago

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˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ BREAKUP & MAKEUP, written by cup1dluvhs

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ tired of hamzah’s lack of interest in your relationship, you attempt to break up with him but you end up doing the complete opposite (request).

| warnings: smut, dirty talk, angst

| taking requests!

you were lying on you and hamzah’s shared bed in your apartment, your lip captured between your teeth as you observed him from afar. he had a lot of work to do through the night, and you figured you might as well hang out with him considering you had nothing better to do.

to be truthful, you and hamzah weren’t on the best terms. you didn’t talk as much as you used to, and the lack of ‘i love you’s’ shared between the both of you was scarce. but, he was busy and at first, you figured things would get back to normal soon.

but they never did.

it had been two months since the two of you genuinely laughed together, and you were starting to get bored. you missed how things were, and you mourned the relationship you once had with him. however, when you brought it up with him, he looked as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

this obliviousness continued the next two times you tried to talk to him, and it was the third time which finally had you making a difficult decision about whether or not you wanted your relationship with him to continue. you had told yourself you’d ask him to talk again soon so you could tell him how you felt, but that was two weeks ago.

you swallowed, and realised it was now or never. you didn’t want to lie around waiting for him to finish work, because you knew you’d be waiting a while and would leave in the morning before he was up. then you’d come over again, and the process would repeat.

you sat up in bed, blinking a few times before clearing your throat. you should have been sad, or nervous, but you weren’t. you knew there was no fixing your relationship now.

‘hamzah?’ you said, your voice soft as you rose off the bed and walked over to him, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him.

‘..mhm?’ he said, his attention clearly not on you as a sigh escaped his lips, his eyes briefly flickering in your direction.

‘can we talk—please?’ you said, looking away for a moment, trying to add an element of seriousness in your voice so he’d listen to you. that didn’t work however, because he didn’t respond to you and made no effort to make it look like he cared about anything you had to say.

‘hamzah, are you even listening to me right now?’ you snapped, your brows furrowing as you scoffed, your lashes fluttering as you blinked rapidly.

‘i’m in the middle of something, y/n.’ he said, his voice stern as he rolled his eyes. that was your last straw. the way he went out of his way to make sure you knew exactly how little he cared about paying attention to you, how much stress it caused him for you to merely open your mouth.

‘i wanna break up.’

his head snapped in your direction, and his eyes were wide. you almost laughed, considering it was the most attention he had given to you in months and it was over you ending your relationship with him. he immediately pushed his chair away from his desk, and stood up in front of you.

‘y/n, are you serious?’ he said, his voice holding an element of disbelief as you scoffed, looking at the floor as your fingers tangled together.

‘yes? hamzah, we’ve barely spoken for months. we don’t say i love you anymore, and whenever we hang out it’s always like this.’ you said, your hand gesturing between the computer and the bed, your eyes slowly meeting his.

he looked desperate, like he had a million words to say, yet couldn’t say them for some reason.

‘baby, please. come on, we can work this out.’ he said, reaching for your hands. he took them in his own, before you sighed and took a step back, your hands slipping from his grasp.

‘no hamzah. i’m done.’ you said quietly, turning around and running a hand through your hair, before making your way over to the bed to grab your phone and some of the other things you had brought with you. you gasped slightly when you felt his hands grab ahold of your hips and spin you around.

‘so that’s it, then? you’re not even gonna give me a chance?’ he said, his voice slightly alarming you. he sounded aggressive, his tone ragged like he was genuinely angered by your actions which were his own fault.

‘you’ve had many fucking chances, hamzah. don’t act like this is out of the blue.’ you hissed, attempting to push him away from you, but he caught both of your hands in a rough grip, the feeling making you wince.

you looked up at him, swallowing as you observed his expression. there was no sadness or desperation, just—anger. pure, undeniable anger.

‘so your really gonna fucking do this then, huh?’ he whispered, his face so close to yours that you were scared to breathe. you tilted your head at him, struggling to find any sympathy.

‘yeah, i’m gonna fucking do this.’ you said, nodding at him as he began replicating your actions, a smirk playing at his lips.

‘yeah?’ he spoke, his tone almost mocking as your breathing became uneven and miscalculated, the proximity you held with him making you feel slightly nervous.

‘yeah—’

before you could get anymore words out, hamzah’s lips were on yours. rough, and passionate. you immediately went to to push him off of you, but that feeling of discomfort melted into something more. it had been months since he’d kissed you like this, and you had missed it.

his lips moved against yours, his hands grabbing ahold of your waist as he guided you over to the bed in the corner of the room. he guided you down until you were sitting on it, before his hands pulled your legs onto it, your lips not parting for a second.

‘fuck, i’m so sorry sweetheart.’ he mumbled against your skin as his lips began to move down to your jaw, pressing weak kisses here and there.

‘i’m so so sorry.’ he whispered again, his hands sliding up your little pyjama top as you whined in response. you thought he was being sweet with you—genuine. but you quickly began to second guess everything when you felt his teeth against your skin.

‘can i make it up to you, baby?’ he said, his head raising from your neck, his eyes locking onto yours as they softened for a moment looking at you— all flustered and ready for him.

‘hm?’ he said, a smile playing at his lips as one of his hands slid onto your clothed thigh, his thumb beginning to stroke slow, encouraging circles on your skin.

‘please.’ you urged out, completely forgetting why you were mad at him in the first place, the look on his face working numbers on you.

‘that’s my girl. so fuckin’ pretty, aren’t you?’ he mumbled, leaning back down to your face, lips pressing a quick kiss on your own before his hands slid down to your sweat pants, his fingers tugging down the waistband.

his eyes remained on yours throughout the whole process, and you found yourself biting your lip to prevent any sounds from coming out of your mouth.

‘this doesn’t fix things.’ you suddenly blurted out as his fingers began toying with the little bow on your panties, his head looking up at you as his eyebrows raised.

