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oneofthosesimps · 4 years ago

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Lost in Blood

pairing: sukuna x fem!reader I nsfw

word count: 4013

summary: after you kill your next victim sukuna fucks his heir in your belly

warnings: BLOOD ( it's not yours but there's a lot of blood, like a lot), blood kink, angst, death, murder, rough sex, sub/dom, dirty talk, belly buldge, breeding kink, two cocks, double penetration (in one and two holes)

authors note: if you are uncomfortable with the idea of blood or the idea of you killing people, this fanfic is NOT for you!!! this is coming from the deepest corners of my head. if you've watched American Horror Story and remember the countess sex scene with her vicitms, this fanfic was inspired by it

all credits to the artist of this pic:

ゲオブバビ/Geobubabi

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Screams fill the room, cutting through the air. They resemble the knife in your hand, which slides through the flesh beneath you. You watch it tensely as it draws its lines, forming wounds of varying depth. Deep red blood emerges from them, running in thick drops along the pale skin and then slowly pooling in puddles. Green emeralds stare at you, vein-streaked and wet. Tears flow like waterfalls from the large eyes, roll down the roundish face and get caught in the dark hair. Mouth wide open, a high, croaking voice makes your ears ring. You look at the woman below you and tilt your head slightly, contorting your face as the blade of the knife cuts deeper and a large gash forms on her arm. Her voice makes your head ache, almost explode. It drowns out the sound of tearing flesh. One too high note from her and you ram the knife into her arm, piercing it completely and scraping the dark floor on the other side of where she lies. She cries out loudly, trying to wiggle her limbs and squirming under you.

"Let me go!" her voice shrieks at you, and your hand clutches the handle of the weapon. Behind you, you hear a deep, dark laugh. At the small sound, the little hairs on your skin stand up and the butterflies dance inside you, which puts a smile on your face. You stare into her eyes, which look back in pure pain. As she eyes you, her face changes, becoming panicked as she sees your eyes and realizes what lies hidden deep within them. With one smooth thrust you ram the knife into her chest, right in the middle between her breasts. It slides through the flesh and bone like butter. The brown-haired woman spits blood, which speckles her pretty face. Her breathing changes, becoming shallower and more frantic, and she gasps. You watch her begin to fight for her life and pull the knife out of her. Blood gushes from the wound, splattering towards you as your hand snaps back down and the knife disappears into her body again, this time further to the left of it. Apparently, you hit her lungs completely. Her gasping gets louder and you see in her face that at the latest now the moment has come when she has understood that she can't survive this anymore. You sigh softly and look at her sadly. She lasted shorter than your last victim. The blood spreads over her body, flowing out of here like a stabbed pig. It looks so beautiful as the fabric of her white kimono turns dark. Her eyes search your face again, slowly glazing over as you stab her body again and again. Blood splatters on your face, arms, legs, and kimono as the life crawls out of her. The screams have long since stopped, she looks past your head, mouth open to a soundless scream. You stop as soon as her eyes lose their shine and the twitching of her body ceases. That is always the most significant moment. The feeling is impossible to describe when you see someone cross over into the beyond. Your mouth twists in dissatisfaction, this was way too easy. Other people are so terribly weak and whiny.

You feel a strong presence moving behind you and a warm shiver runs down your spine. A wide grin appears as Sukuna kneels beside you and leans down to you. Four big eyes look at you and make your breath catch. His pointed teeth flash at you, "Did you have fun, my little human?" You nod at him, unable to speak due to his beauty, "You did so well." His large hand rests against your cheek and he strokes it gently with his thumb, smudging the drops of blood. Your eyes close in pleasure and you snuggle up to him, enjoying the coldness he radiates. Again, he laughs, quieter this time, and pulls his hand away. Immediately your eyes open again and you look at the god in front of you.

His gaze wanders over your face, red smears on your cheek, before he looks to the dead woman at his feet. Countless wounds decorate her still-warm body, her blood slowly stops coming out of her, forming a lake in which she bathes almost weightlessly. Two of his fingers pick up some of the red liquid and he licks it off while his eyes land on you again. Your eyes widen and you lick your lips as you watch him do it. "You want some too, little human?" You nod at him and open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. His eyes take on a darker colour at the scenario before him, his pupils widening and pushing out the red.

"So greedy," he murmurs, stroking your head, running his hand through your curls, "But her blood is dirty and bitter. You deserve better." You pull a slight pout at his words as he takes the knife from your hand. Your eyes watch him open his mouth and run his tongue over the blade, licking it clean. He turns the weapon so that the sharp edge rides over the muscle and slides in a clean cut through it. Your face shows your astonishment as his hand settles on your mouth. He pulls at your lips and opens them.

A blush rises to your face as his lips settle on yours and his tongue runs between them. He explores your mouth cavity, playing with you, and you moan. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him as your small hands knead the fabric of his kimono. The metallic taste of his blood mixes with your saliva and overwhelms your senses. The kimono slips off his shoulders, exposing his bare chest. Greedily you suck the blood from his tongue and a low murmur comes from him. One of his hands slides down your side and rests on your thigh. He caresses your tender skin, wipes aside the fabric of your clothing and his nails scratch over your leg. You caress his chest meanwhile, running over his muscles. Your fingertips trace the black lines before your arms wrap around his neck. You press closer and your teeth bite lightly into his lower lip, pulling at it. When he breaks the kiss again, he leaves you breathless. Your head buzzes and you cling to him. "More?" he murmurs against your ear, kissing the spot just behind your earlobe.

"Yes, please," you moan in a trembling voice. His wide grin settles on his face and his eyes glint. His left arm around your waist pulls you away from the fading warmth of the dead woman beneath you, his right hand around your thigh grips tighter. He lays you down, right next to your victim and he looks down at you. The loose belt of your kimono unbuckles. A low growl comes from him as he sees your naked body lying in front of him.

In the middle of a pool of blood, your petite limbs writhe. Your curls lie around your face, framing it and giving you a kind of halo - so he is right about you being an angel. Your pink cheeks and sparkling eyes shine so full of life, a total contrast to his appearance. Your breasts jiggle slightly with each movement, while your nipples harden as they touch the cooler air. His gaze wanders lower and saliva gathers in his mouth as he looks at the lips between your legs, his hard cocks pushing through between the fabric sides of the kimono. Blood rushes into them, making them stick out hard from his strong body. He loves it when you look at him and your eyes glaze over slightly, your mouth opens and the blush on your face deepens. He especially loves the expression you take on once you see his fat cocks. Every time you look at him as if they could never fit in you and every time he convinces you otherwise.

"Mmm, you look so beautiful," he murmurs, his nails scraping across your waist and stomach. You whimper and your hands form fists as they grip the now fully soaked fabric of your kimono. His fingers wander over the thin and sensitive skin above your cunt, caressing it, making you wince. A moan escapes you and you throw your head back as he caresses the soft lips. He strokes satisfied along your slit, smearing your juices all over you before his thumb lands on your clit. Your moans grow louder and your eyes roll up into your head as he slowly massages the little knob in a circular motion. After watching you all day, his patience is short now. Almost naked, covered only with the thin fabric of your kimono, you have taken lives again and again. None of his imagination makes him hornier than this sight.

"How wet you are already, little human," he taunts, eyeing the twitches of your body, "This can't be all because of me, can it?" His name drops silently from your mouth and his body vibrates with laughter. He increases the pressure on your clit and your lower body twitches uncontrollably again. Already, a knot forms in your stomach and the feeling is truly amazing. A tingling sensation spreads from your core, flowing to all corners of your body and you open your legs wider for him. You angle them and your own hand spreads your labia, leaving bloody fingerprints. The sight makes Sukuna's cock drip and twitch against his belly. He looks closely at how his thumb massages your clit, how your hole shines and turns white because of all the juice. His long nail keeps stroking your swollen lips, making them turn red and swollen. "Fuck, it's not all because of me. Your little cunt gets wet when you kill, right?" His body bends over you and his left hand dips into the puddle of blood beside your head to brace himself. He looks at your half-closed eyes and licks red drops from your cheek.

His finger moves from your clit further down and he puts only his fingertip into your tight hole. With this small movement you push your back through and moan loudly. He dips it in and out again and stretches your hole as good as he can. Sukuna has to moan as well when shortly after three of his fingers press into you and stretch you better and further, "You are such a naughty little girl." He spreads his fingers, pressing against your tight, soft walls and you stare dumbly at him as he begins to thrust into you in this position. Satisfied, he watches your face, noticing every little movement. Tears form in your eyes and your brow furrows as his middle finger sinfully massages the rough spot inside you.

Again, your legs twitch uncontrollably and your hands reach for his shoulders. You dig your nails into his skin and he enjoys the pain. “Deeper”, he groans. His eyes stare at you lustfully as your nails dig into his flesh and muscles. Your fingers leave deep scratches and in some places, blood comes to the surface. The knot in your stomach tightens as he doesn't stop. Your body tenses before you groan loud and long. You stretch out towards him, your vision exploding black and your eyes turning white as you twist your eyeballs.

As you come off your high, his long, broad fingers pull out of you. He pushes off the ground and grabs your thigh. A bloody handprint forms on your leg, which he smears slightly as he grips harder. His eyes settle on his fingers, from which your juice flows in thick drops. He catches them with his long tongue and moans with pleasure, "Better than any blood I could drink." Once he's done, he grins again and your legs wrap around his waist, trapping him. His tall stature above you looks down at you, "You were such a good girl today, you deserve a reward for that, don't you?"

You nod at him and your gaze falls on his large hand, which is gripping one of his cocks and pumping it lightly in his hand. The thick veins stand out and his seed begins to drip from him onto your lower belly. You have to bite your tongue to keep from losing your mind again right away. He puts the tip to the red lips of your cunt and feels the heat you radiate. Slowly he pushes into you and tears your hole. Despite all the fluid between your legs, which has increased again due to your orgasm, and the stretching by his fingers, he barely fits inside you. All that lube doesn't stop it from starting to burn and your walls from starting to pulsate. You whimper in pleasure and close your eyes. The mixture of pain and desire is like a drug.

"Such a good girl," Sukuna whispers to you and places his hand on your belly, feeling his dick bury itself inside you. As he bumps the back, his balls twitch and he moans out. Seeing your little body in front of him, taking his cock so well, drives him crazy. You've hardly gotten used to him, squeezing his cock, but he can barely stand not to move. Normally he would wait longer, give you time, but today it is impossible.

"I'm sorry pet, I can't be that patient with you today," he mumbles and wraps his arms around your waist. He lifts your body up and your bare chest meets his. This changes the angle and he slides a little deeper, stretching you wide and pressing painfully against your cervix. You can't stifle the cry as you sit in his lap and he burrows deep inside you. Without pausing for a moment, he lets you bounce up and down on him a few times. His lips are on your jiggling right breast and he sucks on your hard nipple, licking it and biting it a little too hard. Again, you scream out, the pain moves through your upper body. Fuck, he wants to fill you. He wants to fuck you stupid and leave you almost unconscious. His left hand slaps your ass cheek, he reaches into the fat and spreads your ass apart.

His other hand rub soothingly over your bloodied back before his right hand moves to his second cock. This one is waiting painfully hard for attention. He pumps this one up and down a few times as well, but the feeling hardly eases. His pre-cum gets smeared between your ass cheeks and serves him as a lubricant. You press tighter against him as you feel the fat tip against you again, this time further back. Your eyes squeeze shut as he uses the mixture of blood and juice to push painfully into you. Your little asshole is still way too tight and every inch forward makes your body twitch.

"Fuck," he lets out a long moan as each ring of your anus clenches around him, taking him in. He grits his teeth to keep from thrusting right in one go, "So small and tight. I should have taken this hole right away."

"Su-sukuna," you gasp against his chest, and his gaze falls back to you. He loses his control when he sees your red cheeks, when he sees you looking at him with your eyes half-closed and your tongue sticking out. Your face shows the most different emotions and features when you are near him but seeing your fuck face makes him proud every time and moves something deep inside him.

In one smooth thrust, he pushes into you a second time and you yelp. Deep inside he's sorry, but his head is too fogged with lust to grasp those thoughts more clearly. He growls loudly as your walls twitch wildly, milking him. Saliva runs down your chin and you claw into the skin of his chest, leaving deep marks here as well. You're so incredibly full and stretched. His cock forms a small bulge on your belly, which is further enhanced by his second cock in your ass. You have never seen anything so beautiful. How beautifully thick it will look when Sukuna has shot all his baby seeds into you.

"Show me how much you love this," he speaks in a dark voice. He could scare the shit out of one, but luckily only you see him like that and you would never be afraid of him.

With trembling hands, you hold onto his shoulders again. Your weak legs tighten and you push off of him, moaning loudly as his two cocks pull out of you before stretching you to the max again as soon as you let yourself sink back down onto him. His hands stabilize you as you move, while his eyes move back and forth between your face and where you are joined. His hands clasp your waist tightly again and he squeezes too hard, which is why he leaves dark marks.

"So big and thick," you moan, making him grin again.

"Just the way you love it, my little whore". You roll your eyes at his words and circle your hips to create more friction inside you. This time something else flutters in your belly. The feeling is short but intense and shoots right into your clit and cunt.

"Do you like that? Do you like it when I call you that?" You nod to him as his hands massage your waist, "Open your eyes and look at me."

You do as you are commanded and open your heavy eyelids. His eyes are by now jet black and look at you like dark obsidian. "I have never fucked a whore like you." Your eyes turn again and he smirks. "Never have I fucked a human who can take my two cocks so good and not tear right into two." Your body moves faster on top of him, the muscles in your legs starting to burn as you rock your body against his. But you keep bouncing on him and pushing his cocks inside you. Sweat forms on your skin and mixes with the blood. Sukuna watches a thick drop roll from your collarbone to your breasts and between them. His full balls slap against your ass cheeks and the sound alone makes the knot in your stomach tighten. He watches your next orgasm, which makes your body jerk, and takes over for you, fucking you through it as you give out. His speed is much more brutal and almost sends you over the edge again. This time your voice echoes through the room, his name falling from your lips again and again.

"Would you like me to pleasure you some more?" his deep voice vibrates against you. Your fogged head nods at him, even though your exhausted body is slowly losing its energy and strength.

"Of course," you hear him murmur with a wide grin. He pulls you off of him, leaving your holes empty and open. You moan out as you lose his physical contact. He forces you onto all fours, placing his hand in the small of your back, thus pushing your ass into the air. Your hands smear the blood beneath you. The image of what's happening tightens the knot in his stomach. Your ass stretches out to meet him, the hole stretched wide and looking for something thick. Your core is white by now. As your holes contract again, causing you to groan, creamy juice squeezes out of them and Sukuna almost comes. He just licks the liquid away with the tip of his tongue, clawing into your skin to control himself. Out of curiosity, he pushes his tongue into the dirtiest part of your body and his hips thrust forward into nothingness as your ass swallows him greedily, glad to have something shoving into it again. How he'd love to shove his cock back in there. Before he loses the last of his nerve, he pulls out.

He takes one of his cocks and pushes it back into your cunt, filling you to your cervix in one go. You moan again, enjoying the sensation. A feeling that he didn't know before comes out deep from his belly. He wants an heir. He wants you to squeeze his heir out of your little cunt. He wants to breed you round and thick, right next to the dead woman who was just full of life. When his second head joins his cock in your cunt, you lose touch with the earth.

At first with effort, he presses his cock to the other one inside you. You've never felt anything like this in your life. Sukuna behind you almost becomes an animal and lets out an animalistic sound, “You have to take it, my little whore. I want to fuck you pregnant, I want to push a baby inside you. You must suck up all my semen.” His voice is hardly recognizable, but his words leave you speechless. The thought takes over your head and a hot feeling arises in you. How it will be to carry his heir in you and then to be fucked by him. Can he then pump your belly even thicker?

Slowly he presses in to his other cock and splits you in two. Your screams grow louder and never subside as he fucks your brains out slowly, but with a steady rhythm. It feels like even the last vestige of your soul is leaving your body. Trembling fingers reach between your legs and you touch his wet cocks, which thrust into you again and again. The feeling alone makes you stretch your ass higher again, your back painfully pushed through. When Sukuna puts his hand in your hair and painfully pulls your head back, there is nothing more than mush in your head. His pointed teeth sink into your shoulder and he bites deep enough that blood oozes from the wound, which he licks away. "Such a good whore," he murmurs against your ear, "you taste so good, I'll never let you go." His words send a warm shiver down your body and pleasant goosebumps form, making your nipples hard again. His thrusts become harder, more brutal as he abuses your hole.

Your knots tighten as one body works with the other. Your voices echo through the room, mixing with the sounds his cocks create in you. A few more thrusts, then you come a third and final time for the moment. "Luckily, I decided to keep you back then," he growls as his balls pump themselves empty inside you. Two cocks at once fill your belly to the top, no one could keep that amount of juice inside, which is why most of it misses. He fucks you through his orgasm. As time goes by, his thrusts become less precise and slower before he pulls out of you and you hit the floor. Breathing heavily, you lie with your cheek in the remaining blood, most of it already drawn into your clothes or spread on you or him. Sukuna sits down backwards, bends one leg, and casually places his left arm over his knee. His gaze wanders over the living mess in front of him and his dead heart makes a little beat. He would make you walk around naked all the rest of the day to see your fat belly and his handprints on you. Again and again, he will come to you, bend you forward and look at your full, stretched hole. His pride could not be greater. His little human takes equal both cocks in her hole and will give birth to his heir. No, many heirs. Once you've turned around, forced your tired body to move, and can look at him again with wide dark eyes, a smile settling on your lips, he grins back, " A little break before I bring in your next victim, how does that sound?"

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #sukuna imagine #sukuna simp #jujutsu kaisen x you

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atomicengineerdetective · 3 years ago

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Toh Theory: Boscha Joined The EC

So with the Season Finale Upon Us Is the last Chance for Crazy Fan Theories and Here's Mine.

So I was rewatching some of the episodes to prepare for the finale and, maybe encounter some Possible Foreshadowing when A particular tidbit of information caught my Eye

In reaching out, It is revealed to us that The emperor Coven Tryouts are being held THAT day, (probably because belos wanted some easy dead fodder for the day of unity who knows?). Now the EC tryouts being mentioned is Probably just foreshadowing Odalia's knowledge and support of the emperor's Plans

BUT it also Tell Us that Witches around Amity's Age are completely Eligible for joining the EC now. Maybe It's Implying someone from amity's class Would Try to Join. But Who would be the most likely To?

Boscha

The Former (lol) Queen bee of the school who has been loosing Power, seen as Her being almost beaten by willow in WILW, but also more importantly FRIENDS. First Amity in "Understanding willow", Then Skara Who in ASIAS not only joins WILLOW'S team But ever since that episode We never really see her hang out with boscha

We see her with the emerald Entrails( particularly Viney)

And even some extras

But Not Boscha. Which Makes me think something Happened between them in ASiAS. Which would make this line even more telling

The "I still have more friends than you" thing always sounded a bit unnecesary to me but in the context Of Boscha steadily loosing her friends, Could Denote some form of insecurity

And what's the episode RIGHT after the one where Boscha presumably "lost" Skara?. Reaching Out. The day When the coven tryouts take place.

So to recap, following the events of reaching Out Boscha Would be Feeling pretty Upset and Angry. She finds out about the EC tryouts and sees it as the perfect opportunity to regain control (they literally control the BI), power and Status. (And MAYBE take revenge on Willow and Luz, the witches who started her downfall if you are into that)

And Honestly, following What she Knows in reaching Out why SHOULDN'T she join?

She Knows(or at least THINKS) she's one of the most proficient magic users and athlete in her year. So she would pass for sure

She doesn't have a particular attachment to Wild Magic (Except if you count her palisman Which she could just say she doesnt have one). She has always seemed Content In JUST potions

She doesn't have any friends AGAINSt the emperor at the time to convince her otherwise. She's actually Mad at the main enemies of the emperor.

At this point, she would think thats "the best coven there is" and she Know(thinks) Getting in would give her recognition among her peers I mean it was "Amitys dream" for a while

This could explain Why even though She was AT the school In Labirynth Runners She didn't fight. She couldn't. Even if she then realises the emperor is not good. She already pledge loyalty(don't know if she got a Sigil yet though). Also, This is Boscha We are talking about. She's been shown To double down in her beliefs even when proven wrong (see WILW) so I doubt she would admit she was wrong to join now.

Lastly This Last part may seem farfetched But I think it's worth mentioning. So its no secret Now that TOH likes to show character alliances and development Through the use of color. The most obvious case Being amity Changing her hair colour from green(showing devotion to her mom) to purple (which yeah i know "it's abomination colored" but it's also Luz signature color so). You can also see it in Hunter, Leaving all the Gold Color Behind after Hollow Mind and Wearing Mainly Blue and green in Labirynth runners (Alliance with gus and willow) But thats a thread for another time

Now whats Boscha's main color (aside from pink of course)? Yellow.

"But she wears Yellow because thats the potions track colors" Yeah, I know. But wanna know something Funny? Nearly Everyone that we see use The Full potion tracks uniform: Eda, Lillith, and Hunter. Has been part of the Emperor coven Tryouts at somepoint in time. Hell, 2/3 were PART of the emperors coven

And That's all Folks. Happy day Of unity!

#Boscha #The owl house #the owl house season 2b #Toh Theory #toh theories #Toh #Toh boscha #Toh willow #willow park #Toh skara #Toh Amity #Toh luz #luz noceda #Amity Blight #emperor coven #the owl house #toh #toh spoilers

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goldencuffs · 3 years ago

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untraditional

@lamenweek day five: traditions

Damen doesn’t think he’s supposed to feel so bone-weary at thirty-one.

Everything in his body aches, and he’s already greying at his temples. Last night, he had gone to bed at eight.

Theomedes doesn’t look up from the Ios Financial Times when Damen enters the Drawing Room. The table already has been set: Damen’s seat is, as usual, is to the left of his father, exactly fourty-seven centimetres apart. Damen’s food has been already served, because his father got here before him, and everyone gets served the same time as Theomedes.

Damen’s entire life has been dictated by these traditions, guidelines and precedents.

Some of them are good, but most of them are like this: nonsensical and elitist.

Even Theomedes’ and Damianos’ tea is prepared via strict protocol: one teaspoon of loose tea leaves per cup, heated to a hundred degrees celcius (seventy for green tea), with a tablespoon of organic, raw honey added straight to the teapot.

(It’s amazing tea, though).

Theomedes says, “Your food is cold.”

Damen stares at the pile of mash potatoes and salmon. “I’m not hungry.”

He also hates salmon, but Theomedes is the only one who sets the menu for the week with the head chef. Last week, they had roast beef and vegetables four times.

“You’re not still sulking are you?” Theomedes finally says, three minutes later.

Damen grips his table fork. He forces himself to do the breathing exercises Makedon had taught him.

In an ideal world, he wouldn’t reply, but in this one, everyone answered to the King.

“No, sir,” Damen says, and shoves a polite bite of food in his mouth.

“You haven’t had a meal with me in three weeks,” Theomedes says, and he sounds hurt and disappointed.

“Hmm,” Damen says. “I’ve been busy. You know I’ve been working on the preservation of Marlas with Nikandros.”

Theomedes crosses his fork and knife over his plate. Instantly, three different staff members rush forward to clear the table.

Damen’s plate is cleared too; no one eats after the King has left. Another useless, bane tradition.

“You know I did what’s best for you,” Theomedes says, looming over Damen.

When Damen nods, Theomedes kisses his temple. “You’ll realise it sooner, rather than later.”

“Yes, sir,” Damen says quietly, and rises only after Theomedes has left, as is protocol.

An hour later, the itch under Damen’s skin becomes unbearable, and he finds himself burrowing under the left corner of his mattress for certain… supplies.

He pulls on the red, shoulder-length curly wig with little care, and then the faux-leather beret. It’s peeling and terrible, but Damen doesn’t care.

The rest of his outfit is just layers: sunglasses, two coats, scarves, and a muted shirt, to hide as much of his body as possible.

He normally doesn’t leave so early in the day, when he’s being patrolled by guards and the Kyros.

Luckily, it’s only Nikandros who catches him, right outside his door.

His expression is flat. “You’re not serious. You’re leaving now? We’re in the middle of drafting the Delpha treaty!”

Damen shrugs. “I have to go.”

“You don’t have to—” Nikandros cuts himself off with a sigh. “Whatever. Can you please bring me back those caramel slices?”

Damen grins. “You got it, boss.”

Once he’s past the Main Foyer, the rest of the journey is easy: Damen takes an hour and a half train ride from Central Ios to Andris, and then a fifteen minute bus ride on the eighty-six. And then finally, an eight minute walk to the Andris Office District.

There’s a small bookstore there called Pocket Bookmark, painted emerald green, the lettering done in gold.

Inside, it’s not too busy: it’s not quite the end of a business day, and the customers in here are high school students, skimming the Shakespeare section, and a man hovering near the new releases.

Damen keeps his head down, weaving through the aisles.

Nicaise, the mouthy teenage cashier rolls his eyes when he sees Damen approaching, lifting up the wooden flap on on the bench, allowing Damen to duck through.

“Thanks, kid,” Damen says, mussing his hair.

“Ah, fuck off,” Nicaise grunts, but fondly. He’s warmed up to Damen ever since Damen bought him his first car. (Nothing too flashy, obviously).

Damen hurries all the way to the back, opening the door marked, No entry, and then goes up the narrow steps, which always make the worst creaking noises.

There’s another door a the small porch upstairs, and Damen fishes out the key in his pocket to open it.

Instantly, he’s hit with the smell of butter chicken simmering on the stove, and his mouth salivates. He dumps his entire attire by the small settee in the hallway, inhaling gratefully.

The second thing he’s greeted with is Wendy, who meows and claws at his leg.

“Come here, baby,” Damen murmurs, picking her up and holding her to his chest. She purrs and curls up, like a big ball of fluff and he kisses her head. “I love you so much.”

She meows in response, and snuggles closer.

Laurent turns off the stove in the tiny kitchen. He looks over his shoulder for just a second and scrunches his nose. “Ugh, she’s such a slut. I’ve been petting her for the last hour, but apparently I’m just not good enough.”

Laurent is in his after work attire: which means he’s as half dressed as possible. The shirt he’s wearing is one of Damen’s, and his shorts are the pair that shrunk in the wash; they ride too high up his thigh.

Laurent’s just come out of the shower: the hair at his nape is still wet, and his skin is pinked and glowing. Even with the curry, Damen can smell jasmine and coconut.

Laurent has got this sweet, soft smile that lights up his eyes.

It takes Damen’s breath away: not just Laurent, but this entire picture of domesticity. It’s all Damen’s wanted his entire life.

He means to make a snarky comment about Wendy, but what comes out is: “Marry me.”

Laurent drops the wooden spoon, eyes wide.

Damen grips Wendy too tightly and she lets out a shriek and jumps out of his arms.

They stare at each other for a moment. Damen’s heart is racing.

Laurent blinks. “Oh, sorry. I think I hallucinated for a minute.”

Damen steps forward, smiling. “It wasn’t a hallucination. Marry me.”

Laurent makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “Are you asking me or telling me?” He swallows, eyes darting all over Damen’s face, his body. “I don’t see a ring,” he says quietly.

Damen groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, I know. I had this whole plan, I was going to propose with the Queen’s ring, but obviously I’d have to talk to my father first and—” He sits down at the kitchen table, pulling out his phone. “There’s a courthouse ten minutes from here. It’s Thursday night, so they’re still open. We just need to show up with a signed ‘Intended Marriage Certificate’. It’s like three pages, we’ll be fine.”

“…Oh.” Laurent has gone very still. “You’re looking up courthouses. You’re serious.”

“Shit,” Damen says, watching him. “I’m so sorry. You—Do you want to marry me, Laurent? Because I’ve been dying to marry you since I first saw you. Er. No pressure, though.”

Laurent glares at him, affronted. “Of course I want to marry you, you fucking idiot!”

Damen leaps to his feet, grinning and flushed. “Fuck yeah! Let’s go print this form and—”

“Damen!” Laurent laughs, looking a little crazed. “We can’t just—Just wait a minute.”

“Alright. Shoot, baby.”

Predictably, Laurent flushes pink. “Is it even legal? Aren’t there special ceremonies for royals? And—and the King still thinks we broke up!”

Damen winces a little at that.

After an entire year of sneaking around, of meeting up in discreet hotels, and making plans to move in together one day, Damen had fucked up three weeks ago.

Drunk and enamoured, he had kissed Laurent outside his bookstore after a date. There had been photos—and the only saving grace had been the fact that Laurent’s face had been inscrutable.

But the fact that he was a commoner had been enough for Theomedes to unleash his rage. He had ordered Damen to break things off with Laurent, and Damen had pretended to, but… Well, Laurent had been hurt. It had been the first time he had realised how shaky their entire relationship was, how quickly it could come crumbling down.

Damen had spent days convincing him otherwise, and Laurent had finally agreed, but there had still been shadows in his eyes.

Now—now, though, Damen realises exactly what he can do, what he should have done months ago, to make Laurent realise he’s it.

“Fuck the King,” Damen says. He finally closes the distance between them, gripping Laurent’s hands. “Laurent, listen. I can still get married legally in a civil ceremony.”

“But—” Laurent bites his lip. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. And,” His voice grows small. “I know there’s so many rules and traditions you have to follow. I’ve read about the whole tradition where your father is supposed to gift you a diptych piece.”

Damen’s heart is warm. He smiles down at Laurent, smitten. “You’ve read up on royal wedding traditions?”

Laurent colours even more. “Of course.”

Damen kisses him hard, unable to bare the love swelling up inside him. Laurent flings his arms around Damen’s neck, his mouth emitting small, sweet gasps.

When they pull apart, Damen presses his forehead to Laurent’s. “Fuck the King,” he repeats. “Fuck the customs and rules and traditions. You are the only thing that matters to me. Just forget everything for a moment and answer: do you want to go downtown and marry me?”

Laurent’s smile overtakes his face, his eyes shining. “Yes,” he says softly. “I want to—so much.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you in a better way or give you a ring or—”

“Stop. This was absolutely perfect.” He sighs. “You’re perfect.”

Damen kisses him again, pressing him to the counter. “I want you to have my mother’s ring.”

Laurent buries his head into Damen’s chest, overwhelmed. He nods.

Damen drops a kiss to his hair. “Get changed, baby. We’re getting married.”

Laurent looks up at him in wonder. “We’re getting married.”

#yes this is rushed what about it!!!!! 🤧😤#just kidding i still hope u enjoy #lamen week 2021 #captive prince #my writing #my fic

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sylverstorms · 3 years ago

Text

Miss Fortune x Reader ----Salt-Crusted Heart

For an easier read, head to Ao3.

Another day. Another hunt for a fetter.

Feels like this is your life now, your present and your future. It feels like this war against the ever-spreading mist and Viego will never end. Your days as a trainee Sentinel, where the tough schedule of the Academy was your only problem, seem so far away now it’s like they belong in a dream. Like that was a different you.

And it was, wasn’t it.

That ‘you’ hadn’t ever slashed at anything other than a training dummy. Now you’re out here –with a very dysfunctional crew of lunatics— fighting mist monsters.

Said dysfunctional crew is, once again, arguing amongst themselves on which way you’re supposed to be headed next. Everyone’s got their own opinion and somehow it never matches with anyone else’s. You don’t even know how they manage that.

It takes a few light years for the majority to agree you’re heading to Bilgewater.

By the time you Wayfinder them there, you’re not surprised that all you see is darkness and sickly green mist. Half the world has gone to shit already and you’ve come to terms with that. More or less. Probably less.

“Wow.” you say as you take in the ghostly-looking town ahead of you and the armada of ships at the port below, blocking this side of the island off completely. Not that there’s a lot to block because the place is a ravaged hellhole anyway.

The environment has this wrecked, haunted vibe that would be super interesting to see in a movie with an apocalypse theme. Perhaps not so much on an actualapocalypse, though.

“Likin’ the view?” Graves asks, the corner of his lips sealed over his cigar.

“No, it was more of a ‘this is so much worse than I could have imagined’ type of wow.” you explain.

“It really is.” Riven agrees.

“Funny thing; the mist ain’t changed it all that much.” Graves laughs.

“Hey. Focus.” Lucian chastises. This guy, you’re convinced, is allergic to lightening the mood. He’s also not someone you dare say this to. “See that?” he points at the sea, to the massive ship there, towering over the rest.

You’re so focused on its fine craftsmanship and the little details you keep finding the longer your eye remains on it, you miss his point entirely, at first. Then you blink and look closer –at the thin, telltale trail of green-black smoke floating upwards from its deck.

There’s no mistaking it; a fetter is on that vessel.

“Now, listen up, everybody. Big Ol’ Graves is a legend around these parts, so my name will get us on that beauty. But. People here can be a bit… unfriendly towards new faces.” he begins. “Let’s not walk up there like an attack force and end up riddled with holes, ye?”

“Good idea.” you nod.

“Rookie, Graves, you’re heading up first.” Lucian motions with his chin.

“Bad idea.” you comment, but his skewering glare has you agreeing with the plan the same second.

“Signal if you need help.” Senna adds.

Graves only laughs heartily and grabs your uniform with his large hands, pulling you along. You know you won’t like what you hear when he leans down and whispers to you:

“We won’t have time to signal if they decide we’re not worth listening to but let’s not tell them that, Rook.”

“That’s… just what I needed to hear.” you grimace.

“Ha! Which means you’re goin’ up first. Chances are they won’t instantly shoot your pretty face off.”

“Wait… what about that ‘my name will get us up there, no trouble’?” you ask.

“Hah! That was just to impress Vayne, kiddo. My name is far more likely to get us killed in these parts.” he laughs but you don’t. “Did she look impressed?”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, she didn’t, mate.” Nothing has ever moved Vayne other than when she kills monsters in a particularly violent way.

“Ah, shit. Maybe next time.”

Yeah, if there is a next time.

Your chances aren’t looking good as soon as you step onto that deck and every weapon imaginable is suddenly shifted to you.

…

Graves tells you to put your ‘social skills’ into good use. You are not aware that was one of your talents, so it’s probably more of his bullshit. Either way, death by a thousand bullets gives you a solid motivation to turn the charm on and talk.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure we can all come to an agreement here. No need for all that firepower.” you say, totally not sweating at all underneath your white jacket. “You have something that we need and I’m sure we can negotiate a profitable deal for everyone.”

Jackpot. Bounty hunters want money more than anything. And there is not a sweeter sound to their ears than the promise of wealth. Even if you’re just talking nonsense to save your ass.

“If I could just speak to the captain—”

“The captain is listening.” a commanding voice says from up ahead. Some of the crew members part to let her through…

And.

You see a vision in this nightmare.

The woman that walks forward stands out like fire over water, like stark color on Bilgewater’s salt-washed palette. Maybe it’s the vivid red of her flowing hair, stark against the gold-trimmed black of her hat, or the emerald green of her eyes, or the way she holds herself, a queen on this deck. Whatever the reason, you cannot tear your gaze off of her.

Tongue-tied at the moment, you let Graves do the talking. Big mistake.

The goddess’ visage darkens when she sees your company, who she addresses in a less than pleasant tone: “Look what washed in with the tide. Malcolm Goddamn Graves.” You wouldn’t want that glare directed at you, ever.

“Fortune? Ah, hells, naw.” he curses. “What are ya doin’ here? How did ya get a whole damn fleet a’ warships?”