‘oh sweetheart, we’ll see how you feel when i’m done with you.’ he said, his voice filled with sincerity as he watched your eager eyes flicker back down to his body positioned between your legs.

your panties were off next, the process slow and agonising. hamzah was quick to get himself out of his own pants too, his breathing heavy as he positioned himself at your entrance.

‘—hamzah.’ you whispered, the anticipation killing you as your head fell back against the pillow.

‘how bad do you need it, baby?’ he said, beginning to guide his tip between your wet folds, a series of moans spilling from your mouth as you reached for something—anything to grip onto.

‘please, hamzah.’ you whimpered, your little noise morphing into something else entirely as he snapped his hips into you, bottoming out in a single thrust. in the first few seconds, you couldn’t even comprehend what had happened, until you felt his cock twitching inside you.

‘oh fuck, you feel— your so fuckin’..’ hamzah breathed, struggling to find the words as his hands landed on your hips, holding you down as he began thrusting into you roughly.

every snap of his hips made you slip more and more out of consciousness, your head falling back against the pillows as you gripped the headboard, his tip hitting that spot inside you only he could reach every single time.

your felt your body shake slightly, your hips squirming due to the pleasure. hamzah was quick to push your body further into the bed to stop your moving, his fingers digging into your skin.

‘stop fucking moving, i know you can take it. take it like a good girl f’me, pretty.’ he huffed, his thrusts beginning to pick up pace as you began letting out loud, unholy noises.

pressure began building in your stomach, and you felt yourself already beginning to let go. hamzah had never fucked you like this, and weren’t sure you’d be able to leave him if he continued putting this much power into your body.

‘hamzah— m’gonna..’ you whimpered, hands gripping his wrists which were still pushing your body into the mattress, your nails digging into his skin.

‘fuck, baby. let go f’me, yeah?’ he whispered, and almost instantly. his words triggered your orgasm. desperate sighs and moans spilled from your mouth as you lost yourself all over his cock, your mind going blank for a second. you screwed your eyes shut as hamzah continued fucking you through it, his movements not faltering for a minute.

you could tell he was close too, because his thrusts became slow and miscalculated, his chest heaving as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, a weak smile playing at his open mouth as his eyes stared into yours.

‘gonna cum so fucking hard, sweetheart.’ he whimpered, quickly removing his cock from your pussy before painting your stomach with his warm release, his head falling back slightly as your hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it slowly as more of his cum spilled onto your stomach.

there was a minute of silence before hamzah came back to life, his now thumb gathering some of his release from your stomach before bringing it to your lips, a stupid smirk on his face as he examined your disheveled state.

‘open wide, beautiful.’ he muttered, pushing his thumb into your mouth as you sucked greedily, before swallowing his load without hesitation. your eyes remained on his the whole time, and he stared at you in awe, his pupils completely blown out.

‘fuck—i’m sorry. please don’t go, y/n. i know we can fix this.’ he suddenly blurted out, his voice panicked as you quickly reached for his hands, holding them in your own as you attempted to shush his outburst, your body still positioned under his.

‘hamzah—it’s okay. i won’t leave.’ you sighed, sitting up slightly as you leaned forward and kissed his cheek reassuringly. his eyes practically lit up, and a smile made its way onto his face. maybe what you had wasn’t exactly perfect, but you were willing to give him a chance, especially after that.

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luffington · 1 year ago

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young master ♡

➤ summary: You don't worship the ground Doflamingo walks on, and it turns him on a little too much. (18+)

➤ pairing: doflamingo x afab!reader

➤ word count: 3.7k

➤ warnings: kinda sub!doflamingo (he’s a horny menace), mild dubcon, possessive doffy, spit kink, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), degradation, name-calling

➤ notes: this takes place before dressrosa but i’m only halfway done with the arc so sorry for any inaccuracies! i haven't posted my writing online in years so please lmk what you think :3

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Doflamingo was sulking. His signature smile was comically turned upside down and his arms were crossed over his chest. Feet resting on top of his desk as he leaned back in his plush office chair, crumpling the important documents strewn underneath them that he was meant to review and sign. He knew he probably looked like a petulant child, and he felt like one, too. This was all your fucking fault.

Even though you were only in your twenties, you were already a well-known Vice Admiral. Vergo had informed Doflamingo of your impressive Haki abilities months ago, but that wasn’t the only reason he kept a close eye on you. You were sexy as hell, even in a Marines uniform, and he delighted in every brief interaction he had with you at Warlord meetings. When you decided to take some time off, he snatched you up immediately with a tantalizing job offer. After all, working for him was technically still a Government job, and he was helping so many countries in need!

You made it clear from the very beginning that this was a temporary gig and you had no intention of permanently joining the Donquixote Family. You were his business partner, not his subordinate. He never planned on honoring that agreement, of course, but you were making his plans particularly difficult.

The man had hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of loyal and passive subjects. Obedient workers who never questioned his judgment and praised his iron fist, from the filthy commoners at the bottom to the Elite Officers up top. But not you.

You had the kind of effortless confidence that got under his skin. You were unbothered and detached from his evil antics, from him. He made his presence known everywhere he went and was always the focus of the room, but it seemed like you paid more attention to the damn servants than him. His threats and intimidation which made thousands tremble in fear hardly made you flinch. When he revealed the secret of Dressrosa’s toys in hopes of getting a reaction from you, you practically yawned.

You knew who he was. You knew what he was capable of. You didn’t fucking care.

You weren’t afraid of him, and this greatly disturbed him.

A few days ago, you had strolled into his office without even knocking on the door. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, but you barely took notice. You were there to discuss your agreement in order to figure out a time frame of how long he needed you. He threw his head back and laughed loudly as he said, “That’s adorable. You really think you can get away from me, hm?”

Perceptive as always, you noticed the slightest twitch of his middle finger and immediately held an Armament Haki-coated hand in front of your chest, blocking the nearly invisible string flung your way. “Doffy, I’m being serious.”

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. Diamante used that nickname once in front of you and now you wouldn’t call him anything else. You thought it was cute. “Since when can you block my strings?”