“A lot has changed since we last met. Fools around here decided to challenge me for control over Bilgewater. I locked this place down until we can resolve this inconvenience.” she says, like cutting off half the freaking island is not a big issue.

The sound of her heels on the wooden floor is downright ominous as she approaches. Her eye scans you lightning-quick, then the entirety of her attention is on Graves. The very next second…

A blunderbuss pistol is pointing right to your face, same as his.

“Whoah.” you gasp.

“What’s Gankplank paying you?!” she demands.

“I ain’t workin’ for that bastard! I ain’t even on speakin’ terms with his orange-eatin’ ass! Ya know that!”

“What I know is you came onto my deck with fancy new equipment and a whole team of mercenaries at your back. You know, just in case you thought you were being subtle, in all that silver and white sticking out in Bilgewater like a sore thumb.” She has a point. “That getup isn’t cheap and there’s only one cretin around here with that kind of coin. Now tell me what he’s planning, of you’ll be smoking that cigar through a new hole.”

“Um –ma’am? He’s telling the truth.” You almost regret speaking up when her piercing stare lands on you. “And we’re not mercenaries. We’re Sentinels of Light.” you add.

“You put on a convincing performance, cutie.” she says.

In any other scenario, a goddess like that calling you cute would make you blush. But the gun still very much in your face makes it difficult to really register the word.

“Like you’ve never heard of the ‘Saltwater Scourge’, ‘Reaver King of the High Seas’… ‘Scum-sucking Hagfish Who Takes All You Ever Cared About’…”

Oh, okay. So, she’s got a screw loose as well.Not surprising considering the company you attract, lately.

“Nope. Kiddo’s right, Sarah. They’re Sentinels, alright.” the very familiar voice of your boss, which normally doesn’t make you happy to hear, has the opposite effect now. Lucian walks up behind you to save the day.

“Lucian?” she asks, finally lowering her weapons. “…this is your crew?”

“Yep. And I’d appreciate it if you kindly refrained from killing them. Need about every gun we can get.” he replies.

“Follow me.” she says. “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

…

Captain Fortune does not drive an easy bargain.

From what you hear later, she’s given Lucian a real hard time with negotiations. And even now, she’s the one who holds all the cards.

If you are to defeat Viego and make it clear to Bilgewater it was her who made it possible, she is willing to trade with the fetter and even let you stay on her ship in the meantime. Otherwise, if she gets the feeling it’s him who gains ground and holds the power in this place, you’re basically screwed.

The others are uneasy. They’ve suggested multiple times you steal the fetter from Fortune and dash for your lives after. Thing is, with how close she keeps that relic, that plan is looking impossible.

Which brings you to where you are right now, all the Sentinels and Miss Fortune gathered around the same map, planning your next action.

“Yes, but if I help you get there, what’s in it for me?” she asks.

And really, you don’t have anything to offer her in return. Even Lucian looks to Senna for help. Who, in turn, looks at you.

Why do they keep doing that? What have you done to convince these people you are good at talking? Especially to women like the captain.

“How about the… moral reward of helping save people from these monsters?” you suggest.

Her green eyes –and holy shit are they green— look at you like she wants to both scoff and laugh sardonically. “Tell me that is a joke.”

“It –it really isn’t.” you reply.

She huffs. “Look. I’m sure you’re all nice people. But nice people here get their throats cut.” She motions with her hand. “The cutthroats get the spoils. That’s how it works. I only care about the spoils.” she states. “So, if you want things from me and my crew, you need to make it worth our time.”

Their time sure isn’t cheap.

You know you don’t have anything at Headquarters with the kind of value she’s looking for. Definitely no coin and no gold for her services. But. You’ve heard multiple times during classes that the materials the Sentinel outfits are weaved from are extremely durable and therefore, extremely desirable.

“Would you and your crew be interested in a wardrobe overhaul?” you ask. All eyes are on you, but hers are the most intense. “Every prestigious fleet has to look the part, no? Plus, these clothes…” you say, grabbing the nearest knife and dragging it across your sleeve. The fabric is not so much as scratched. “…are pretty cool.” you tell her.

Miss Fortune leans back in her captain’s chair with a pretty smile painted on her –very attractive— lips.

“Now you’re talking my language, cutie. I’m sure we can work something out.”

…

On one hand, you have Gwen sewing day and night –your fault, you feel bad for it— while the rest of you handle the fighting. On the other, you do have a ship taking you wherever you need and making your job of clearing the darkness ten times faster.

Even Lucian has given you a pat on the back for that one. That was certainly unexpected.

“We need Fortune to take us here.” Senna points on the map. “Rookie, you go tell her.”

You almost choke on your water. “Why me?” you ask.

“Because you’re finally making yourself useful.” Lucian replies. Ouch.

“I’ve been very useful from the start!” you argue. The others look amongst themselves. “Hey!”

“I mean… points for effort.” Diana comments.

“Moral support is useful, I agree.” Riven smirks at you.

‘Asshole’ you mouth, rising from your seat. Her grin only widens.

You send them a narrowed, unimpressed look over your shoulder on your way out. Some of the crew members that see you walking towards the captain’s cabin whistle your way. You’re sure there’s tons of colorful comments behind your back but you have bigger things to worry about.

Like… the way a certain redhead looks leaned back in her plush chair, a queen on her throne, toying with a gold coin that flips over her nimble fingers with effortless ease. Focus on the mission. The mission, I say. Oh, Gods…

“I love how they send you in to ask for extra.” she says. “So. Are you the silver tongue of the group?” There’s something in her little smirk and the way she says ‘tongue’ that gets to you, but that’s probably just your vivid imagination.

That and the months you’ve spent without any outlet for your stress other than fighting, on top of more fighting.

“No, the others are just that terrible at basic social interactions.” It’s the truth.

Fortune gives a small chuckle. “Let’s see how good you are, then, Sentinel.”

You pleadwith your hopeless lesbian brain not to fry on the spot. “We sort of need you to get us further than discussed. While hoping that… the scenic route will be its own reward?”

“Cute.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” you perk up.

“No.”

“I’ll send Lucian here next time so he can bore you to death until you agree.” You never claimed to be above blackmail.

“A bold statement.” she replies. “Tell you what. If you demolish a few of my enemies’ ships during your hunt for the mist things, then deal.”

Sentinels aren’t supposed to do that. And if you tell Lucian, that will be his exact answer. You can already hear his unpleasant voice in your head. However, you’ve already figured out the world doesn’t work by the Sentinel Code, so…

“Accidents do happen on the battlefield.” you say.

Sarah gives you that slow smile that makes a certain part of you feel hot under your outfit. “And don’t bring any of the others in here to negotiate. I’d rather look at your pretty face.”

Uh.

Um.

By the time you exit the cabin, all you can think is, what just happened?

…

Combat is a rush, sometimes. As is knowing you’re getting stronger and faster by the day. You still don’t hold a candle to the rest of your group, but you can finally say you’re helping them out.

Being further up in the enemy’s face, though, is also petrifying. You see a twisted reflection of yourself in every mist wraith’s dead eyes. There are nightmares that come hand-in-hand with the experience… and then there’s physical pain.

You’ve been hurt before. Their talons can slice through even your magic-reinforced outfits. Still, every time feels worse than the last. The laceration you’re currently sporting on your side is burning like the fires of hell.

You’re trying not to scream by the time Riven lowers you onto the deck. Your vision is blurred with sweat and the tears you’re fighting to keep at bay.

“What’s going on here?” you hear Fortune’s voice in your haze.

“Tell me you have a healer on board!” Riven shouts.

“And they can get here fast!” Senna adds.

You’re not sure how much time passes. It feels like light years until someone kneels beside you and starts working on your wound. The healing magic pulls and sears at you. Every muscle in your body is taut with the effort to keep still.

“Isn’t …a healing spell supposed to numb the pain, first?” Diana asks.

“Look, blondie, I’m no professional here, ye? Just picked up a few things from mah old man. If ya wanna criticize, come here and do it yourself.” he answers. And it’s …not the best feeling in the world to hear your healer say that.

“No offense. Just worried for our teammate.” Senna adds. At least one of your bosses cares about your wellbeing.

The other just benches you for the next mission.

…

Out of all the people you expected to come see you while you’re recovering, Sarah Fortune is the last who came to mind. You’re almost shocked mute when the captain comes to sit on the edge of your bed, graceful and fluid as ever. Gorgeous as ever, too, while you’re sure you look pale as a ghost, eyes sunken as a shipwreck.

“Hey, Rookie.” she greets.

“Ah, great. That nickname’s never gonna come off, is it.” you roll your blue eyes.

“How’s the battle scar?”

“I’m not bleeding all over your fancy deck anymore, at least.” you say. “Guess I should be glad for that.” Although you are a bit frustrated that the ‘healer’s’ hand was so shaky there’s a scar left there now, permanently, when it could have been avoided. “And that the dude wasn’t drunk bad enough to stitch my organs to my skin.”

“Yeah, luckily he was only a little drunk.” she nods.

“That makes total sense for a healer. Who, from what I know from four years at the Academy, should always be sober.” you cannot keep it in any longer.

“That’s… a tall order here.” Yes, of course, the place is far too shitty for that.

“I gathered.”

“Come, now. Don’t be upset about the scar.” You’re upset about the pain that could have been avoided if the damn guy just didn’t drink his ass off in the middle of the day. “…Want me to kiss it better?”

You’re so far up your mind –filled with thoughts of being a dead weight on the team on top of your dead classmates because of Viego— you don’t even hear her. Your head is pounding from the pressure the memory causes you, a killer mix with the effect of the painkillers you’ve been on, all evening.

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” you reply, your voice hoarse and alien to your own ears.

…

You and Fortune talk a bit more on the two days you’re out of commission.

You learn a few things about her, like the fact you have a common interest in psychology. Like the fact you shouldn’t ever ask about her past or her family, unless you want her to close up tighter than a clam, at the speed of lightning. In the meantime, if it feels like she may be throwing more smirks your way than when she talks to anyone else, you blame that on your wishful thinking.

That woman is way out of your league.

It is one in the night and everyone on the ship is either well asleep or completely passed out from booze. You wake up from a nightmare, then fully register the way the ship is swaying from the angry waves. The resulting nausea has you completely losing the desire to fall back into the land of dreams.

You thought you’d be the only one awake when you walked up to the deck, yet you quickly realize that’s not the case when the sound of heels approaches from behind. You already know it’s her. The night breeze does a wonderful job of carrying her perfume straight to your nose. As if she wasn’t already fatally attractive without it.

You keep your eyes on the waves, so dark blue they look black.

“Oh, this is a surprise. Such a romantic soul, admiring the sea in the dead of night.” she says. The slight –sexy as fuck— slur to her words must have something to do with the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Yeah, my thoughts are not that deep.” you chuckle. “More like ‘fuck this constant motion under my feet’.”

She gives a small, airy exhale that could pass as a laugh, leaning on the railing next to you. Kind of close, too. “Ah and here I thought Sentinels didn’t swear.” she says. “And that they don’t drink. Unless you care to prove me wrong there, too.”

She takes a swing of the bottle and passes it to you. The smart part of your brain tells you it is a bad, bad idea. The rest of you is seduced by the promise of the buzz and the challenge in her eyes.

Well. Since you’re not really getting anywhere closer to where her lips are in anything other than your very private fantasies, you think may just take the chance for an indirect kiss that’s presented.

The gulp you take from the bottle –you intended a sip but the fucking ship moves so much— burns a trail down your throat and past your insides. You almost cough. How heavy is this thing?

“Ahem. So.” you begin. “What’s keeping you out late?”

“I have great company.” At first you think she means you, then you realize it’s the bottle that’s lucky. Hah, fell right into that one. “And… my cabin is very cold tonight.”

It’s really chilly, yeah, but it’s not that bad, you think. Maybe the two of you are just used to different climates, though. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” you reply.

“Well. Guess I should head in or it will never warm up by itself.” she says.

You nod and bid her goodnight, turning your eyes back to the inky waves. But then you feel her weight softly crash into your back, ample chest pressing against you, one of her hands on your waist and the other on the railing next to yours for support. Her lips are right by your ear, so close you feel them brush against the shell as she says:

“Oops.”

Then she’s gone, taking her extremely sexy perfume with her, while your stomach drops to the sea and sinks right to the very bottom. It takes a few moments to realize you’re still holding the railing so tightly your fingers have gone white.

What the…

You go back to bed trying not to think about whatever that was.

The next day, you have no idea why she’s not speaking to you at all, or why she doesn’t even look at you when she addresses the Sentinels, none-too-pleased with your progress.

…

When one of the crewmates tell you the captain has summoned you, you do a double take and ask if she really means you. Fortune has been in a weird mood towards you since that night, to say the least.

You are mentally braced for the worst when you enter her cabin. You’re already tired from fighting mist wraiths all morning and you don’t think you can handle whatever it is that’s going on with her at the moment.

Scratch that. You’re sure you can’t when she gets up from her seat, walking almost in a circle around you, like a shark. You lean back against the wooden surface of her desk, waiting. Cautious.

“Have I not been clear enough, all these days?” she asks, as if wondering out loud.

“Um…. excuse me?” you question back. Has the mist gotten to her? It has been known to cause strange behavior after prolonged exposure.

She’s at the door now, facing you without really looking at you and it makes you feel trapped. Your one escape is blocked. “You’re not from around here, so I thought it was best not to be… Bilgewater-forward.” she says. “On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve been that subtle?”

“…I’m. I’m not…sure I follow.” you speak, quietly.

“Do you really have no idea or are you just trying to be polite?” She finally looks into your eyes.

You shake your head ‘no’.

She licks her lips. “What, was I supposed to give you a formal letter inviting you to my cabin for sex the other night?” Your jaw, you think, hits the floor and shatters. Your whole body shivers and goes rigid. “If you don’t want to, just say it so I won’t wait around for nothing.”

You… don’t know what words are at the moment. The ground has disappeared and you’re a falling mess. It is the worst case of freezing on the spot you’ve ever experienced.

“That’s not… that’s not… the case.” you manage to say.

“Good to know.” she nods, casually, then strides up to you and grabs the front of your high-collared Sentinel jacket, bringing you lip-to-lip. “Is this clear enough for you?” she breathes against you.

It’s more than clear enough when her plump lips seal over yours, tasting of sweet-flavored lipstick and alcohol and sea-salt. In fact, it is clear like a nuclear bomb going off on the back of your head.

The heat wave burns down your stomach violently and it only gets worse when she pushes her tongue into your mouth, licking over yours, her hips practically straddling you with how tightly fitted you stand. Every movement of her mouth or her body echoes all the way down yours.

It’s beyond anything you could have ever conjured in your head, having her angle your chin however she wants it while her hips slowly rock against you. It’s almost too hard and too fast and too good –and you get too close.

But then—

A knock comes on the door.

“Captain?” someone asks from the outside and it’s both a blessing and a dark curse.

Sarah tries to catch her breath, every exhale tickling your ear. “One moment.” she calls over her shoulder, sounding every bit the captain she is, as if the past minutes where you were literally dry humping each other didn’t happen.

She pulls back from you with a satisfied little smirk at how wrecked you no doubt look, pulling your outfit straight. Her thumb wipes off the smudge of her lipstick on the corner of your mouth, then she goes to a nearby mirror to reapply hers.

When she walks back over to you, your knees shake at just the sight of her. You don’t know how you’ll ever calm down from this. Safe to say she’s ruined every kiss you’ve ever had or will have.

“My bedroom will be open to you tonight. Consider this your formal letter, yes?” her long fingers brush over your jawline, as she stalks back to her seat.

“Come in.” she calls, poker face on, sounding bored.

You make your escape as tactical –and dignified— as possible and don’t look back until you’re practically off the ship.

…

To say you are distracted for the rest of the hours until night completely settles over Bilgewater is an understatement. Your head is in the clouds and you have no idea what’s going on around you. The whole world could catch fire and all you’ll be thinking about is Fortune, Fortune, Fortune…

“What’s got you so quiet tonight, little Sentinel?” Riven asks.

Only the best damn kiss of your entire life. Plus the fact you’re living a dream and you don’t want to wake up. “Maybe I’m just trying to imitate Vayne. From now on you’ll hear my voice only when we kill stuff.”

“Ha, ha.” Vayne comments in typical Vayne style from her seat, hunched over her weapon and making calibrations.

“All I’ll say is, be careful.” the Noxian lowers her voice a bit, the words kept between the two of you.

“Of what?” you play dumb.

“Just in general.”

You don’t know what Riven suspects but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been through a lot these past months. You deserve to feel something good once in a while. Your love life is none of their business unless it interferes with their business, which it won’t because you’re sure this won’t mean anything beyond Fortune’s bedroom.

You wait until everyone on the ship is asleep and take a liquid courage boost to sneak to the captain’s cabin.

…

One knock. That is all your knuckles manage, one contact with the door, until it swings open and a familiar hand grabs at the front of your outfit, pulling you in.

You’re pressed back against it as soon as it shuts, crimson lips hot on yours before you can even think to say anything. Gods, is she always so insistent?You could melt into a wet puddle on the floor from the way she presses into you alone. This woman knows exactly what she wants and how to take it.

Somewhere in the back of your head you hear the sound of a lock turning.

“Took you long enough.” she whispers when you break apart.

Once again, whatever you were about to say is cut off by her tugging on the high collar of your jacket. She either has a thing for it or for pulling you around in general, you think. No complains, whatever the case.

“Won’t you give me the tour around, first?” you ask, playing coy only thanks to the drink you’ve had. Otherwise, you’d be your usual self; a mess.

“Oh, sure.” she says as she shoves you into her bedroom, illuminated by a single candle. “Wardrobe, guns, bed.”

Well. It still feels like the best tour you’ve ever had when she walks you back until you’re falling on her very comfortable mattress, with her perched above you like a predator. She gives you a little smirk as she straddles your thigh and sits up, undoing the taut buttons on her shirt, painfully slow.

Oh… It would be very awkward if you died from a heart attack now, yet it feels like you’re on the verge of one.

“Nothing smart to say now, Sentinel?” The confidence comes with her looks, you’re sure. She knows she’s hot as fuck.

You shake your head, speechless, eyes travelling from her toned midriff to her perfect chest, to her hypnotic eyes and the sensual way her hair spills like a red waterfall across her shoulders. This is a dream, it’s not real life, but don’t wake me up ever…

Fortune leans back down, taking your chin in two fingers as she studies your flushed face. You don’t know what she’s looking for, but something in her visage softens a fraction.

“If it’s too much at any point, tell me.”

“If I can talk, I will.” you say, mesmerized by the way her eyes look under the dim light.

Your next liplock is a little less rushed than your previous ones. She takes her time exploring your mouth and you gradually get bolder with where you touch her, fingers grazing up her sides to her stomach, to the underside of her bra.

Her lips leave yours only to burn a trail down the corner of your mouth, across your jawline and to your neck. Deft fingers undo the clasps and pull down the zipper of your white jacket, guiding it past your shoulders without taking it completely off. She definitely has a thing for it. You’d comment on that, too, if you could think about anything other than how good she smells.

Clothes come off while she sucks on your neck, teeth pressing against you just shy of leaving marks. When both of you are down to your underwear and breathing heavy, her fingers caressing dangerously low on your waistline, her lips come near your ear.

“So… I want to make you beg, but I can’t help but feel like I’m already corrupting you a lot.”

Corrupt away. you want to tell her.

“Does that turn you on?” you whisper in her ear and feel her response with how her hips press down harder onto yours.

“Yes.” That breathless admission becomes your undoing.

You get lost in her lips after it and the sensation of her fingers on you –inyou— working you up towards what could be simultaneously your ruin and your salvation. You touch her in turn, filling the room with both your moans and gasps, until that glorious peak of white-hot pleasure where the whole world comes to a stop for a few moments.

There is a time limit to your time together, now and generally, you are aware. But you allow yourselves a few quiet moments together as you lay there with the excuse of catching your breath, even if you already have.

Tough game you’re playing here. The smarter part of your brain says. It’s all too easy to get addicted to having her atop you like this. The better the dream, the more bitter the wakeup.

When Fortune lifts herself off you to slide under her heavy covers, you register the chill of night. You dress almost sluggishly, your body so very exhausted from the activities of the whole day.

Kissing her goodnight is almost an urge you fight under control, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if this was all she wanted out of your dalliance.

“Well, my bunk is calling.” you turn around to tell her, trying not to blush when you see her with her elbow resting on her pillow, cheek cutely pressed on her fist, watching you like a languid cat.

“Hate to watch you leave but I love to watch you go.” she smirks at you.

You roll your eyes. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

…

It is after a long damn day of fighting that you get to finally sit down and enjoy a meal and drinks.

The crew was cold and distrustful towards you at first, but they seem to have opened up more over the course of weeks –especially today, after you secured them a chest filled with gold coins left behind by wealthy people who were running from the wraiths. From the corner of your eye, you subtly watch Sarah Fortune interact with her men, hoping it’s not obvious how badly into her you are.

“So…” Riven begins from the chair next to you and you know that’s not going to be good.

“What?” You face her, playing cool.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to say that she’s bad for you… but I will, anyway.” You give Riven a blank stare that absolutely doesn’t fool her. Shit.

“Like how do you even know.” You finally break.

“It wasn’t obvious since day one there was something there?” Yeah, maybe to everyone except you.

“Wait.” Hold on a second. “Does everyone know?”

“I think everyone except Diana has pretty much figured it out.” That certainly explains the looks Lucian has been giving you all day. Double shit.

“What? The thing between Fortune and Rookie, here?” Diana asks from behind you.

Triple—

“Scratch that. Everyone knows.” Riven tells you. “And we all agree. She’s bad for you.” You hate the emphasis on that. “As in the worst.”

“I getit, Riven, thank you.” You shake your hand in her face while the other covers yours.

“I mean I know ruthless, player redheads who can and will absolutely murder you without a second thought are, like, a kink of yours—”

You don’t think your face gets any redder than this. “What—” you nearly choke on air. “That –how do you figure that out? That’s not even true.”

“Dude. When Katarina Du Couteau was brought into our conversation you nearly gasped and fangirled for the next hour.”

“I just heard a lot about one of our biggest Demacian enemies and wanted to know if it was all true!” you defend yourself.

“You asked me if she’s as hot as rumor has it, not about her war achievements.” Riven laughs.

“And you didn’t answer! Well, is she or isn’t she?” you ask. For… scientific purposes.

“I’m not going to answer that!” Riven lifts her hands up.

“She is.” Graves says as he slides into the seat next to you, drink in hand.

“Thank you!” You pat him on the shoulder.

“We should totally have her join the Sentinels.” he adds.

“Hah!” A vein pops at Riven’s temple. “And the answer will be something along the lines of ‘bold of you to assume I give a single fuck about the world’.” comes the imitation.

“Whoa, that’s exactly how she sounds like.” Graves says.

You’re glad the conversation has shifted away from you, at least.

From the opposite side of the room, you feel a familiar pair of eyes on you, yet they’re averted the second you raise yours to meet them.

…

They may know about your one-time thing with Fortune and heavily scrutinize it, but they still send you in now that they need to ask for more from the captain. With that, your teammates lose every right to comment on what you do and don’t do with her.

“We’ll get you the coin from that ship –well, Graves will, since they already hate him—and you help us out here. Deal?” you ask her.

There. You can be a professional and negotiate terms with the most beautiful woman in the world, who you also happened to have had mindblowing sex with, without constantly looking at her lips.

“Deal, but…” she begins. “You’re sitting all the way over there… why?”

So much for keeping your mind out of the gutter. “Um.” You lick your lips, unsure of what to say, while she smirks slow, like the cat that got the canary.

“Come here.” A pat on her desk, right in front of her chair.

Against your better judgement, you walk around the furniture and lean there, really, really close to her, especially when she stands, towering over you in her heels. You can tell she likes it, too.

“Don’t look at me like that, we leave in ten minutes.” you say. It doesn’t even phase her.

Her fingers move to the zipper of your jacket and although you should stop her, you don’t. “Really?” she leans closer, closer still, until her tantalizing mouth is a hair’s breadth from yours.

“…really. Nine, now.” you waver.

“Guess we have to be fast, then.”

She lightly pushes you onto her desk and starts undoing your belt buckles. The thought of what you’re about to do alone could make you come on the spot. It’s not just the thought that’s threatening to do that, when you feel her cool fingers slide right where you need them.

“You’re going to ditch me for your little Sentinel friends, who don’t like me?” she asks in your ear.

Oh, Gods…

“Ah, I like you enough for all of us, Fortune.” your lips move against her jawline as you speak. A little further down and you can feel how quick her pulse is. You wouldn’t have guessed, with how composed she looks fingering you on her desk.

“Sarah.” she holds your chin with two fingers as she says it, like a secret between you. “Call me Sarah when you come.”

You do.

…

It becomes a nightly thing after that, your visits in her bedroom.

She’s insatiable and she makes everything bothering you go away for those precious hours. But. The more you see of her, you cannot help but feel like something’s very wrong with Sarah.

Underneath the visage of the ruthless captain, the queen who can just reach out and take anything she wants, you see… cracks. She doesn’t sleep well. She drinks. You’re pretty sure you’re another distraction –coping mechanism?— although it doesn’t bother you. She’s the same for you, isn’t she?

It’s not like you have feelings for her.

…Right?

No, no that would be terrible. You definitely don’t. You are allowed to love the way her fingers are running lazy circles on your thigh right now without any sort of complicated emotions involved.

“You should quit while you’re ahead.” she tells you, half muffled into her pillow, stark black against the red of her hair.

This or the Sentinel war? You wonder.

“You have little cuts everywhere. They don’t even have time to disappear before new ones open on top of them.” she moves the back of her pointer to the biggest visible line near your knee, then up your arm, until her hand rests on the crook of your neck. “Leave the others to deal with the mist. It’s not your problem.”

“The world’s problem is my problem. Guess where I lived and what region fell to Viego first.”

You refrain from telling her how many people close to you met his blade before that. How many of the classmates you ate and trained with for four years you had to see skewered by him, on his insane quest for his ‘love’. You don’t want to sour your time together with your burdens. Your pain, your nightmares, are your own to deal with.

“If you keep going you’ll fall to him first.” she counters. “You’ll die protecting one of those idiots in your group or some random civilian.”

“Thanks, Miss Fortune-teller.” you say, a tad irked at her blatant disregard for anyone who isn’t herself.

“I don’t have to be one to tell.” she gives you a sad smile. “It’s always the good ones that die. It’s always the monsters that win.”

You can’t help but wonder…

What made you this way?

…

You see now why emotions are considered a distraction on the battlefield. Even as you kill monsters, all you think about is her.

Come to think of it…

You’ve never seen her smile for real. What you’re looking for is a far cry from those smirks she throws around to bring people to their knees, or the sardonic ones she levels Lucian with. Even those she offers you behind closed doors have a shadow underneath them. It makes you wonder about what would make her happy enough to give a genuine smile.

When you happen across a shipwreck filled with valuables, you think this may be it. The Sentinels take what they need and agree to give the rest to Fortune to stay on her good graces.

Her whole ship lights up with the joy of riches. The crew is ecstatic. Laughter and cheers fill the deck.

And yet.

Her glee is pretend, just for the sake of her men. Her eyes are hollow.

When she eventually retreats to her cabin, you follow her and knock on her door. “It’s always open for you~” she calls from the inside, already in the company of a whiskey bottle.

You turn the key behind you, then lean forward with your hands on her desk, staring at her.

“Why this serious, sexy?” she asks. “Need me to help loosen you up a bit?”

“You need to part with the fetter, Sarah.” you state. “It affects you in ways you won’t notice or understand but it always does.”

“Ah, part with it so you and your crew of misfits can steal it from me? Hmm… no.” she chuckles.

“I care more about what it does to you than the fetter itself right now.” you try again. Only to fail again.

“That’s sweet, but I don’t trust you.” Talk about words being sharper than knives, sometimes. “Don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone.”

“What a joyful life this must be.” you bite back.

“Coin is joy for me, sweetheart.” she leans back in her plush chair, taking another swing from the bottle.

“You didn’t seem very happy to me, back there.”

She gives you a look and finally sets the whiskey down. “Come here. I’ll tell you a little secret about me.” she says, a tad more serious than before.

Cautiously, you step around the desk until you’re in front of her seat. Her hand shoots up like a bullet, then, taking hold of your jacket and dragging you down until the two of you are eye-level.

“You know what would really make me happy right now?” You feel her leg move up the inside of yours, deliciously slow, as she speaks… until she hooks her calf behind your knee and makes your weight fall onto it. “For you to shut up about fetters and concerns and go down on me.”

Fuck.

Deep down, to a small part of you not ruled by your hormones, you know using sex to avoid any sort of deeper conversation between you is unhealthy. You know an arrangement where there’s no trust is unhealthy.

Then again, the circumstances that brought you together are anything but healthy.

And what sort of pretty flower can burst forth, really, from a corrupted seed?

…

When you return from your mist-slaying, late in the evening, the crew is uneasy.

“Don’t bother the cap’n right now.” One of the men says. “She ain’t havin’ the best o’ days.”

You later find out that they had a run-in with an enemy fleet. That the Reaver King has resurfaced and is looking to claim Bilgewater for himself. Major shit is about to go down, the bounty hunters tell you and you do not want to be outsiders caught in the middle when it finally hits the fan.

You give Sarah her space until the need to check up on her becomes overwhelming.

One knock on the door. “Leave.” she hisses from within the office like a tensed cat. Another knock. “You have ten seconds before I put a bullet through your skull!”

“Can’t imagine I’ll be very attractive then.” you reply.

The door swings open; her eyes are the epitome of a raging storm. You’ve never seen her like this, so hateful and distressed… and it hurts to witness. “My ‘leave’ applies to everyone. You, included.”

“Cool.” you nod at her. Pause. “So… can I come in now?”

Sarah throws her hands up in exasperation, pivoting with an angry, whispered ‘whatever’. She paces across her cabin, an agitated lion one step away from pouncing. Her hands run through her fiery hair as though they cannot keep still.

“You need to leave Bilgewater asap and never come back.” You don’t know if she’s talking to you or thinking out loud. “You need to go. With or without the rest of them, I don’t care, just go!”

“What’s… gotten into you?” you dare ask.

“He’s back. He always comes back, no matter how many times I sink the bastard. It’s like he cannot die. He just won’t die!” her voice is raw with her rage. “You Sentinels fight the darkness but you don’t kill evil. Evil will still be here –rooted here— even if you win.”

You open your mouth but can’t find anything to say.

“I have to win my own war. I will be victorious no matter the cost, no matter the bloodshed.” Sarah goes on. “But I need to know that you won’t be here. Do you understand?!”

You just look at her, sad and frozen, trying to understand. There’s nothing you can say to ease what’s hurting her and nothing you can do. You’ve seen this wretched thing eat away at her every day since the moment you met. It’s too deeply engraved in her heart for you to hope to change it; and it has little to do with the fetter in her possession.

Sarah crosses the room in two large strides and grabs your biceps. She looks like she’s ready to throw you off her ship herself…

Until.

She pulls you into her arms, instead.

Tight, like she’s afraid you’ll be gone the moment she lets go, she holds you close. Her head is tucked into your shoulder, her nails press hard into your back. You slowly bring your hands up to encircle her waist in return.

“I’ve lost everything. He took everything from me. I won’t give him the chance to take you away, as well.” she says.

Oh. you think. She cares about you, after all.

If only that was a good thing for either of you.

…

You feel it, when the moment comes.

Maybe you’ve always felt it and just didn’t want to admit it.

When Sarah stands in front of Viego offering the lot of you up along with the fetter in exchange for his ruined power, you know the agony you feel, like a blade splitting you down the middle, is your own doing. There is nobody but yourself to blame for it. The others warned you. Your own instinct warned you.

You didn’t listen.

You wanted to trust her. Maybe even to love her.

But her hatred runs deeper than whatever measly thing you were to her.

As the mist shrouds Fortune and turns her red hair luminescent blonde, as it eats away at her colors until they’re all black and sickly green, until the eyes you knew turn cold and unfeeling, you feel something in you crack. Maybe it’s your faith. Maybe it’s your heart.

There’s a lesson to take from this, you’re sure, despite how your emotions choke you. Right now, though, you focus on avoiding her bullets and having your teammates’ backs in the rain of chaos that follows.

You end up deep in the water, bleeding, defeated. You and the other Sentinels have never been crushed by your losses, but it will take some time to pick up your pieces and continue onward until the end of your war.

You allow yourself one scream muffled in the dark sea.

When you swim to the shore and pull your body out of the mud, you are silent.

“Are you okay? I know that was harder for you than it was for us.” Riven lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’ll let it hurt after we get Viego.”

For now, you can’t afford taking the pain of a broken heart with you on the battlefield.

Sarah. You later think. Now I understand why hurricanes are named after people.

#miss fortune #sarah fortune #miss fortune x oc #miss fortune x reader #sentinels of light spoilers #league of legends #fanfiction #creative writing #riven

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dracosaurusrex · 4 years ago

Text

Kintsugi: Imperfectly Perfect (Draco x Reader)

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.”

- Tiffany Ayuda

Summary:In which Y/N teaches a broken Draco Malfoy how to mend himself and embrace the scars that haunt him.

Wordcount: 10.3k

Genre: Angst/Fluff; Postwar AU

Warnings: Descriptions of depression; self-degredation; sexual themes but no smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing a postwar AU. I was always afraid of doing so out of fear that I would mistakenly portray Draco, but I guess this can be a rite of passage in a way aha. With that being said, here’s my attempt! I hope you like it :D Feedback is very much appreciated!!

The sound of an alarm clock breaks the peace that had manifested within the darkness of the room. One eye creaks open, followed by the other, and a body raises itself to greet the day.

The boy lifts his sheets gently, allowing the cold air to engulf his skin, to wake him, to pull him into the reality of yet another morning.

The pads of his feet are the next to awaken as he hoists himself out of bed, meeting the frigid floor beneath him. He plods across the expanse of space, only to take notice of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco Malfoy, once boisterous, prideful, loud, and arrogant, had been reduced to a shell. One that lived by drifting through the motions of each passing day. It showed through the dark circles apparent under his eyes, the frown that resided on his lips, and his overall gaunt appearance. The thrill that was once characteristic of his youth had spilled through his cracks, leaving him empty and seemingly unrepairable; and no other perspective of his experience could convince him otherwise.

The second wizarding war took too much from him so early on. It started with his father, the man he had ardently looked up to, who he desired so much to please. Lucius’s arrest put the young boy on the forefront of the Death Eaters’ activities, placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders. From that point on, it wasn’t long until the mischievous smile left him, only to be replaced with panicked eyes, increased stress levels, and absolutely no peace of mind. The boy had his entire life on a tightrope, constantly pulling strings to survive.

The result of such was the immense realization of guilt pooling from the sights of Hogwarts in shambles, the lifeless bodies of those he was once acquainted with, and the shame of literally walking away from it all.

Nightmares were also frequent visitors. Besides those that embodied remnants of the war, Draco was almost always confronted by the tauntings of his wrongs: the way he poorly treated others, his stuck-up sense of superiority, the foul slur that he once used so freely--they all haunted him with no end, and all he wanted to do was take everything back. The boy has so often degraded his character since then, describing himself with words such as ‘worthless’, ‘loathsome’, ‘putrid’--the list goes on. He carried his beating heart as though it was dead weight, wanting so desperately to discard the regret that compounded on itself through the years. He was broken, and had no hope of being fixed.