“Do you really think I’d be a Vice Admiral if I couldn’t do that? You were so obvious about it, too.” You clicked your tongue, knowing full well that anyone less powerful than you wouldn’t be able to perceive his movement. Prominent veins popped in Doflamingo’s forehead but the blonde man stayed silent. “I think I’ll stay here for a few more months, at least. Maybe longer if I don’t have a terrible time here. Dressrosa is kind of growing on me.”

“You’re acting like I can’t keep you here by force.” Doflamingo interrupted your train of thought. “I could have Sugar turn you into a cute little doll, and then your Vice Admiral position would disappear. Or Giolla could turn you into a painting to hang on my wall.” He paused as if considering his options, knowing full well what he truly wanted. “Maybe I’ll keep you tied up with strings as my own personal pet.”

Many times he’d pictured you tied to the headboard of his bed, stripped naked and covered in his drying cum as he used you however he wanted. Perhaps then he’d finally ignite a spark of fear in you.

“If you actually wanted to do that, it would’ve happened already. But you’re the one who hired me, remember?” You acted like you were explaining something obvious to a kid. “If you try anything against me, I can always call up the Navy and tell them what you’re doing to your poor innocent citizens. Maybe even let them know your alias? Begins with a J, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He snarled, sitting up in his seat immediately and binding strings around your wrists to keep them pinned above your head. You kept your eyes trained on his, a determined and almost taunting glint in them.

“I’m not a big fan of blackmail, so I don’t want to do that,” you replied in an even tone. “I’m just saying that I can. Now, are we gonna talk business, or are you gonna play cat’s cradle all day?”

Doflamingo should’ve killed you right then and there. That would’ve put an end to his confusing thoughts about you, but your conversation only made them worse. You were on his mind constantly, to the point where he couldn’t focus on anything else. It was an obsession, an infatuation, one completely unbecoming of a heavenly being like himself. People were meant to grovel at his feet and kiss the very ground he walked on – why the fuck were you not affected?

He finally had enough. He pushed the chair away from his desk and stormed out of his office. Servants hurried away in fear, knowing that his scowl and heavy footsteps meant nothing but trouble. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled around his mind — he wanted to make you scream, to completely immobilize you with his power, to kiss you so hard you saw stars. No, that wasn’t it.

He wanted you to call him ‘Young Master’.

Doflamingo threw open the double doors to a secluded drawing room in his typical dramatic flair. You were alone, reclining on a couch and reading a book. Even this pissed him off – you were in a potential viper’s nest, surrounded by powerful people who could turn on you at any point, yet you didn’t feel the need to keep others around you for protection. You turned your head towards the intruder in confusion. His massive body filled the door frame and light from the hallway illuminated him and his feathery coat from behind, making him look like a fallen angel.

“What Devil Fruit did you eat.” It was a statement, not a question. His voice was a dangerously low growl.

“I already told you, I didn’t eat one.” You said slowly, slightly thrown off by his demeanor but still not afraid.

“You lying bitch!” He roared, using his strings to slam the doors behind him as he crossed the room towards you in three giant steps. “You must have some kind of mind control ability, or manipulation, or… I don’t fucking know! Tell me what’s happening!” He threw his head in his hands and crouched over, almost as if he was in pain. “Why can’t I stop fucking thinking about you!”

Your mouth opened slightly and you blinked a few times to process the situation, and then it hit you. A sly grin slowly formed on your face as you dog-eared your book and set it down next to you. You knew this man was incapable of love in its purest sense, but maybe… “Doffy, have you never been attracted to someone before?”

His head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at you furiously behind his sunglasses. Of course he’d fucking been attracted to people – he refused to settle for nothing but the best with his lovers. He had fucked enough sexy men and women over the years to form a small army. But none of them were like you.

They were all cheaply made toys, suitable for one or two uses then tossed in the trash when they broke or when he got bored. He was a greedy and spoiled child who always got what he wanted. But with you… it felt like he was staring through the front window of a shop at a shiny new toy. So close and so enticing but completely out of reach.

“Fuck you! I… I…” You would never know how that sentence was supposed to end, because he sunk to his knees and hung his head in frustrated shame. He slammed his fist against the floor hard enough to rattle the room. “Why won’t you belong to me?!”

The almighty King of Dressrosa, the feared Warlord, the powerful underground broker, was on his knees begging for you. He knew he sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. But he couldn’t go a moment longer without getting what he wanted, what was rightfully his.

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You had always stood your ground because you knew your worth, but sometimes you did it to purposely push the blonde man’s buttons since no one else seemed to have the courage to do so. But you were just teasing him – this was not the outcome you had in mind.

You slowly stood from the couch to move in front of him. Even bent over, the massive man was practically your height, but he had never seemed smaller.

“Doffy,” you began in a quiet voice and reached out to gently touch his feather-clad shoulder, but he slammed the ground again.

“I don’t need you to patronize me! I need…” he trailed off again and hesitated for a moment before realizing what he needed to do to calm the fire roaring inside him. Fine, he would give you a fucking reason to worship him. He threw himself at your midsection, making you yelp in surprise. He had finally drawn a reaction out of you, and it spurred him on even more. Rough hands yanked your shirt up to your breasts and he hungrily mouthed at the soft skin of your tummy, a frenzied mess of tongue and teeth and soft lips. “I need you. Give yourself to me.” He said breathlessly, punctuating his words with a sharp bite at your hip.

You were frozen in place but weak in the knees, unable to do anything but accept his bites and bruises. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what his long tongue and nimble fingers felt like on your body, in your body. He nipped at your skin hard enough to bruise then soothed it with his tongue, sending heat straight to your core.

Doflamingo was in a drugged-like haze, mind clouded with a dizzying mix of lust and hatred and longing. He belatedly noticed that you weren’t resisting him when he popped the button on your jeans. When he looked up, he realized your cheeks were flushed and your gaze was trained on his long fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants.

He smiled wickedly, feeling a sliver of regained control. “You fucking whore. You want this, don’t you?”

“Doffy, you’re the one literally trying to get in my pants.”