It was also needless to say that the family dynamic had changed for the Malfoy’s; especially since they often stayed within the confines of the property. Narcissa had been diligent in eradicating the place of all things that harbored any signs of Voldemort’s occupation--opening curtains, tending to her garden, changing up the plans for the interior design. Lucius, on the other hand, often occupied himself in his study, simply abiding by the plans for change that his wife had made. He still invested in his social connections, actively making donations to charities and hospitals that had been established as a result of the war. The act helped shed some light on their image, however any interaction that was to be made with the world outside was done through Draco as representative of the family name.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his mind silent in the mornings. As he walked through the vast hallways he would take note of the way light had poured into the manor, admiring the charm that it brought to its nooks and crannies. The quaint atmosphere that was characteristic of these corridors were peaceful, and managed to calm his thoughts albeit temporarily.

As soon as he entered the dining room, Narcissa beckoned him to sit with her and his father.

“Draco, darling, come have some breakfast.” Without much response, he obeys, taking the spot across from her. She placed his favorites on a platter, and observed him as he nibbled on the food in front of him. After several minutes of silence, she pulled an ivory-colored envelope from the pocket of her robe and slid it to him. With food still mounted on his utensils, the boy glanced at the gold details that embellished its corners.

“We’ve been invited to an art gala hosted by the Ministry. The details are inside.” She said.

“I’ll be sure to be in attendance, mother.” He confirmed before resuming his breakfast. The woman casted a worried look at him before turning to Lucius. Things could never go back to the way they once were.

The art gala was held on a Saturday evening, and Draco found himself standing in front of a finely decorated building. An air of aristocracy and luxury loomed within the environment--it was an energy that he had been surrounded by all his life. Large columns aligned its front. A red carpet stemming from the entrance had been rolled out, sweeping along a flight of stairs. Familiar faces of esteemed socialites were seen making their way up the steps. Banners had been hung, indicating the gala and a live auction as highlights of the day’s events.

His only job was to engage in civilized conversation, connect with other high-standing figures, and expand the family network. Simply put, he was there to look pretty.

The feeling of dread overcame him at the thought of immersing himself in socialization. With a begrudging sigh, he straightened his back, briefly smoothened out his suit, and adjusted his cufflinks before trudging up the stairs. Eyes tracked his every step. Despite his emotional wellbeing, the boy still managed to clean up well, creating a facade to those around him. He didn’t bask in the glory, though. He knew he was handsome, he knew he was wealthy, but looks and money were no longer sufficient enough to help him tend to the emptiness he felt on the inside.

The gala itself didn’t begin until 6:00 PM, which was in an hour. Therefore, in hopes to kill time, Draco aimlessly walked through the art displayed for the auction to be held later that night. He carefully observed the numerous crafts with great scrutiny. Paintings were created with much detail--many of them embodying styles from the varying art periods. Sculptures paying great detail to the human body littered the main floor. Hand-crafted furniture were set on display as well, showcasing elaborate ornaments and designs. Mother would like these. He thought. He continued plodding across the exhibit, typically stopping for a mere minute for every submission before walking away.

It was when he took sight of a humble set of ceramics that he actually stopped to stare. The collection consisted of bowls and pots ranging from small to medium sizes. However, what caught his attention were the traces of gold that coursed through their shapes. They took the form of cracks, which looked too beautiful, too flawless to be such--he couldn’t comprehend them ever being broken at all.

“Do you like them?” A light voice startles him from his thoughts. Standing next to him is a bright-eyed girl whose face he vaguely remembers.

“Y/N Y/L/N? What are you doing here?” He dismisses her question and looks at her with disbelief laced through his voice. The girl was in Ravenclaw when they were still in Hogwarts. Due to the difference in houses and friend groups, there was rarely any interaction between them. Nevertheless, he’s heard countless praises for her artistic talent even as a student, therefore reserved a tinge of respect for her reputation.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s been such a long time!” She beams at him. A breathy laugh escapes him as a polite smile settles on his lips.

“Definitely has been. Were you eyeing this set as well?” He glanced back at the ceramics, contemplating on bidding for them in the auction. The sight of them evoked a warm, admirable energy within him, as though they called for his presence.

“Heavens, no. I actually made them.” Y/N took notice of the way he glanced at them, and shyly rubbed the back of her neck. The boy turned to her with eyes widened in awe of her brilliance—the smile of politeness immediately transitioning to one of sincerity.

“You made these? They’re beautiful!” The comment brought heat to her cheeks.

“Draco, please. You flatter me so.”

“I’ll be taking these home without a doubt.” He reassures her. In the moment that he says so, he immediately takes notice of her appearance. Her hair was slicked into a low bun. Her makeup gave her a pleasant dewy look. Gold accessories accentuates her deep emerald evening gown, which only emphasizes her curves as it flows down her body. He couldn’t recall her ever being attractive when they were students—she had always been clad in blue. But, tonight proved that green was definitely her color.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He complimented as his eyes glossed over her. She bit her lip in response to the butterflies that formed in her stomach.

“You always had a way with words didn’t you, Malfoy?” The melodic laugh that she produced, in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat.

“I admit I was a prat, but I’m not joking around this time.” The girl let out another giggle before placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I think you look rather dashing yourself. Unfortunately, though, I have to get going. I’ll see you around?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Draco watches Y/N’s figure as she walks away. Before she goes any further, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Good luck with the auction!”

With a small wave and smile, the boy is left in a lighter state.

The gala came and went with Draco thoroughly exhausted from the copious amounts of socialization. Questions regarding connections to his father were asked, business cards were exchanged, and flattery and compliment was a common occurrence amongst these interactions. Nevertheless, the boy’s energy especially drained from the intensity of the auction that occurred towards the end of the night. All the art pieces were valuable and beautiful, however it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t the only one drawn to Y/N’s work. Competition for the highest bid was at an all-time high as number paddles were desperately raised for every price announced. His heart clambered in his chest as the thought of keeping the ceramics seemingly slipped from his grasp.

“Highest bid for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any takers?” The auctioneer announces. Draco waits for a second to see that no one has raised their paddles. Within the next, he lifts his own confidently.

“We have a bidder for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any more bidders? No?” At this point, adrenaline coursed through his veins, beads of sweat had formed and fell, and the grip on his paddle tightened, leaving marks on his hand.

The auctioneer proceeds to announce the final countdown, “Final bid for 80,000 galleons! 1, 2, 3, sold to Draco Malfoy!” Relief overcame him while congratulatory praises were given by those nearby. He catches Y/N’s gaze from afar, and throws her a wink, signifying the resolution for the chaotic night.

As attendees began to file out of the building, the boy waited in the hall to collect his reward, filling out the form that confirmed the amount he had to pay. With his attention drawn to the slip, he fails to notice Y/N’s presence beside him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes widening at the amount before looking away to suppress the smile that threatens to form on her lips. She never really gave much monetary value to her art before; each one was produced as a product of passion and love. However, the expression that it first brought to Draco’s face, in addition to the amount of effort he put in to attain them, reassures that her work will be well taken care of. She momentarily stares at his broad shoulders before gaining the courage to speak.

“Congratulations!” She says, startling him once again. He takes a second to collect his breath before looking up at her.

“Do you plan on giving me a heart attack, Y/L/N, or is it in your nature to be overly enthusiastic?” The shameless smirk she has on her face, prompts him to release a chuckle. He stands up straight as soon as he signs the piece of paper, engaging his line of vision with hers.

“The way you respond is not my fault, Malfoy.” She answers, playfully shoving her index finger towards his shoulder. He grabs her wrist, and the warmth from his hands, accompanied by the flirtatious gleam in his eyes, prompts her to cast the same expression. She shoots him a coy smile before he releases her from his grasp.

“Would you like to accompany me to the front?” He asks.

“That’d be lovely.” The pair approaches the stage where the volunteers greet them both. They present his items upon confirmation, and proceed to wrap each bowl individually. He lifts one of the unwrapped pieces to his eyes, examining the gold details.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?” He asks, impressed by her craftsmanship.

“It’s a technique called ‘kintsugi’. I learned it while living in Japan for a while after the war,” She says, reaching her hand out for it. He gives it to her.

“You know, these pieces were never supposed to be auctioned off in this gala,” She explains as she delicately traces the lines, “They were so damaged. You can even consider them to be broken beyond repair,” Draco observes as she lifts it to her eye level.

“But obviously, when pieced back together—with all their cracks emphasized by the gold—they have much more value and beauty,” Y/N gives it back to Draco, and he takes it gingerly.

“However, It took a long time for it to come out that way. When you examine the piece before its repair, the first thought in mind would be to discard it. After all, why would anyone bother mending a broken bowl?” She meets his eyes once again.

“These cracks would typically be considered flaws, but at the end of the process the piece is still whole—I’m still whole. They mean a lot to me, and helped me heal from the war and all.” Her line of sight drifts towards the end of her statement, yet the boy catches himself appalled by the passion in her voice. He didn’t expect her to speak so openly, yet the words that flowed from her mouth touch him in a way he can’t comprehend. For once he feels a glimmer of hope budding within. For once, inspiration meets him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling she effortlessly provided.

“I’ll make sure to take great care of them.” He says with much sincerity.

He places the piece back onto the table, and turns back to Y/N to see a sweet smile on her lips.

“I have faith you will.” A knowing look is shared between them--one that makes both hearts flutter in longing to see each other again.

“Do you think we can keep in contact? If it’s alright with you that is. I’d like to become more familiar with this art technique.”

“The Slytherin prince wants to keep in contact with me? Consider me wooed.” Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles at the old title. Before he could respond, she speaks again with more seriousness, “I don’t usually accept visitors in my studio, but I’ll make an exception for you. You can come by sometime, if you’d like.”

A genuine smile appears on his lips for the second time that night. Out of all the individuals he exchanged contacts with, she by far had been his favorite. He ensured to send her an owl to confirm their meeting, hoping to do so some time next week.

As they part, she turns back one more time, and calls out to him, “Draco,” The sound of his name perks his head upward

“You should smile more. It’s a lovely sight.” Before he could see her face erupt in a blush, she apparates away. With his new belongings in hand and an obvious grin, he too returns to the manor, feeling elated for the first time in a long while.

It was nine o’clock by the time Draco apparated home. Narcissa immediately took notice of his change in aura much to her relief.

“How was the gala, dear?” She asks.

“Quite pleasant this time around, if I’m being honest. I won these at an auction.” Draco stated as he props the box on top of a table. His mother approaches him, attention drawn to the objects when he reveals the contents inside.

She gasps, “Oh my stars, they’re beautiful.”

She picks one up delicately. The expression she had on her face was very much identical to the one he sported when he came across them the first time.

“I knew you’d like them. The artist was a fellow classmate of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Who is it? I would like to see more from this artist.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Quite brilliant she is.” Mother’s instinct told Narcissa that this girl had her son taken aback. She saw it through the pleasant expression that graced his facial features, which contrasted greatly to the gloomy air that usually accompanied him. Furthermore, there was a decadent tone in his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile present when her name rolled off his tongue. She decided to probe a little bit more.

“House?”

“Ravenclaw.” He responds.

“Very fitting. The craftsmanship in her work is amazing,” The woman’s eyes marveled at the gold.

“How is she?” She asks. The question catches the boy off guard.

“Pardon?”

“How is she doing? Has she been okay since the war?”

“We didn’t touch upon it too much. Although, she mentioned that creating these has helped her heal.”

“You mean to say that these were broken at one point?”

“Precisely. She mended them.” At this point, Narcissa was quite taken by the girl as well.

“You should invite her over one of these days. I’d love to have a cup of tea with her.” Draco quirked a brow at her.

“You’re not going to ask about her blood status?”

“I would’ve known she was a pureblood from her last name, but times are changing aren’t they not?” Narcissa flashes a tightlipped smile towards her son, to which he responds with a nod of understanding.

“I’ll be going up then. You can keep that one mother. You seem to take a liking to it.” Draco turns on his heel at the end of his statement, carrying the box of ceramic goods under his arm. He wouldn’t acknowledge that times are changing. However, tonight has been the only instance he had felt his life shifting —from the way he reunited with Y/N, to the way his mother spoke. It was a step forward to redemption, and he felt a little more willing to see where it would go.

The boy sat on his bed, deep in thought. With moonlight shining upon him, he delicately traced the golden lines that streaked the small bowl in his hands. Then with much hesitation, he rolled up his left sleeve and began tracing the blaring curves of the mark that stained his porcelain skin. Its presence resembled shackles that have been chained to his ankles, and the weight of the memories caused him to grimace. However the budding warmth that had seeped within him soothed the negative sensations. Heart palpitations of regret transformed into those of hope. Furthermore, recollection of the girl’s words rang through his mind. It led him to wonder if piecing himself into something better would ever be a viable reality—a dream so tempting to pursue that he brought himself to his desk to start a letter addressed to her.

Y/N awoke to a tapping noise on her window. With heavy-lidded eyes, she peeks through her curtains only to be met by an eagle owl. Its wide orbs stared directly at her, and attached to its beak was an envelope. She recalled the conversation she had with a certain platinum-haired boy from the night before, and immediately jolted upward, pushing the window open to let the animal in.

“Do you belong to Draco, love?” It perches itself on her shoulder, and drops the envelope into her hands. A wax seal presents itself with an ‘M’, confirming her inquiry. She opens it with much carefulness, and pulls out the letter inside.

Y/L/N,

How does this Thursday sound? 5:00?

The girl chuckled at how straight-to-the-point he was, while her mind flitted back to their school days. She had always felt neutral about him. In contrast to popular belief, she didn’t think he was quite bad. Despite the harshness behind his actions, his eyes always maintained an undertone of fear. Upon the revelation that the boy was indeed a death eater, the title itself wasn’t what stirred her. Rather, it was the incomprehensible experience that she could merely picture him going through. She was there when he crossed sides. She was no stranger to the distraught look on his face--fear had overtaken him even in that moment. He might’ve been flawed, but it wasn’t without reason.

A cry from the owl broke her out of thought. “Impatient are we?” It blinked in response. Not wanting to keep the bird waiting any longer, she pulls out a piece of parchment and begins to write a response to the letter.

Y/N inserted the parchment into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the owl only after she gave it a treat. As she watched it take flight from her window sill, she contemplated more on the boy. ‘Kintsugi’ the art of broken pieces and precious scars. As thoughts of him lingered, she began to wonder if how he fared ever since the war had drawn to its close. Before she knew it, she carried along with her work, totally occupied with the image of him in mind.

Draco’s heart beat like a drum when he skimmed through the contents of Y/N’s response. The feeling of nervous excitement erupted within his stomach up until the moment he stood on her doorstep. Besides the instances in which he’d gone out for his parents, it had been a long while since he stepped foot outside for himself. He took sight of the sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, the small plants that were scattered on her porch, and the movement of the curtain as wind blew through her open window.

Mere seconds of waiting were filled with more self-doubt as he tugged on his left sleeve, clenching his forearm soon after. Not much could be guaranteed from this meeting. For all he knew, this might’ve been a one a time thing. However, such thoughts were casted aside once he was greeted with Y/N’s glowing smile.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you!” She stepped aside to let him in, “Please come in.”

The boy greets her, and looks around her small space. He indulges in the glimpse of her expressive decor--somehow they represented the life that she had built and created for herself over time.

“Darling, your jaw is going to fall off,” she chuckled, “Come, the studio is in the back.” The girl gestures at him to follow her, and is met with a small building stationed behind the main house. The image of shelves fills his view upon entering. On them were stacks of cracked ceramic—some in large pieces, others in small. Towards the far corner of the room was a pottery wheel, and opposite from it was a small gas kiln. In the middle was a table space with various tools, brushes, lacquer, and gold. The room was as neat as it could be, much to Draco’s surprise.

“This is me.” Y/N turns around with her arms spread out. She then proceeds to pull a stool out for the boy and urges him to sit. He does so, and she stands in close proximity to him, leaning on the table for support.

“I was actually working on a piece before you came.” The girl points to her current project—a vase whose cracks have already been bound.

“What’s the process like?” He asks

“It’s much longer than you think. I learned how to do it the traditional way in Japan, and I haven’t deviated from it ever since.” The boy quirks a brow.

“You mean to say that there are faster methods?”

“There are, however it’s the process I appreciate the most I suppose. Mending takes time after all.” Y/N, who had been looking down at her feet, glances up at him to see his brows furrowed inwardly.

“Don’t you get impatient?” She nods in reminiscence.

“I used to in the past, but all things worth anything take time, right?” They stare at each other for a moment. Draco, who has longed for the feeling of redemption, looked into the pure intent within her eyes. The silence prompts her to slip a small smile at him.

“How about you, Draco Malfoy? How have you been?” There it was: The question that he could never answer (not truthfully anyway). Despite being in the center of all his thoughts, he hadn’t developed the courage to face them properly. He was stuck in a routine of living that provided a false sense of security. However, the present brought him to the realization that he had never been secure--not with himself.

“Not as good as what people see at face value.” He said simply.

“I never would’ve thought. Although, I suppose it just shows that we can never truly judge others, huh?”

“Yes, definitely.” He allowed his view on her to linger before speaking again.

“I actually wanted to see the way you worked.” It was her turn to quirk a brow at him.

“And why’s that?”

“To see the mending process.” Y/N remained silent as she analyzed the longing look in his eyes. His silvery orbs conveyed volumes of a history that was left unspoken.

He continued, “I want to believe that broken things can be mended.” The determination in his eyes reminded her of why she began learning kintsugi in the first place. Behind the determination was hope that longed to be born to fruition.

“I have one condition,” she said. His eyebrows arched in response.

“You can watch me, but you have to do some mending yourself.” She stepped away at the end of her statement and reached for something on her shelves. When she came back, she grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed a small bowl in his palm. It was a simple piece--still intact--taking on a warm, grey sheen. He looked at her with confusion, only to be met with seriousness.

“Kintsugi begins when something breaks, and it focuses more on the beauty of the process rather than the outcome. That being said, it requires a lot of patience and acceptance.”

“I’m not an artist, Y/N. It won’t be perfect.” The girl takes hold of his other hand, and cups it within hers firmly.

“It doesn’t have to be, Draco. The process belongs to you. You just have to trust yourself.” She said earnestly with her grip on him tightening. The warmth from her hands emanated through his skin and into his chest. She stood so close now, her head tilted upward to meet the uncertainty on his face. It made him feel vulnerable, but he stared back into her eyes with much resolve. It was an answer as it is.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile and stepped away from him.

“I want you to drop that bowl. You don’t have to smash it, just let it fall.” Draco shifted his glance and looked at the bowl hesitantly. After a couple of seconds, he releases his hold, and allows the piece to slip from his fingers. His eyes were trained on it as it fell through the air, meeting its fate with a shattering sound. The bowl that was once intact was now in pieces on the floor, eliciting a familiar ache within him. It had split into five--a large one, one medium, and three more that were much smaller that comprised the object's rim.

As he bent down to pick up the pieces, a new wave of ambition overcame him. Each chip was picked up with much mindfulness, with responsibility, with purpose. When he stood up again, he began to perceive them as a reflection of himself, and gently placed them on the workbench.

Y/N, who witnessed the entire scene, smiled when Draco turned to face her. Her lips were pulled up gently, sweetly, and it evoked rosy feelings inside him. The boy eyed her as she went back to the shelf.

“How do you feel?” She asked. Her back was turned to him as she reached for another bowl.

“Light.” She smiled at the sound of his response. She returned with a teal-colored bowl in hand. Following his previous actions, she dropped it, allowing the sounds of shatters to fill their ears once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“You think I’m going to make you do this alone?” The girl bends down as she gingerly picks up the chips of ceramic from the floor. She proceeds to clear out the table, leaving only the utensils to be used to start the process.

“The materials I use are already here, but we’ll be working only with the lacquer for today.” The two set off to organize their pieces, hearts becoming more aware of one another as time passes on. After everything got sorted out, she demonstrated layering a coat of lacquer to the edges. Draco examined the way the smile instantly left her face, only to be replaced with a focused expression. Her eyebrows lowered, lips in a firm line, sights fixed on the ceramic. He also noticed how languid her fingers were in handling each piece with care.

The solemnity of the sight is broken as she parts her lips to speak again, “Did you know that the lacquer is toxic?” He shakes his head when she spares him a glance momentarily before setting her gaze back onto the chips. “It’s toxic when wet, therefore much care needs to be taken when you lay it on the edges.” She then takes the smaller pieces and proceeds to add lacquer on them as well.

“However,” She continues, “as it dries, it hardens and mends the bowl perfectly.” She attaches the pieces together, and lifts the bowl carefully to show him. The boy stares at her flawless handiwork--the cracks reveal themselves as mere lines, seemingly invisible to the naked eye.

“Strange, right? A substance that was once toxic is used to mend. When it dries it restores the product to perfection, and loses its toxicity.” Draco simply nods. It was a hard concept for the boy to grasp, but her words tickled a corner of his heart. How could something so bad be used to restore something that was once whole into perfection? He gazes at his own project while Y/N sets hers down carefully.

She passes the materials to him, observing as he gingerly takes the brush in hand. He dips it into the pool of lacquer, raising a glob of it up from the bottle.

“You don’t need too much, just enough so that the brush is covered completely.” She reached out to grab his hand, to demonstrate what she had meant. After realizing their closeness, however, she turned a shade of pink and stepped back. Draco tried his best to hold back his smile, but failed miserably.

“I’m s-sorry.” She stammered. He chuckled at her.

“Nonsense, I’m all for this form of instruction.” He said teasingly, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Don’t mind me, just concentrate.” She ordered. Silence loomed, but smiles remained on their faces. Draco continued his work, emulating the way she coated her edges. He gripped each chip firmly while his eyes trailed the movement of the brush. Each second spent felt like darkness was being extracted from within, leaving him light and solemn. With much caution, he then pressed them together, and watched as the product adopted its once flawless form. With an approving look, Y/N explained the proceeding steps, immediately noticing the relaxed expression that had settled on his features. Deciding to take a break, the two embark to the main house to relax.

“Since we have to wait a while, is there anything you want to do? To eat?” She asked as they entered the room. The question, however, was left unanswered due to the sighting of a familiar looking uniform. Hung on her wall was a Ravenclaw robe.

“You still have it?” He asked, pointing to the article of clothing with his chin. She chuckled and pulled it off it’s hanger.

“Yeah. I found it a couple days ago, and thought I’d try it for old times sake.” She slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the boy through a series of flashbacks from his time in Hogwarts. He recalled passing her by the hallways, getting small glimpses of her sketches, even seeing her vibrant personality shine with her friends.

“You know, I always thought you looked better in green.” He said approaching her.

“You think so?” He nodded.

“It’s a shame that we never really talked much. I think we would’ve been good friends.” She said in response.

“You think so?”

“Well besides the bullying, yes. I don’t think you’re as bad as people portray you to be.”

“You give me too much credit, Y/L/N.”

“Maybe you deserve a little more credit than you were granted.” This sparked more warmth within the boy. As she ordered food for delivery, Draco took a seat at her table, his gaze locked on her with the robe still propped on her body. His thoughts drifted as he imagined what might’ve happened if he did befriend the girl. How different would he be if he had her for company? How close would he have allowed their friendship to become? His mind began to wander and he ruminated on the what-could-have-beens, most especially the effect that his receiving of the dark mark would have had on her. His fingers flitted to his arm and rubbed the portion of fabric that covered his mark.

Y/N sat across from the boy, immediately noticing his dazed look.

“What’s on your mind?” She inquires. The boy broke off from his thoughts and refocused his attention to her.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“What of it?” She asked. He looked at her with slight reservation in his eyes.

“How different things would be if we were friends.” Her thoughts lingered on the possibilities for a while before she abandoned them completely. Only one realization came into mind:

“Well, we’re friends now. Perhaps everything that happened in the past was needed for us to meet like this.” She slid off her robe and propped it back on the hanger.

She continued, “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now belongs to us.”

In that moment, a switch flipped in Draco’s mind, and he knew those words would stick to him for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t a chance at redemption that he yearned for--the conversation he had with her made him realize that the chance had always been presented to him--rather it was company. Genuine company. The one that opened their arms for comfort, the one that offered understanding when he couldn’t offer some to himself, the one that provided reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t need to elaborate. Her words conveyed her intent clearly, her eyes blazed with firmness, confidence, and faith in him. The boy closed himself off for way too long out of the fear that he’d be rejected once again. The anxieties that had resulted from the foul glances, derogatory statements, and prematurely formed accusations towards his family locked him away to the only source of comfort that was available to him--himself. How was it possible that he made it through on his own all this time? He barely held on to a thread, and as he crumbled further, so did his grip. And when the grip was no more, he fell into the hollowed body that he was. He allowed his darkness to swallow him, to control him as he mindlessly drifted with each passing day.

Until now.

Right now, in the stillness of the room, in the comfort of her dining table, in the presence of her worn out Ravenclaw robe, the thread had reconstructed itself. It presented itself as the small smile that softly graced her lips, the scent of clay that lingered on her hands, and his bowl that sat solemnly streaked with cracks in the workshop behind the main house.

“I suppose you’re right.” The boy showed a smile of relief, which prompted the girl to reach out for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Here’s to our friendship!”

There were very few things that Draco cherished in his life: his family and his solitude. As weeks flew by with Y/N’s company, however, he found that his heart was beginning to create space for her as well. It began subtly with the way he silently observed her actions. She catered to each of her pieces with the same amount of dedication--every detail incorporated with mindfulness, with care, and intention. She exerted a similar effort when it came to guiding him. Every step in the process was taught with much patience. Her soft hands would graze his own in attempts to correct his form, to stabilize his shakiness, and to relieve him of the tension that came with his perfectionistic tendencies.

-flashback-

The sound of Draco’s uneven breaths made themselves aware in Y/N’s presence. She had left him alone to tend to his project and herself to her own. Muscle memory led her to scrape off the excess traces of lacquer from the cracks, while the boy fixed his concentration on sanding the surface of his bowl smooth. Scratching noises filled the air, and only became more amplified as minutes ticked onward. It was unfamiliar to the girl--the action itself shouldn’t have required much energy. With a brow arched upward, and her gaze directed towards him, the sight of furrowed brows and tense lines fill her view, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“You’re going to break the bowl at that rate, Draco.” The boy unclenched his jaw and gave Y/N an exasperated look, increasing the volume of her laughter.

“I told you I won’t be perfect.”

“What is it that you’re having trouble with?” Y/N asked, as she made her way to his side of the table.

“Some of the excess just won’t budge from its place.” Draco huffed in frustration. She removed the bowl from his grasp, and examined the object. On the other hand, he takes the liberty to step closer to her, his face peering over her shoulder. The heat emanating from his body distracted her, which she responded to by immediately returning her attention to the remnants that resided on its cracks.

“It helps to focus on one spot at a time,” She grabs the crumpled piece of sandpaper laying on the side, and connects its surface to the porcelain. He watches as she uses minimal yet focused motions to scrub at the excess. Slowly but surely the residue clears out, revealing a clean, crisp line. “See?” She turns her head to the side only to be met with his in such close proximity. His breath softly brushes against her skin. His silvery orbs dive deep into her y/e/c ones. The pulses of their heartbeats ring through their ears, and the concentration shifts from the demonstration to one another.

It’s the apparent flush staining his skin that has her pulling away.

“Why don’t you try?” She nervously asks. Y/N hands the bowl to the boy, and observes as he attempts to emulate her actions. With motions still stiff and choppy, she finally takes his hand into hers.

“Relax, Draco. You need to be patient with it.” With slender fingers wrapped around the back of his palm, she guides his grip with focused and particular motions. The repetition engrains itself into his muscle memory, and he quickly gets the hang of it. He exhibits relief with every remnant removed. In return, she releases her grip and looks at him with a satisfied expression.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. With perfection constantly being expected of him, the feeling of humility that comes with being a beginner is foreign. He had always been pushed into the limelight--the weight of his family name designates the image of flawlessness, elegance, and poise in all that he did. No room for mistakes. He was required of only the best. So, when he looks at her and gazes at his hands, a genuine smile spreads on his lips.

The expectation for perfection may have taunted his past, but the realization of his commitment in giving his best brought out a clear sense of victory despite the imperfect process that had been associated with it.

Some days are tougher than others. The nightmares make it difficult to get through the night regardless of how infrequent they became. It always resulted in him waking up, broken into a cold sweat. Goosebumps peppered his skin, the hair behind his neck stood straight, and he would gasp for air. With regret once again overcoming him, a weight forms in his throat--it’s impossible to go to sleep now. Moreover, the fear for the lack of a peaceful slumber keeps him wide awake until sunrise, and there is only one word that shouts at him in the back of his mind.

“Mudblood.”

“You filthy mudblood!”

The sayings are coupled with the memory of his back pressed onto the cold, wet, bathroom floor. He could recall the stinging sensations that pricked his body, the sight of blood seeping through the white fabric of his uniform, and the energy that was draining from his spirit. It was the lowest he has ever been--mere moments away from what could’ve been his end. Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. There was no one for him to turn to--the warmth of his mother’s arms was so far away, the act of shedding tears was sacrificed to protect his family, and the fact that he was already repulsive in the eyes of others caused his hope to plummet. There wasn’t anyone who he could call his true friend--one he could confide in to relieve the burdens he had faced.

But there was Y/N. The erratic heartbeats that rang against his chest subside when he remembered the firmness within her voice as she cheered for their friendship. The sparkle and reassurance that was displayed within her eyes tickled his heart in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. The soft touch of her hands reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The patience in her voice reminded him that despite all of his shortcomings, there was always hope for change.

It was then that he’d pluck himself out of bed, and take hold of the ceramic piece that laid prettily on his desk. With deep breaths, he ran his fingers through its golden streaks, allowing the chilled sensation to calm him down. His eyelids would flutter close, and he’d envision her soft smiles, her chipper personality, and the passion that was expressed through her eyes whenever she worked. He’d recall the worn-out Ravenclaw robe hanging on the wall of her dining room, and remember that she was there. She believed in him. She had given him a chance. With his mind set to ease and the morning sun illuminating through the fabric of his curtains, Draco picked up his own broken pieces, and binded himself with the faith she had as the lacquer to keep him together.

Narcissa and Lucius had noticed subtle changes in the boy. A peaceful light had returned to his silvery eyes, the frown that graced his lips began to fade with time, and the tension that he held in his joints loosened. He treaded the halls with his back upright, his vision trained straight ahead--each step filled with more purpose than the last. They didn’t make it known to him, but the sight brought them much joy.

It was a cloudy day when Draco returned to Y/N’s workshop. This time around, however, there’s much more uncertainty and nervousness within him as he stands in the midst of her working.

Earlier that morning, Narcissa mentioned hosting a ball within the manor (something that hasn’t been done in forever). Invitations were sent out already, the RSVP list continues to grow, and the property itself has been decorated to exhibit its new grandeur. Of course, he agreed to it--slightly concerned about how they’d be perceived--but he was more thrown off by his mother’s only request:

“Please bring Y/N with you, Draco. I’d like to commission her for a piece.” In his mind that translated into, “I want to meet the girl you’ve been constantly visiting.” He knew his mother wasn’t against her. He was more worried about how Y/N, herself, would respond.

The familiarity of her focused expression surfaces, and it attracts him much more than it has before. Her hands are nimble, and she moves fluently. Her hair was tied into a low and messy bun with loose strands framing her face. Her appearance now was much different than their first meeting at the gala, yet his mind went back to that night--picturing her beauty in her deep emerald green dress. With his feelings for her more clarified, he feels his heart beat at the thought of her touch, moreover the thought of his touch on her. Would she even return his feelings?

“Draco, are you alright? You’ve been staring this way for a while now.” He takes the opportunity to test the waters.

“I needed to ask you something actually.” He goes around and pulls a stool to sit on, meeting the level of her gaze.

“And that is?”

“My mother asked for you,” He said, fumbling with his fingers, “My family is hosting a ball, and she wants you to come--she wants to meet you.” He notices the way her eyes widen at the sound of his announcement.

“I’m sorry. Come again?” Draco released a soft chuckle before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a decorated envelope with her name printed on the front.

“This is yours.” She takes it from his grasp gingerly and brushes her fingers on the fine embellishments. Realization hits her when she skims across the familiar letters of her name.

“I’ve imagined many things in my life, but they certainly don’t come close to this. Wow, imagine being invited to a Malfoy ball.” Her words flowed out with awe, softening his heart. He reaches out, and tucks one of the loose strands behind her ear. The action forces her to look into his eyes.

“She’s taken quite a liking to your work.” His smile brings out one of her own.

“I’m honored.” She starts to beam, “I should go dress shopping soon.” Her eyes remain transfixed on the information given on the actual invite itself.

“I think you’d look beautiful in anything you decide to wear.” It was meant to be a thought--meant to stay in his head--but it came out, and now the girl felt her face get hot. She covered it with her hands, while the boy just looked up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He says.

“It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine then why are your hands still covering your face?”

“Why are you still looking up?” Draco, lowers his chin and pulls her wrists away.

“I’m not anymore.” When the words leave his lips, and his eyes meet hers, he becomes aware of the amount of peace that he attained since meeting her again. In some way, the silence that fills them is overtaken by the messages that their gazes send to one another, both containing gratitude and affection.

“So will you come with me?” He asks.

“Definitely.”

Y/N paced back and forth while many aristocrats stepped into the manor with much poise in their step. She didn’t mind formal events when it came to art, however, this case felt entirely foreign to her realm of comfort. She wasn’t from a wealthy family nor was she pureblooded either. Surely the end of the war had initiated a shift in change, but the significance of blood status still persisted in some even after. Nevertheless, she made herself present. With much resolve and a false sense of confidence, she stepped into the entrance of the building.

The foyer was bustling with chatter--many attendees stood with glasses of champagne in hand. Still in an awkward stature, the girl takes a look around. The ceilings were decorated with crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains were pulled to the side, exposing massive windows. Arches, columns, even the walls were covered with ornamental carvings. Every single aspect portrayed luxury. Whenever Draco visited the girl, she discarded his association to wealth and solely focused on him as a person. Because of this, the realization that the boy actually had some coin in his pockets hit her like bricks.

Draco, who had kept his eyes locked on the girl, chuckled to himself. She stuck out from the crowd with her eyes widened in awe. Not to mention her attire. Her hair was kept straight down with golden clips holding it tucked behind her ear. Furthermore, she was dressed in a champagne mermaid gown speckled with beads and embroidery, which flourished outwards and into a sheer fabric decorated with similar details. Her neckline plunged into the middle of her abdomen, yet her shoulders remained covered with long sleeves that wrapped themselves fittingly around her wrists. She truly had the tastes of an artist.

He quietly made his way to her as she continued to gawk at the room. “Your jaw is going to drop, darling.” He whispered in her ear. The feeling of large hands planting themselves on her waist caused her to let out a small yelp, pulling her out of her daze. She let out a breath of relief when she turned to see Draco’s face.

“You scared me.”

“You were gawking at the walls.” Y/N rolled her eyes, and briefly skimmed him from head to toe. Heart skipping at the way his suit had admiringly framed his shape well. She giggled at the sight of the snake brooch that embellished the collar of his jacket.

“Always a Slytherin, aren’t you Malfoy?” As she brushed her fingers along the details of its design, Draco reached for her hand, and held it by her fingers. She could only stare as he lifted it higher to press his lips on it. Butterflies were felt everywhere.

“And a charmer.” She added. They shared a quick laugh before being interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Standing before them was Narcissa, who beamed at the sight of her son with the girl beside him.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I admire your work, dear.” The older woman stuck her hand out, which the girl shook firmly.