“Shut up.” He snarled, annoyed yet allured by your sweet giggle afterwards. He yanked your jeans down to your ankles to reveal pretty pink lace panties underneath. They practically matched the color of his coat – you had to have worn those just for him. Might as well take them later.

A needy and unashamed whine tore from his lips when he saw your pussy. Even more perfect than he’d imagined all those times he fucked his fist alone in bed. He told himself this was what was necessary to crush that annoying ego of yours, knowing full well he was nearly shaking with pure carnal desire. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise and shoved your thighs apart before diving in. His tongue was ravenous, licking a sloppy stripe from your ass to your clit, mouth closing around the nub and sucking harshly. The sweetest moan he’d ever heard fell from your lips and he echoed it, eager to hear more.

Fingers tangled in his short blonde hair as you tried to steady yourself. It was too much all at once. You tried to tug him away to tell him to slow down, yet wanted to pull him even closer. Doflamingo flinched at the contact. Part of him wanted to tie your hands behind your back because how dare you touch him without permission. But instead, he groaned at the rough pull on his scalp, which went straight to his hardening cock. His grip on you tightened as he dragged you further onto his face.

His long tongue lapped messily at your folds then slipped into your cunt, shallowly thrusting the wet tip in and out. He laughed in delight at your delicious juices coating his tastebuds and making his head spin.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He panted and rubbed his nose against your clit, making you jump. A sloppy string of his saliva still connected his mouth to your entrance. “I think you like me after all.”

“I’d like anyone who eats me out this good,” you quipped.

“But no one’s as good as me, hm?” To prove his point, he shoved the entirety of his skilled tongue deep inside you. You threw your head back and whined as the wet muscle curled and twisted inside you, hungrily lapping at your sensitive inner walls. “No one will ever be as good as me. Say you’re mine and you can have this every day.”

“F-fuck, Doffy… so, mmh, good…” He ate you out like a man starved, desperately sucking at every part of your pussy he could reach. One hand moved from your hip, leaving dark blue fingerprint-shaped bruises behind, and plunged into his own pants. He let out a deep groan at the contact.

“Call me Young Master.” Doflamingo breathed heavily as he pulled his pants down slightly. Your jaw dropped when he revealed his massive and fully erect dick, leaking beads of precum and bobbing against his stomach. You knew he’d be big based on his height, but this was inhuman. The blonde man noticed your hungry gaze and chuckled. “You want me so badly. Stop denying the truth and I’ll give you everything you want. I am a benevolent king, after all.”

You actually laughed at that, and he didn’t even try to be angry – being on full display for you meant he couldn’t hide the way your disobedience made his cock twitch. His other hand slithered between your legs and rubbed at your folds and the smile fell off your face.

You stumbled backwards – there was nothing behind you to lean on and your legs were quickly turning into jelly. “W-wait, Doffy, I can’t, ahh, l-let me sit…”

Two of his fingers moved downwards and bound your feet to the floor with his string. Immobilizing your bottom half like a statue but intentionally leaving your top half free to grab at his hair and body as you pleased. “Your king will grant you permission to move when I want to.”

“S’okay, I l-like seeing you look up to me for once.” Your witty reply was lost on the blonde, who had spread your folds apart and was hypnotized by your entrance clenching around nothing. You were so fucking tiny compared to him and he ached at the thought of molding your insides to take him and him alone.

Just one thick finger was enough to make you moan and pant, slowly pushing its way inside your cunt. “Shit, you’re so tight.” The soft squelches of your inner walls rang in his ears and pretty pearls of precum leaked from his dick. “Perfect fucking pussy. Give it to me.”

A second digit was soon added, scissoring you apart expertly. Unsurprisingly, the man really knew how to use his fingers. He crooked them and brushed against your most sensitive spot, causing you to cry out and hold onto him even harder. Sharp teeth playfully bit at your inner thigh in response. Doflamingo gathered some of the constant dribble of precum from the tip of his cock to lube his rough palm. He considered making you spit on his hand to ease the glide, but a better idea came to mind.

“Spit in my mouth.” He ordered, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out. Waiting for you to follow his command like a good toy.

You were taken aback by the sudden request, but you gathered a ball of spit in your mouth like you were told… and it landed directly on the lens of his sunglasses, obscuring the vision of one eye. Doflamingo knew that it wasn’t just badly aimed. This was an act of defiance. You intentionally spit on his defining accessory, his very essence.

“You stupid slut.” The venomous insult came with a maniacally pleased grin. He pushed the stained glasses onto his forehead and you finally saw his eyes for the first time. Gorgeous and bright blue with lust-blown pupils. Looking at his beautifully depraved expression in its entirety, you briefly wondered if he really was an angel. His fingers sped up to a nearly brutal pace and he slipped in a third digit, causing you to choke on your spit. “Love me. Love me.”

A divine being who fell from heaven to beg at your feet.

“Y-you’re fucking insane,” you panted with a blissful smile, your cunt clenching down deliciously on him. “Make up your, mmh, mind.”

“Adore me.” He responded immediately. “Say you’re mine. Be mine.”

Even though you refused to respond, the blonde was lost in his fantasies yet grounded in the reality of your beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure. Mouth hanging open, hands nearly going numb from how hard you held onto him. He needed to see you like this every day – no, every hour. He could keep you under his desk like a pet, ready to suck his dick whenever he allowed you to. Or maybe you’d sit in his lap all day, one of his hands fondling your tits as he attended meetings and forced his subordinates to watch him play with his favorite toy.

But that was too mundane. He could snatch up anyone in Dressrosa right now and do the same. No, the twisted fantasy that really made his cock ache was already happening. That annoyingly sexy confidence of yours was threatening his godliness.

Maybe he’d make you step on him next time.

“Call me Young Master,” he begged again, too far gone to realize how ridiculous he sounded. Tongue hanging out like a dog (and panting like one, too), he rutted into his hand even faster. His cock was absolutely throbbing, red and angry and dripping precum. He was in no position to be giving orders. You stifled a giggle with your hand, which quickly turned into a moan as his fingers bumped against your cervix.