“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” The delight in her voice emitted a welcoming energy, loosening the nerves that Y/N felt early on.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Narcissa.”

“It was no problem at all, dear. I’d actually like to speak to you regarding a commission later on tonight. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course! I’m honored you’d even considered me.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sweet smiles and gazes were exchanged between the two women. After casting a knowing look to her son, she departs from the pair, disappearing into the crowd.

“Draco, I’ll have you know that I can’t dance to save my life.” He snickered at her confession, already letting the comfort between them settle in.

“It’s alright. Let’s walk instead.” With arms hooked, Draco begins leading her away from the bustling room and into a secluded hall. Mounted on the walls were paintings of his predecessors. He introduced each patriarchal figure to her, starting with Septimus. Her vision plastered itself to their features, mentally discerning the traits that Draco inherited. After a while of walking and conversation, they finally got to a family portrait. Depicted on it was a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, and seated on his mother’s lap was a young Draco himself. Y/N unhooked her arm from his, and approached the painting. She concentrated on the little boy. He had bright eyes, a toothy grin, and flowing platinum locks. His hand gripped firmly on Narcissa’s, and his small legs dangled over her dress. He was the only one smiling in the painting, and it warmed your heart knowing that the artist decided to keep that detail in.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He asks, stepping close. He hesitantly snaked his arm around her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind. She looked up to him and smiled, stepping even closer to him.

“You were so small.” Draco scowled slightly. However, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the way she looked at the portrait with adoration, allowing his foul expression to fade.

“Well that was painted when I was seven, so it’s no wonder I was small.” His sarcastic remark caused her to roll her eyes again, softly slapping the hand that was planted on her. He glanced at her and squeezed her side tighter, pulling Y/N even closer to his body--his warmth increasing the amount of butterflies that rose in her stomach.

“When I walked in earlier, it completely slipped my mind that this was your house. That you grew up here.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, genuinely interested in her response.

“Everytime you came over, I only saw you as Draco. Not as Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy family name.”

“Please elaborate.” He commands, his heart now racing.

“You’re more than the expectations held for you. You came with commitment to learn about a process that you were genuinely interested in. You grew with your mistakes and your frustrations. That experience was you, and you alone.” She couldn’t help but reveal that admiration she had for him through her voice.

“I thought it was amazing.” She whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He did, however. In turn, he grabbed her hand and led her further down the hallway and into his room. Y/N stood there confused at his sudden action. Her eyes then begin to widen at the sight of him removing his suit jacket with her mind drifting to rather dirty thoughts.

“Draco, what are you-”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“What do you mean?” Draco looked into her eyes, before shifting his gaze to his left sleeve. Her line of sight follows him as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls the fabric up, revealing his dark mark. She gasps.

“I didn’t think it was possible to mend myself.” It didn’t take him to say much for her to finally understand that he didn’t intend to do anything dirty. It was the opposite of that. He was making himself vulnerable to her.

“But you showed me how.” He said, completing his statement. Tears brimmed her eyes upon the realization of the reality he had to live. The blaring mark that took away his innocence screamed against his pale skin. It screamed of the pain, of loneliness, and the many many long sleeved shirts he must’ve worn to keep it hidden away.

“If there’s anyone amazing, it’s you, Y/N.” The tears that had built up fell as she furiously shook her head.

“No, Draco. It’s you. It’s all you.” She took his arm delicately into her hands and pressed her lips on his dark mark. Draco felt his eyes well up in tears, while her own spilled onto his skin. Every kiss that she peppered seemed to paint over his scars, his cracks with gold. The feeling of emptiness dissipated in her presence, only surrounding him with warmth that he had yearned to keep.

“I’m thankful for you.” He whispers. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back at that point anymore. She released his arm from her grip, and held his cheeks within her fingertips, wiping the moisture that managed to fall from his silvery orbs. She, then, slowly lifts herself using her tiptoes, and scans his face for a moment before pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. It was gentle, much like her. It was patient, much like her. It was filled with faith, hope, and concern--things that she hadn’t been able to express to him in words, yet was felt through her kiss. Draco closed his eyes at the sensation. When she parted from him, he cupped her face with his hands, and drew her close once more. A sigh escaped her as she felt all the emotions he managed to keep in. Each press conveyed a level of appreciation that the boy had never thought he was capable of showing.

In that moment a memory of a shrill shout fills her mind, and she stops so suddenly.

“Weren’t you struck with sectumsempra?” She asks with her brows furrowed towards him. His lack of response confirms her curiosity.

“May I?” Her fingers trail to the top of his shirt as she makes her request. Knowing what it is she wants to see, he nods, prompting her to carefully undo the buttons. Her hands tremble as she makes her way down, revealing the scars that resided on his body. She pushes the fabric over his shoulders, and begins tracing each one--much similar to the way he has done with the golden cracks on her bowl. She slowly lowers herself and starts placing kisses where he has been struck. With her hands gently fastened to his sides, her lips linger in one area before transferring to another. He finds comfort in them--it was as if each sensation reassured that he was loved. As she travels upward, she plants a kiss on his jaw, and a final one on his own. With it she expresses a message dedicated only to him: I believe in you.

They separate and bask in the moment by holding each other’s gaze. After a while, Draco wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into a tight embrace. He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck and kisses it, while she runs her hands up and down his bare sides. His left hand then finds its way to her jaw, tilting her face upwards. He proceeds to nip the expanse of her neck, making her head fall back to grant him more access. The hand that was wrapped around her waist travels downwards to her hip, grips it, and presses her body against his.

“Draco,” she moans.

“Hm?” She doesn’t respond. She finds herself completely intoxicated by his lips as he moves from her neck, her sternum, and to her exposed abdomen. Instead, she laced her fingers into his hair and pushed him closer to her skin.

The pair was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

“Young master! Are you in there?” It was a houself. Draco presses a finger to his lips, signalling to remain quiet.

“I don’t think he’s there, we should check elsewhere.” Light footsteps were heard fading into the distance, eliciting a light laugh between the two. Y/N looks into his eyes once more, and kisses him one last time.

“Should we go?” He responds with a small ‘yes’ and kisses her forehead. As he buttons his shirt, the girl plods across his room, fascinated with its luxuriousness as she takes in the details. One of them causes her to gasp, however. She walks with her throat choking up at sight of the familiar bowl that was placed on his desk. It was hers. She lifts it gently, recalling their first conversation at the gala. The golden scars remind her heavily of the boy behind her. As she traces them, warm hands rub against her sides before snaking around her waist once more.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Y/N laughs at his question.

“I suppose it does.” She says as she weaves her fingers into his. The boy takes a moment to stare at the bowl ahead.

“When you said that Kintsugi helped you heal, I wasn’t quite sure to believe you or not. But, going through the process was more than enough to make me understand why.”

“You truly are amazing Draco Malfoy. I won’t let anyone tell me you aren’t.”

“Even if my past is completely flawed?”

“Your past made you into who you are right now. What we have is ‘now’, and ‘now’,” she sets the bowl down and faces him, while her hand caresses his cheek. “...‘now’ belongs to us. Now you are amazingly, wonderfully, imperfectly perfect.”

Epilogue:

The sound of Y/N’s words rung in his mind as Draco found himself standing in the middle of her workspace. With a firm grasp on the brush handle, he dips the bristles into the gold liquid, allowing the excess to drip back.

He takes a deep breath, and allows the solemnity of the room to fill him. Many thoughts overtake him in the moment, but only one makes itself prominent to him, resilience. After going through the binding process himself, he pridefully lays down the gold over the cracks on his bowl--each one portraying the imperfections of his past.

A/N: Hi! If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! There’s a bit of inaccuracy in the last bit, but besides that I hope I brought much light to the technique in general. I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo

Link to the taglist is on my masterlist :D

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco lucius malfoy #tw depression #tw self degredation

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3rensgf · 4 years ago

Note

I don’t know if you want to do this Drabble request, but feel free to skip this request if you feel that it’s too hard or if it’s a no-go. Can I request a modern/fantasy AU Drabble of Merman!Eren and Fem!Wizard!Reader where Y/N is practicing magic on the beach where she encounters/falls in love with Eren who was watching her from the water? (The rest of the plot is u to your imagination) Thank you!

by the sea eren yeager x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: fluff, merman!eren is really pretty, eren can't say magic either

notes: awe this is such a cute prompt! i don't think i've ever thought abt merman!eren until now hmm... i like the picture in my head. i ended up getting a little carried away and this drabble turned into a ficlet lol. thank you for requesting!

With the expectations of becoming a full fledged wizard in a few months looming over you, it was safe to say you were incredibly stressed. Potions, spells and other knowledge dominated in your head. One of your friends had told you that you were muttering spells and potion recipes in your sleep. It only further proved how hard you were studying.

But even the most model wizard students got stressed. As did you. So, you would sneak away during breaks or free time while no one noticed to go to your special spot.

You had accidentally stumbled upon this area during flying lessons. No matter how much people gushed about it, flying wasn’t all that. It was just like walking, only a couple hundred feet in the air. Out of boredom, you looked down, eyes widening at the sight. Below you was one of the most beautiful beaches you had ever seen, secluded at the barrier of the forest, just enough to not be noticeable if you were walking on foot.

Suddenly, you began to love flying lessons.

Where grass met sand sat your discarded robe and boots, not wanting them to be soiled by the sea water. Your pants and sleeves had been rolled up at your convenience as well. There was a giant boulder between the land and sea you liked to stand up on to practice your magic. It was just big enough to have a view of the entire beach.

You had your hands out in front of you, whispering a spell to make magic, getting frustrated when no results were shown from your efforts. It was one of the newer spells you were learning that gave you trouble, your mentor believing you were finally ready to learn it. Huffing, your hands smacked your thighs when you roughly pulled them down. They clenched and unclenched in anger, eventually moving to cover your face so you could scream.

“Is it really that hard?” a sweet voice spoke up from under you.

The sudden appearance of the voice had caught you so off guard, that you jumped in surprise, stumbling into the water eventually. Right away, a pair of arms that didn’t belong to you slipped around your waist to drag you back to shore. You coughed and sputtered out the salt water in your lungs smacking your chest to help displace the water.

You turned your head to take a look at your savior, a scream dying in your throat at the sight of a Merman in front of you. Using your hands, you scurried away in shock to put some distance between the two of you.

There was no denying it; there was a Merman in front of you. He even fit the description, for Merlin's sake! Long, elegant tail with shiny green scales that glimmered in the sun, tanned skin free from any imperfections, long brown hair that reached his shoulders, emerald green eyes you could get lost in, and the most beautiful face you had ever seen in your life.

“Wait!” the Merman had called out, holding an arm towards you to stop you. He couldn’t do much considering he had no legs. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

You gave him the benefit of the doubt and stayed put where you were, not moving another inch yet. “What do you want from me?” you whimpered.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head to further convince you. “It’s just that… I’ve been watching you do your sparkly hand things for a while now. I think it’s really pretty,” he confessed shyly.

“‘Sparkly hand things’...?” you asked yourself, feeling confused. It clicked suddenly, “You mean my magic?” To demonstrate, you cast an easy visual spell, lights appearing out of thin air to make intricate designs in the air.

The Merman nodded enthusiastically, dragging himself closer to you to get a better look at the lights coming out of your hands. You didn’t make any move to put more distance between the two of you. “Yes! The Majick. Is it hard?” he asked, repeating his question from before.

You scratched the back of your head, shrugging lightly. “It depends on how hard the spell you’re casting is. The lights I did were pretty easy, but something like healing takes a bit more skill.”

He stared at you in awe, mouth agape. “Can you teach me?” he asked excitedly, leaning in closer to you.

You giggled at his enthusiasm and shook your head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t teach you. Only wizards gifted with the ability to do magic can cast spells…” you trailed off, realizing you didn’t get his name. “Hey, what’s your name?”

The Merman was a little dejected at first at not being able to do magic, but perked up to tell you his name. “Eren! What’s yours?” You gave him your name, to which he repeated to himself a few times to test it out on his tongue. “You have a very pretty name.”

Your cheeks grew warm due to an oncoming blush. “Thank you. You have a pretty name too.”

Both of you talked for a while after that, chatting away until the sun was just kissing the horizon. You finally noticed how late it has gotten when the golden hour sun made Erens skin glow. “Oh! I have to get going, otherwise the elders will be mad at me for going missing for so long!” you gasped, standing up to dust off the sand from your now dry clothes.

Eren stared at you longingly, watching you get redressed. “Will you be back? I know you come by sometimes, so I wait for a while at a rock by the shore for you to come. Just wanna know when I’ll see you again.”

You paused in the middle of clasping your boots, staring at him. “Oh. Well I have time 2 days from now to come by. How about then? Same time as today?”

Eren nodded enthusiastically, moving himself back to the water. “Yes! Okay! I’ll be here to watch you do more of the Majick!” he said, engulfing himself in the water. He gave you an enthusiastic wave, which you returned, diving back into the water to go back to his own home.

You watched where he had disappeared, water still rippling from his movements. You grinned and set off to rush back home, eager to see your new friend again in a few days time.

taglist - @liaxxx109 , @prxttyguardian , @jeansbabycake

#♥ - eren #✉︎ - answered mail!#☏ - anon #eren yaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren fluff #eren x reader #eren drabble #aot drabble

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vampcubus · 5 years ago

Note

Hi bb! Would you be okay doing hc for tamaki, izuku, kirishima and kaminari x reader where shes kind of insecure bc shes kinda curvy and has a little bit of a tummy and he sees her poking at herself in the mirror? (can be nsfw too if you like!) thank you!

A/N: Hi there, bb! And I can definitely do that for you! I will say that I struggled with Tamaki and Kaminaris a little since I’ve never written for them before and that these… uh, aren’t HCs?? I must’ve misread, so I ended up writing little ficlets for each character instead! I hope you don’t mind 😅

Also, kinda got off-track with Denki’s… I hope you still like it though!

★| Warnings: Implied nsfw! A little angsty. |★

★ | Words: About 800+ each | ★

. . .

Midoriya Izuku

You stood in front of your mirror, staring intensely at your body in your underwear. A shirt hangs loosely in your hand at your side. You’d originally been changing when you made the mistake of catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, making you stop and stare. Most of the time you didn’t have time to worry about your looks anymore now that you were a senior and already doing your fair share of hero work with your near-constant internships with your mentor.

But now…

A frown tugged at your lips as your eyes scoured over your curves, your hand releasing the shirt and letting it flutter to the ground. You stepped forward, hands instinctively moving to your plushy stomach, squeezing and poking at the chubby flesh unhappily. You’d always been insecure about your looks, but with how busy you’ve been lately and your incredibly sweet boyfriend telling you constantly how beautiful you were, you’ve been able to forget about it for a while.

But now you weren’t working, and Izuku wasn’t here right now.

So naturally, your self-conscious butt immediately snatched the opportunity to grab at your insecurities and strike. Had you gained weight without realizing it? You turned to the side in the mirror, grimacing at the way your tummy stuck out a bit more than you’d remembered it. And you gasped when you saw stretchmarks forming around your belly and hips, some around your thighs too. When did you get those?

“Honey?”

You jumped when Izuku’s voice suddenly sounded behind you and you turned to see him standing in the doorway to your bedroom. He looked a bit confused, and his face naturally turned pink at the sight of you only in your underwear, but curious as to you you’d been poking at yourself. You rushed to cover yourself, snatching the shirt from the floor and yanking it on, pulling to hem down to your thighs, stretching it as far it as it would go without tearing.

“O-Oh! Izuku, sorry I was just…! Um… changing!” You stuttered, avoiding his concerned gaze as you covered yourself up, looking embarrassed. You didn’t want him to see you right now, not with how… chubby you’ve gotten. The thought made your eyes water.

“It didn’t look like it. Are you okay?” Izuku asked worriedly, setting down his things and walking over to your anxiously swaying form. He didn’t even have the chance to be shy, too concerned for you to care that you were half-naked.

“Y-yes! I’m fine—just lemme get some clothes on! …I’m sure you don’t wanna see me like this.” You’d muttered that last part mostly to yourself but he certainly heard it.

To that, his face contorted with confusion.

“What do you mean? See you like what? You don’t look any different to me.” He said, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling the side of your face as he hugged you tightly—his usual greeting. But you found yourself ducking out of his arms, afraid that if you didn’t put clothes on soon he’d notice, and not like what he saw.

“I-I, nothing it’s nothing! I n-need to put clothes on first.” You stammered, skirting around him to dig around in your drawers for something—anything to cover up with.

That certainly let him know that something was wrong. Izuku was quick to jump to conclusions. What were you hiding? Had someone hurt you and you were trying to hide it? Did something happen while he was gone?

Izuku came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind, halting your rummaging. You met his eyes in the mirror and you avert your gaze, embarrassed.

“What’s wrong, princess? You can tell me I promise.” Izuku assured you, kissing the back of your shoulder like he always did. You clammed up, pulling the shirt down over your thighs even more, unknowingly making the neckline drop until your cleavage was quite clearly poking out from it. Despite his concern, he couldn’t help but blush at the sight. It also made him more aware of your softness pressed against his chest, your gentle curves under his arms.

“I’m… just…” You started, tears rising again. But this time you’re unable to stop them from trickling down your cheeks. His heart hurts when he sees that you’re crying. He hates seeing you cry. “I’ve just gained a bit of weight, th-that’s all and I was j-just… I didn’t want you to… see.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in surprise, lips parted at your shaky confession. You were insecure about your body? Why? You were beautiful, couldn’t you tell? So what if you gained weight? He probably wouldn’t have even noticed. The fact that you’d been unhappily poking at yourself before he came in, and then didn’t want him to see you just because you thought he’d care made him feel incredibly sad. He sucked in a deep breath.