“I already t-told you,” you sucked in a few shaky breaths. He was watching you intently and still smiling, but his fingers never slowed down. “You’re not my –mm– Master, I don’t, ahh, work for you…”

“But why not?” He whined again. “At least call me it when you cum. I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t.”

You didn’t acknowledge the ridiculously empty threat, instead throwing your head back when his fingers crooked against your most sensitive spot. Slick was dribbling down your legs – Doflamingo licked it off of your thighs before slurping around his digits buried inside you. The blonde echoed your unashamedly loud moans, practically on the edge himself. He only needed one thing to send him into a rapturous white bliss.

He stared up at you unblinkingly, face frozen in a grin as he took in all the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm. Sweat dribbled down your forehead, eyebrows furrowed together, body tense and breath hot. “I-I’m gonna… gonna…” He crooked his fingers inside you the way he’d done thousands of times to turn people into obedient little puppets.

“Doffy~!” Your face contorted into the most divine expression he’d ever seen, crying out his name like a desperate prayer.

You ignored his order. You used that stupid fucking nickname.

He came hard.

The tight coil that had been building in his groin for days at the mere thought of you finally snapped. An animalistic moan left his lips as thick ropes of cum coated his hand and spilled onto his abdomen. He looked even more blissed out than you, panting hard and shuddering and nearly overstimulating himself with the hand on his cock still slowly moving up and down.

Doflamingo finally removed his fingers from inside you and loudly sucked them clean of your essence. Still craning his neck upwards so he wouldn’t break eye contact with you. You could lose yourself inside that piercing gaze, so full of obsession and hunger, especially when it was coming from a position of worship rather than condescension.

Blinking out of your stupor, you realized the blonde’s cum-coated hand was in front of your mouth. If you were anyone else, he would’ve shoved his fingers all the way to your throat and made you choke on it. Instead, he stayed still and kept quiet. This was an offering.

You grabbed his wrist and kitten-licked his sticky palm twice, humming thoughtfully as if appraising the taste. His grin grew even wider. Then you pulled away and teasingly said, “You take care of the rest of it.”

Doflamingo simply giggled in delight — you’d willingly tasted the essence of a god, one that was soon to be your god, but you were still too stubborn to give in. He didn’t expect you to crumble so easily and he didn’t want you to. He was having way too much fun. The blonde smeared the rest of his cum on the crotch of the pink panties still pooled around your ankles.

“That’s disgusting.” You huffed in annoyance and rolled your eyes. “What am I supposed to wear out of here?”

The man chuckled lowly and rose to his feet, suddenly towering above you at full height. He wiped the dried spit off of his sunglasses before returning them to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose.

“Who said anything about leaving?” You paled at the sight of his devilish grin but felt your core clench in need. “You still haven’t called me by my proper title.”

#mine #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo smut #doffy x reader #doflamingo #doffy #one piece x reader #one piece smut #my fics #donquixote doflamingo

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evanpeterswhoresblog · 1 year ago

Text

Innocence

Remus Lupin x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), fingering, slight hand job, virgin reader, purity ring 😮‍💨, making out, underage smoking, mention of underage drinking, slight innocence/ corruption kink, lmk if i missed any!

summary: remus learns the ring you wear everyday is called a purity ring, and he develops a strange obsession with it… and wanting to take it off you…

word count: 4.6k

a/n: guys.. dw there’s gonna b a part two but like omgggggg this made me feel so many things i’m in love with this. lmk what you think :) also i’m not religious so if any of this is not accurate i’m sorry lol it’s for the plot

part two is posted!!! here

~~~

Ever since he knew you, Remus noticed that one thing you always wore. It was plain, a simple gold band on your left ring finger, the marriage finger. Typically, such nonsense wouldn’t cross his mind twice, but you wore that ring damn ring every day. Since the first time he ever saw you, that ring was on your finger. He never saw you without it. So, his curiosity got the better of him.

Why would such a simple ring be so important that you never took it off? It couldn’t have been because you were married. No. You wore it even at the young age of eleven. Could it have been a family heirloom? That idea was plausible, however to him, it didn’t feel like the correct answer. And Remus Lupin always needed the correct answer.

So, he eventually decided to ask you.

During dinner one night, when you just so happened to be sitting next to him, his eyes caught sight of the ring and he eyed it suspiciously. You noticed this.

“Something wrong Rem?” You asked.

He looked up from the ring on your delicate finger to meet your confused eyes. “Why do you always wear that specific ring? And always on that finger? Is it special?”

“Oh.” You laughed for a few seconds. “Yeah, it’s stupid really, an old muggle tradition.” You composed yourself and looked up at him, a slight red tint to your cheeks. “It’s called a purity ring. Basically, I wear it as a reminder that I pledged to wait till marriage.”

Remus was confused, and he hated being confused. “Why would anyone wait till marriage?”

You shrugged. “Muggle religion is quite weird. They value keeping teenagers pure until they’re married. I think it’s stupid, but I still wear it.”

“So, you’ve done it but continue wearing it as a... symbol?” He questioned.

“Oh no, I haven’t done it. I might find it stupid, but I still plan to keep my promise. It’s sort of a nice accomplishment don’t you think? I’ve gone through two years of everyone shagging around me and I haven’t given in,” you answered.

He stared at you for a few seconds. You were still a virgin, and that ring was the reason. He thought for a moment. How could you be a virgin? He swore he had seen you go off with a bloke from Ravenclaw a few months ago during a party. But then as his eyes trailed over your small figure, he realized the idea wasn’t completely impossible. He’d never seen you with hickeys, he’d never seen you dress improperly, and he surely had never seen you enter the common room after a long night with someone. For some reason, it made a strange feeling bloom deep inside him.

“Surely you’ve at least done other stuff, right?”

You simply shook your head and took a bite from your sandwich. “Furthest I’ve ever gone is having some Ravenclaws tongue down my throat.”

Ah, so he was right about that.

“Besides, I don’t really even know much about any of that stuff. I mean I know biology, but that’s about it. And of course, what Marls and Mary tell me from their extravagant experiences,” you added after swallowing.

So that meant...

“You haven’t done anything?” He was surprised, it was clear in his tone.

“No need to sound so flabbergasted. Besides, why do you even care about what I’ve done? I always thought you were the modest type too,” you replied with an eye roll.

Remus looked away from you, and the urge to smirk took him over. He thought back to those countless nights over the summer breaks he’d spent with muggle girls. The feelings, the sounds, the tastes, all experiences he’d never forget. But by no means was Remus Lupin a player, oh no. He was nothing like his mate. However, he also wasn’t a saint like everyone painted him out to be.

“I may be modest but that doesn’t mean I’m a virgin,” he said after a moment, his eyes finally turned back to you. He liked the way you looked at him. “That went away a few summers ago.”

You smiled, though something about it was off, almost as if it were forced. “Well, cheers to that.”

“Cheers.” He nodded in agreement.

You turned back to the group conversation before he could say anything else.

~~~

Remus had thought after finding out what the ring's importance was, he would let it go and move on. Unfortunately, he had thought wrong. Ever since that conversation with you, he couldn’t get any of it off his mind. When he’d see you, he’d always look at your left hand, almost making sure that ring was still there. It always was. And for some reason it made him feel almost relieved. He needed more answers.

Thankfully, another opportunity came not too long after the first.

The two of you had been paired together in potions. Typically, he would be a bit upset with the fact given you were never the best in the subject. But for the first time, he was pleased with the pairing.

He watched as you cut up some of the ingredients, that stupid ring shining from the lights. Questions filled his head. Where had you gotten it? When did you get it? Who gave it to you? Did your parents know what it meant? What were you supposed to do with it when the time finally came? He needed to get the answers.

“So, when did you get it?” He casually asked his eyes on the cauldron.

“Get what?”

“The ring.”

You chuckled. “You’re still on about that? I suppose you aren’t too accustomed to muggle things. I got it right before I came here actually. My parents wanted to give me a reminder about life at home, and they wanted to make sure I knew where my ‘loyalties’ lay. Though, I was only a little girl. Did they expect anything to happen at that young?”

Three questions were answered. Good.

Remus dropped his chopped ingredients into the cauldron. “Does that mean you give it back to them when you finally do it?”

“Oh no. I give it to my husband of course,” you replied. “Do these look alright?”

He finally turned his head in your direction and looked over your cutting board then he met your eyes. “Perfect. You can put them in.”

“You don’t know how good that makes me feel to hear. Master of potions Remus Lupin says I’m perfect, I could faint,” you said as you scrapped your work into the cauldron, a hint of laughter in your voice.

He rolled his eyes. “I said your cutting was perfect, but if it makes you feel good, I suppose you are too.”

You looked up at him with a glint in your eyes that made an odd feeling form in his chest. You looked so damn innocent. How had he not noticed it before? You had always been one of the shyer members of Gryffindor, but he always brushed it off as nothing important. He never would’ve guessed just how innocent you were.

“How sweet of you.” You giggled.

“ ’Course, anytime love.”

He noticed the shift in your body at his words. How odd. You looked away from him for a few seconds, that familiar rose tint returning to your cheeks. Did you always do that? Did such simple words always make you blush and turn away? Or was it just him? He watched you bite down on your lip and fiddle with your ring.

You were teasing him.

It was then he decided he was going to get that ring from you.

And you were going to love it.

~~~

Getting you to that point was going to take some time, Remus knew that. But it didn’t stop him. He started simply. When the two of you were hanging out in the group, he made sure to at least say a few words to you alone. When eating meals, he made sure to get a spot next to you. Most importantly though, he started making sure to leave subtle hints. Lingering eye contact, small touches that weren’t necessary, comments that made your face turn red. He could tell all of it made you flustered, and he loved it.

During all of it, his obsession with your innocence only grew. He wanted to take it away. He wanted to taint you, to make you not so pure anymore. He didn’t understand the feeling, he never cared much for such stereotypical nonsense. But each time you looked at him with those curious, innocent eyes, it only made his patience strained.

The first breakthrough came during one of Sirius and James’s parties. The common room blared with music, and people laughed and danced. You were among them. Remus leaned against the wall next to the staircase to the boy's dorm, a cigarette between his lips as he watched you dance with Mary and Lily. Your smile was bright, your body moved to the rhythm almost perfectly. You wore a pretty little dress. But he couldn’t focus on any of that because that damn ring caught his attention.

It had become quite a distraction. He found himself staring at it far more than normal. During class and dinner, it consumed most of his thoughts. He needed to get it off your finger before it caused his grades to slip.

From across the room, your eyes suddenly found his. You gave him a questioning look; he only smirked back and released a cloud of smoke into the air. He watched you say something to the girls before you began to walk in his direction. Perfect.

“Why do you always stand on the sidelines?” You asked once you were close enough. “And if you’re going to stare at me all night you might as well just dance with me.”

He chuckled and took another drag from the cigarette. “I’m not the biggest fan of these parties and I definitely don’t dance.” He offered you the cigarette, and you shook your head and pointed to your ring. “Come on, that applies to cigs too?”

“And alcohol, pretty much whatever is considered sinful. Though, I have indulged in a drink or two. Mommy and Daddy don’t need to know about that,” you answered.

Merlin, he needed to do something with you. It was almost unbearable.

“You’re saying alcohol and cigs are sinful but intense snogging isn’t? Seems a bit hypocritical to me,” he eventually said.

You smiled and shrugged. “That’s muggle religion for you. It’s pretty much up to each person's interpretation and what they value. I value being sober more than refraining from a snog occasionally.”

“But a shag...”

“That’s universally seen as a big sin. Most of us would agree not to do it until marriage.”

He released another breath of smoke. “Most of you?”

“Well, not everyone agrees of course. Like I said, it’s technically up to everyone’s values. Murder is also considered a sin, you know. But even some people commit that,” you explained. He watched you blush. “I don’t think I should compare virginity to murder though.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison,” he replied, his lips turned up into a smile.

You turned even more red. “Sorry. But you get what I’m saying, right?”

“Everything is optional is what you’re saying.” He let his eyes trail over your body, making sure you noticed. “So really, you could fuck someone before marriage.”

“I mean yeah, I could, but I don’t think I will,” you said. You began to fiddle with the ring again. “It’s sort of always been with me it would feel weird giving it to someone else.”

“Do you have to give it away for anything? Or just actual sex?” It was another question he’d been dying to know. He watched you think for a moment.

“I think just the full thing. I don’t know. I don’t even really know that much about it like I said when you first asked me. I mean, I know people use their hands and mouths but... sorry. I shouldn't be talking about such things.” You put your face in your hands, Remus couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sorry.”

He needed to do something. Now.

“Don’t be sorry love, it’s alright. You know you can trust me; I wouldn’t dare tell anyone about your sinful thoughts,” he spoke. He turned and dropped his cigarette into one of the many ashtrays in the common room. When he looked back at you, you were already looking at him. “But you know if you ever wanted to indulge in something like that, you can come to me.”

You were beyond flustered, and it showed. “Oh! That’s very um... generous of you, but I don’t think I’ll do any of that I mean... I don’t plan on it.”

He casually shrugged. “We all get a bit curious at some point in our lives.”

For a moment the two of you only stared at each other. He could tell exactly what you were thinking. You were curious. You wanted to try things. He observed you carefully. He could sense the conflict within you. Value versus desire. It was a tough battle, but you didn’t cave. At least, not yet.

“Perhaps, but I made a promise and I need to stick to it,” you said. You looked over your shoulder at your clearly intoxicated friends. “I should get back to Lily and Mary.”

“Right, it was nice talking,” he replied with a smile.

You nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

“Till then love.”

Even as you walked away and joined your friends once again, he could see the way his words affected you. You could deny the feelings all you wanted, but your body craved the unknown. It was only a matter of time till you caved, and Remus would wait.

He was never one to give up easily.

~~~

You came to him faster than he expected. He understood why though, you were on edge about all of it. In the few days it took for you to go to him, he noticed how different you acted. You were more tense, you fiddled with your ring far more than normal. He imagined the inner conflict you faced was stressful, but he was glad about the turnout of it.

After dinner, as he was walking to the library for a study group, you found him. He was a bit surprised at your approach, but nevertheless, he welcomed it with joy.

“Hey Remus, could I talk to you for a second?” You asked.

You were a bit behind him, but he stopped instantly and turned to face you.

“Yeah, what’s going on?”

Your little bit of confidence quickly vanished. You avoided his gaze, focusing suddenly on your shoes. “Um, are you busy? It’s not really that important so if you have something else to do it can wait.”

He fought the urge to smirk. “I was just going to Lily’s little study group, but it can wait. Is something wrong?”

You shook your head and looked up at him, those big innocent eyes staring into his. “No uh... nothing's wrong. It’s just about... well... you know.”

“About what?”

“You know...”

“I don’t think I do love, you’re gonna have to use your words and tell me.”

He felt bad for teasing you, but it was too fun not to. The way your cute little eyes looked around the hallway to make sure no one else was around, the way you fidgeted, it was far too entertaining to stop. A moment passed before you finally spoke in a much softer tone than before.

“It’s about what we talked about at the party last weekend.”

“Oh?” He questioned. “What about it?”

He watched as you slid the ring up and down your finger. “You said um if I ever wanted to you know, indulge, that I could come to you.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“So... um yeah,” you said. You looked almost uncomfortable. He knew he needed to be nicer.

“Are you asking if that offer is still there?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes! I mean, um, is it?”

He glanced around to make sure nobody else was around before stepping closer to you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your mouth parted ever so slightly. He touched his fingers to your chin, lifting your head gently.

“How about you come find out?”

You didn’t fight it. He was glad.

Not too long after that, Remus found himself in a position he’d desperately wanted for almost a month. You were laid out on his bed, open like a flower, and he was on top of you. Your robe, shirt, and tie were thrown to the floor. He kissed you hard, the reward of your gasps kept him going. He let one of his hands travel up your soft thigh, you were so warm, so inviting. It took all his self-control to keep him from moving too fast.

Before it began, you told him you had only ever snogged. That meant no boy had ever touched you. Not with a hand, not with his tongue, nothing. No one had ever even felt up your breasts. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t pleased with the information. He wanted you to be his, he wanted to be as many of your firsts as he could be.

“Can I touch you?” He eventually whispered on your skin; his lips were by your ear.

“Yes, please,” you replied, your breath ragged.

He continued to press soft kisses to your neck as his hand moved between your thighs. You were wet, very wet. He could feel it through your panties. It made him even harder than he already was. He slid his hand under your panties and began to rub soft circles on your clit, you gasped and lifted your hips in response.

You were perfect.

With every flick of his fingers, you let out little whimpers and moans, and one of your hands gripped his shoulder hard. He caught a few glances of your face between kisses. Your cheeks were red, your eyes squeezed shut. You were beyond beautiful.

After a few minutes, he moved his fingers down to your entrance. He made sure to collect your wetness and ask if it was alright before he began to slowly push one of his fingers inside you.

“Remus,” you mumbled as he started thrusting his finger in and out of you at a slow pace. “Fuck.”

“Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?” He asked.

You lightly shook your head. “It feels so good, do not stop.”

“Do you want another one?”

“Yes.”

He complied instantly and added a second finger. You responded just the way he wanted. In only a few more minutes he was fucking you with his fingers, touching that spot inside that made your thighs clench around him. He kissed you hard, he loved how you struggled to kiss him back. When he also began to press his thumb to your clit, you became a mess.

“Fuck Rem, I-” You paused, your nails dug into his shoulder.

“You’re close.” It was a statement; he could feel your walls clenching around his fingers. He knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“I am,” you practically whimpered.

“Let go, love, it’s alright.”

Only seconds later you did. You came hard. Your back arched off the mattress, your mouth hung open wide, and your thighs tightened around his hips. Remus had never felt anything as good as the feeling of your walls pulsating around his fingers as you came undone beneath him. He made sure to keep going till you were fully done. At that point, he pulled his hand out of your panties and up to his lips. He knew you were going to taste good.

You sat up, breathless. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I just- you just- we just... I’m going to hell.”

“Relax, it’ll be fine. People do this all the time and nothing bad happens, I promise it’s just a normal thing,” he said. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, he thought you looked so beautiful. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about being judged or anything, I’m worried because I don’t feel guilty. I should feel guilty for it but I just... don’t. In fact, I think I...” You looked down at your hand, specifically the ring. “I think I want more.”

Remus couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips. “More?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s only right that I return the favor.” He watched your eyes move to his pants; your cheeks turned red. “You’ll have to show me how though.”

“Alright, only if, you’re sure. Don’t feel like you have to because I did something for you,” he replied though he really did want you to touch him. But he could wait if he had to.

“I want to.”

He didn’t question you further. Instead, he guided you through the process of getting him off with your hand. You were a fast learner, though the act itself wasn’t that hard to get the hang of. He found it funny the way you gasped at the size of him. Merlin, you were so innocent. Either way, you made him feel extraordinary. Your hand was much softer than his, and warmer too. You touched him gently, almost teasingly. But that changed fast.

“Can I try something else?” You asked, your hand stopped.

He almost groaned from the lack of motion. “What?”

“Um, can I try using my um...” You pointed to your lips.

“Your mouth?”

“Yeah.”

How could he ever refuse?

It was sloppy, it was rushed, but it was everything he could’ve wanted. As he laid back on the pillows, one of his hands moved through your soft hair. He didn’t dare push you. No. He only stroked your hair gently and whispered praises. He knew you liked it from the way you hummed on his cock each time he told you how good you were doing or how good you made him feel. And when you looked up at him with those eyes, those damn innocent eyes, he could barely contain himself.

He was shocked you even did it to begin with, but he was even more shocked when you let him finish in your mouth. You had him halfway down your throat when he came, and you didn’t pull away for a second. You swallowed it all. Somehow, he became even more attracted to you than he had been before.

“Was it good?” You questioned after you pulled back. You were kneeling beside his legs, a nervous expression on your face.

He smiled. “You were amazing. Are you sure you haven’t done that before?”

“Never even saw one in real life before this,” you replied with a laugh.

“That’s hard to believe,” he said. He sat up and pressed a kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. “Do you want to try one more thing?”

“Depends on what thing.”

“I’ll do what you just did to me but on you,” he answered, loving the way your eyes widened at his words. Despite everything that happened already, you were still so innocent. He adored it.

“Oh yeah okay,” you spoke after a moment.

He kissed you again. “Lay down.”

You did as he said and soon it began.

He started by kissing your lips while his hands pulled your skirt and panties off, leaving you only in a bra. Once those were off, he kissed down your neck, and your chest, only pausing for a second to unclip your bra and take one of your nipples in his mouth. You moaned, he stayed there for a few extra seconds. He then moved his mouth further down your body, relishing the sounds you made each time his lips made contact with your skin.

When he started to kiss up one of your thighs, you twitched. You were so sensitive, so untouched. He was obsessed with it. Every few kisses he sucked your skin to leave dark purple hickeys. He had made sure not to leave any on your skin that would be visible to the world so that no one would see the evidence of your sinful acts. But the skin that would be covered by clothing, that was his to mark.

A few minutes of this went by, and it was all on purpose. Remus could tell how eager you were for him to get on with it, but you were far too shy to tell him to do so. So, he didn’t dare touch you where you so desperately wanted him to. He wanted to hear you ask. But you said nothing, so he decided you needed a little push. He gave you one single lick then returned to your black and blue thighs.

“Remus,” you whispered. “Please.”

He looked up at you and almost felt bad. Your desperate eyes were already looking at him, he could tell how much you needed it. He didn’t wait any longer and gave you what you needed; you certainly earned it.

In all his experience with sex and everything surrounding it, Remus enjoyed pleasing his partner as anyone did. He didn’t mind going down on women, in fact, he sort of enjoyed it. At least until you. With you, he quickly realized having his head between your thighs and his tongue on your clit was not just alright, it was heavenly. He never enjoyed the taste of a girl like he enjoyed yours. You were sweet and the sounds you made as he played with you were their own type of reward.

So, it was no surprise how quickly you came undone on his tongue. He devoured you like he had been starving his whole life. Truthfully, he felt as if he had. You were spectacular. You were perfection. You were his. He was crazy about you.

After you finished, he wiped his mouth on one of your thighs before moving to lie on the bed next to you. He laid on his side facing you, his eyes examining your face. Your eyes were closed, and your cheeks were pink. Your hair was messy, and your lips were ever so slightly lifted into a smile. He swore he never saw anyone as beautiful in his life.

“I feel stupid,” you mumbled.

“Why?”

You opened your eyes and looked at him, your smile then undeniable. “I should’ve taken you up on your offer sooner. Now I understand why everyone’s so mad about this stuff, it’s unbelievable.”

“You don’t regret it then?” He asked.

“How could I? You’re just... Remus I...” You turned to your side to face him fully, one of your hands pressed against his chest. “I think we should do this again if you’d want to of course.”

He grinned and let a hand fall to your waist, he pulled you closer, so your bodies touched. He rested his chin on the top of your head, and you buried your face in his neck. For a moment he felt almost victorious, he had gotten you right where he wanted you to be. It would only be a matter of time before you let him take you fully. But then he realized, it wasn’t about taking your virginity so much anymore. He just wanted you.

“I wouldn’t want anything more,” he eventually said, then he pressed a kiss to your forehead, while the cold feeling of your ring on his chest lingered in the back of his mind.

Soon, it would be his. And so would you.

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