“Y/N, sweetie, you don’t have to do that. I couldn’t care less if you’ve gained weight! You’re absolutely gorgeous and you’ll always be. Don’t think for a minute that you aren’t beautiful to me, because you’re gleaming on the inside and outside, I love you the way you are.” Izuku hugged you tighter against his chest, kissing your cheek as you sniffled, glossy eyes meeting his in the mirror again. “C-can I see, please? You don’t h-have to if I’m making you uncomfortable, but I’d like to see you. To prove it to you that I love you.”

You sigh, releasing your death grip on the shirt, allowing the stretchy fabric to fling back up to where it was supposed to lay.

“O-okay, if you’re sure, b-but please don’t look too long. I’m embarrassed!” You blurted out, covering your face.

His hands tug at the hem of the shirt, pulling it up and over your head. Now that Izuku looked, you did look a bit thicker than the last time he saw you, but not in a bad way at all. The green-haired boy couldn’t help but blush, his mouth watering at the sight of your voluptuous curves and how plushy and soft you looked. Just like a lil bunny rabbit! God, you were so sexy. He was so lucky to have you. His hands wrapped around you again, yet you remain stiff. Izuku kissed your shoulder and then the back of your neck, moving his head to the other side of you as his hands drifted over your soft skin.

“I don’t see what you were worried about, princess, you look amazing, as always.” He nuzzled your neck, hands slipping over your belly to rub soothing circles into with his thumbs. “In fact, I kinda like you this way, you’re s-so soft!”

You couldn’t help but giggle as he peppered kisses all over the side of your face and shoulder, his fingers playfully tickling you. Your cheeks burned as you took in his praise and encouragement, drowning in the affection he was swamping you with all of a sudden. Izuku muttered an ‘i love you’ into each kiss against your skin.

“You… really think so?” You asked, timidly and his eyes meet yours in the mirror again. An emerald green forest staring back at you with an expression so loving it makes you want to faint. Your boyfriend was the sweetest. No one could convince you otherwise.

“You want me to prove it? Because I’m not afraid to show you.” Izuku purrs in your ear, hands on your hips as his lips meet your neck with a more sensual, and less innocent press of flesh. His freckled cheeks are a dark red, and his gleaming eyes stare into yours with an all too familiar longing. You’ve never felt so wanted before.

“Show me then.” You whisper seductively back, feeling his hips brush against your backside as the words tumble from your smiling lips.

And oh, did he show you.

. . .

Amajiki Tamaki

You glared teary-eyed at yourself in the mirror, your expression a mixture of anger, frustration, and shame. It wasn’t too often you found yourself in your underwear, scowling at your reflection like it repulsed you. You always so busy, and so you never really had the time to be insecure. But yet here you were. It was far from the first time you’ve recognized the fact that you were a little bigger than the other girls, and yet you constantly found yourself surprised by your appearance. Your expression morphed from angry to just… sad, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your hands came up to squish and poke at your tummy.

Had it always been this… chubby? Or did you gain weight without realizing it? Why did you feel so heavy all of a sudden? Were you not exercising enough? Eating too much?

It didn’t matter the reason you gained weight. Only that you hated it. You hated the way you looked right now and it bothered you, more than it should. You were a fucking hero! Why did you look like this? Your lips quivered, and you slapped a hand over your stomach, hearing the smack echo throughout the room. You grimaced turning in the mirror and trying to suck in your gut. You poked some more at your sides, getting more upset with yourself by the minute.

“B-bunny? A-are you okay in there? You’ve been in there for a while and I um… I’m getting worried.” Came Tamaki’s soft voice from outside the bathroom door, causing you to sigh.

“No, not really, Tamaki…” You admitted, not turning away from the mirror.

“Oh no, can I come in?” Tamaki asked worriedly, hating the thought of you not being alright. Were you hurt? Or did he do something wrong? Why wouldn’t you come out? He even brought you some mochi to share as a surprise treat.

“Yeah…” You sighed, if there was anyone you trusted to see you like this, it was him.

The door opened and an indigo head of hair poked in, his nervous face burning a bright shade of scarlet when he realized that you weren’t dressed. He short-circuited, instantly ducking back behind the door with a stammer, unable to contain his blush and the familiar tingles of arousal from seeing you with so much skin exposed. God, he was such a pervert!

“O-oh, gosh, b-bunny! Y-y-you’re not clothed I—I-I’m sorry! I s-s-should have asked first!” Tamaki blurted with a hand clasped over his mouth.

Perhaps you should’ve called Nejire-chan instead?

You sighed, your heart sinking further as your boyfriend cowered behind the bathroom door. Even he noticed how chubby you’ve gotten, he probably didn’t even want to see you. He was probably grossed out. You couldn’t help the tears streaming down your face now, ashamed and angry.

“Of course, sorry, not even you would want to see me like this!” You sobbed, face buried in your hands as you leaned over the sink.

Tamaki froze from behind the door, his brain drawing a complete blank.

Huh?

What did you just say?

Surely you didn’t just…

You were crying!!!

Tamaki threw all caution and his embarrassment into the wind like the paper-airplane notes you used to pass to each other in class when you first started dating. He swung open the door and scrambled over to you, arms surrounding you immediately, face buried in your shoulder.

“N-n-no, that’s n-not it at all! You l-look beautiful! I was just em-em… embarrassed.” Tamaki stuttered into your shoulder, as you gaped at him in the mirror. “Y-you’re so pretty, bunny, I j-just couldn’t handle it…”

Beautiful?

Pretty?

But…

“Tama-chan, don’t you see? I’m chubby!” You groaned, hands pulling at your plushy stomach as if to emphasize your point.

Behind you, Tamaki lifted his face from your shoulder, confused. He only blushed when he gazed at your beautiful form in the mirror, red cheeks threatening to catch fire if they got any hotter. Or worse, he might faint, and embarrass himself! You didn’t think you were pretty because you were a little chubbier than others? That couldn’t be farther from the truth!

“S-so?” He muttered, meeting your eyes in the mirror. Yours widened at the question, searching his pretty onyx eyes for something. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but you didn’t mind it, and that was a good thing.

And that’s when you realized that he was right; so what? He still thought you were beautiful. And you are once again reminded of why you loved the anxious and incredibly shy boy.

“You’re… right. So what?” You turned to peck his lips, a light pink dusting his cheeks when you do. “Thank you.”

“B-b-but I didn’t do anything!” He stuttered, hands flying to his bright red face to cover his scalding cheeks. They’re so warm it feels like they’ll melt the skin off his palms.

If only he knew just how much he did.

. . .

Kirishima Eijirou

You examined yet another bikini in the mirror of the fitting room, turning and twirling around as if a different angle would change your perspective. You sighed, looking over at the pile of other choices you’d already gone through in the past twenty minutes. You knew the swimsuits weren’t the issue… The problem was you.

You frowned at your reflection, heart sinking deep into your chest. It’s been a while since you’ve gone swimming, so naturally, it’s been a good long while since you’ve had to feel this way. Insecure…

It wasn’t as if you haven’t been self-conscious about your weight before, you’ve had your moments. But in those moments you’ve always had Kiri around to make you forget, drowning you in so much affection you just didn’t think anymore didn’t worry anymore. He forbid it, always making you smile, reminding you that you’d always be protected and loved. In fact, the cherry-redhead sat just outside of the women’s fitting rooms, patiently waiting for you to pick something to wear to a friend’s pool party.

You hear a few soft knocks on the door and Kirishima’s worried voice filtering through it.

“Hey, babe? You doin’ alright? You’ve been in there a while, I’m sure you look great in all of ‘em, but we gotta leave soon!” He calls. It’s a nicer way of saying ‘hurry your ass up before we’re late.’

In all honesty, you might just want to be late, maybe you could come up with an excuse not to swim and just keep a cover dress over your bathing suit? Yeah! That would work, you just have to figure out which one you’re gonna buy, get dressed and find a cover before you left!

“Babe? Can I come in? C’mon, they can’t be that bad!” Eijirou coaxes from the other side of the door with that charming sweet-talking voice of his, but it’s so painfully hard to swallow because he doesn’t realize that you’re the problem.

“I did suggest you just show up butt naked, it’s cheaper and super manly!” He laughs between his sharp teeth, trying to coax a giggle out of you but all he received was silence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, that was a stupid thing to say. Please let me in? Did you need help or something? Let your big strong hero help you.”

You sighed taking a nervous glance towards the locked door. Kiri always knew just what to say to get you to bend to his every will, so even despite your self-consciousness, you turned to the door with a defeated sigh.

“Fine, but… promise me you won’t laugh, okay?” You relented, hand on the doorknob as he attempted to open it. You stopped. “Okay?” You emphasized.

“I promise, babe.”

You opened the door and tugged him inside, slamming the door back shut behind you. Eijirou stumbled into the small space, having the presence of mind to blush when he caught sight of you wearing a red cherry-print bikini, back turned to him and hands poking unhappily at yourself. His eyebrows furrowed. What were you doing?

“Uh, Y/N?” He started warily, and you meet his concerned eyes in the fitting room’s full-length mirror. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, looking lost in thought as you ignored his question and asked one of your own. The randomness of the inquiry and the raw emotion in your voice as you asked it made him freeze up.

“Eiji, I want your honest opinion, am I… am I fat?” You asked, teeth digging mercilessly into your bottom lip to contain the whimpers behind your shaking tongue.

Kirishima stumbled back like he’d been slapped.

“What? You? Fat? No! Of course, not!” He was quick to wrap his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest as he did so. You gave him a doubtful look from over your shoulder, still appreciating the contact, but not entirely comforted. “What brought this on?”

You sighed deeply, hands rubbing your temples.

“Did somebody say something? Because if they did I’ll—”

“No, Eijirou I just… I’m just feeling a little insecure I guess. I haven’t had the chance to since I’ve been so busy, and… not in a bathing suit… but now that I am…” You trailed off, eyes dropping to your feet.

“Hey, look, you’re gorgeous in anything you wear, and I’m not going to complain if my girl has a bit more for me to hold alright? Far from it actually.” He chuckled, though his eyes held a softness in them that made you melt into a puddle of sighs. “You don’t even need to try anything else one, I like this one.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to leave.” You smirked, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but really, I like this one. It’s cute. On you anyways.” Kirishima kissed your reddened cheeks and you hid your face, thoroughly embarrassed. And just as soon as you thought you couldn’t blush any harder, you felt his hands drifting over your thighs, something hard against your back, and a sharp-toothed grin pressed against your neck.

“I think I’d like it off of you better though.” The red-heat breathes into your ear, and you feel yourself melting into his arms and gentle touches, letting him make you forget again.

You were about an hour late to that party.

. . .

Kaminari Denki

You were very aware that your boyfriend had a very perverted mind, and even knowing this you still somehow found yourself caught off-guard embarrassingly often. Right now was one of those times.

“Denki Kaminari, when I get my hands on you I swear to fucking god!” You were currently chasing a short-circuited Kaminari around the pool, arms thrown over your chest as he swam around with your bikini top in hand.

How he had gotten to be this fried was a long, complicated story for another time, but to summarize, that little smug-faced off-brand Pikachu was getting murdered today.

Your face was beet red as you finally gave up the chase, rushing over to the corner of the pool and sinking under the water to your chin, and facing the wall to shield your mortified expression and nude upper body. You had never felt this humiliated! Not only had your boyfriend taken advantage of your unfortunately loose bikini top, flying off after hopping into the water, but there was most of your class in the very same pool to bare witness to it all!

It was bad enough that it took a half-an-hour for your friends to convince you to take off the sundress you wore over your bathing suit and get in the water. And it was nice! For the first ten seconds that you were blissfully unaware that your top had slipped off, and was halfway across the pool by the time you noticed.

You would’ve snatched your top from the water, hopped out and never looked at a pool or any of your classmates again. Well, you would have if s o m e b o d y hadn’t reached the striped floating garment before you.

You sunk even deeper into the water until only your watery eyes peered above the surface, staring intensely at the wall. You realized why Tamaki-san liked them so much.

You jumped when someone sat down at the edge of the pool above you. It was Midoriya, holding out his shirt to you with his eyes respectfully covered.

“H-here, L/N you can wear it to cover up until those two stop being such jerks.” The green-haired boy looked over to Kaminari and Mineta who were giggling at the other end of the pool. You looked up to him like he was some sort of angel sent from heaven.

“Th-thank you! You’re a life-saver, Midoriya!” You took the shirt gratefully, yanking it over your head and covering up your nakedness. You scrambled out of the pool and made a mad dash to where your stuff sat. You threw your sundress over Midoriya’s shirt and your bikini bottoms, grabbing your purse and shoes and rushing over to the exit, trying to keep in the tears. “I-I can give you your shirt tomorrow!”

You heard a few voices call your name but you ignored them, retreating from the scene as quickly as possible. You had tears streaming down your face as you speed-walked to your dorm.

Your breath hitched when you heard someone call your name, and then turned to see Midoriya jogging to catch up with you. You groaned inwardly, slowing to a stop to let the boy approach you. He did help you out back there, the least you could do was wait for him.

“U-um, I’m sorry, I can go change real quick and hand over your shirt—” You started, hand rubbing the back of your neck.

“I don’t care about the shirt!” He interrupted and you stared wide-eyed at the freckled boy in front of you. “I came to see if you were okay, L/N.”

You sighed, wiping the tears from your face and shaking your head.

“No, not really… that was so embarrassing!” You wanted to crawl into a ball right there and just meld into the cement. If only you had a quirk like that! You’ve never been the jealous type, but you were feeling pretty envious of Mirio at the moment. He could hide whenever he wanted to!

You feel your green-haired classmate wrap you up in a towel, and then a tight hug as you tried to calm down. It was a bit awkward, considering you weren’t necessarily close, but you appreciated the comfort he provided in your time of need.

“Thank you, Midoriya.” You sighed, pulling away from the hug and adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

“N-no, problem. I’ll go back and set things straight with Mineta and Kaminari, that was pretty messed up of them.” He offered, eyes friendly and slightly vengeful.

As much as you’d like to permit Midoriya to avenge you, you didn’t want to make an even bigger deal out of this. It’s not like it would make you feel better.

“No, that’s okay, I just… I’m just gonna go back and relax for a while.” You managed a half-smile which he returned with a nod, telling you to text him or Uraraka if you needed anything before heading back to the pool area.

As soon as you stepped foot into your dorm, you launched yourself onto your bed and under the covers, not caring that you were soaking wet. All you cared about right now was hiding.

A little while later, you heard a few knocks at your door.

“Who is it?” You called from under the covers, now dressed in your PJs.

“I-It’s me, baby.” You heard the nervous voice of Kaminari filter through the door, slightly muffled.

“Go away!” You cried, burying your face deeper into your pillows.

The blonde-haired boy flinched, feeling the guilt weigh down heavier against his chest. He felt incredibly bad for what he did earlier, you didn’t deserve to be put on the spot and humiliated like that just because his brain got fried and he got hyped up. He knew you were insecure about your body, and he knew even as screwy as his brain was at the time, he knew how shy you were when getting into the water. And he acted anyway.

Damn it, Denki. We get it, your girlfriend is super fucking hot and you wanted to show her off but seriously, that was a dick move and you know it.

“Look, Y/N, I’m really sorry! I was being a total dick out there, and… and I feel awful.”

Fuck his sorry! You weren’t going to let him off the hook for embarrassing you in front of the entire class!

“Sorry doesn’t make me feel any better!” You shouted back, glaring angrily in the darkness under your safe and cozy covers.

“I know it doesn’t… can I come in? Please? I want to make it up to you!” Kaminari pleaded and you only scoffed.

“Unless you have a huge bag of M&Ms and the second season of (Favorite Show), I don’t want to fucking hear it!”

It was silent for a while.

“Give me five minutes!” He called through the door before you heard him dash off down the hall.

What?

He wasn’t actually going to…

You poked your head out from under the covers, sitting upright. You stared blankly at the door for a few minutes, dumbfounded. And as promised, about four or five minutes later you heard someone clamber through the halls and pound on your door.

“Open up, I’ve got your M&M’s, babe!”

Needless to say, that’s how you made up.

#midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #mha x you #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #n/sfw ish #deku x reader

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behindheremeraldeyes · 3 years ago

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sasusaku month 2021

day 3 - nighttime

title: lost inside the habit

summary: It’s the middle of the night and Sakura can’t sleep. Her thoughts are clouded by an ugly feeling she had never felt before and Sasuke is the only one who can do something about it. It’s his fault that she can’t sleep, after all.

Rated K [ffnet] [Ao3] .

There was a strange heat polling inside her stomach that made her entire body burn. Her heart-beat was beginning to sound too loud in her ears, and no matter how many times she had already tried to close her eyes, sleep refused to come. She had been tossing and turning for at least 3 hours now, stubbornly battling against the urge to get up and do something in order to save what was left of her night.

It will pass, she kept telling herself, knowing very well that was a lie. It was not going to pass. Not anytime soon, at least. She sighed for the seventh time— but who was counting, right?— and tried to appeal to her logical side to free herself from that inner turmoil.

The shinobi world was at peace, her patients were well and her loved ones were safe and sound, probably enjoying the warmth of their beds at that exact moment. Naruto’s dream was getting closer with every passing day, her sensei was doing a great job as the Hokage and Gaara had agreed to expand her recent project to the Wind country.

Nothing was wrong, except—well— everything was.

The air inside her lungs felt heavier than all the boulders she has crushed with her bare hands during the war, and as soon as her lips started to tremble, Sakura knew she was losing it.

The eight sight came. Fuck, she muttered.

She used her forearm to cover her eyes as she bit the insides of her cheeks. It was way too late for her to be awake, let alone to be so filled with such unexplainable rage— or maybe not so unexplainable as she would like to admit.

It was all because of those stupid words. Words that could mean nothing, but since they came from his lips, could also mean everything. How could he say those things about a stranger? How could he ruin her day like that after talking about someone else with such easy words?

How could he compliment a girl he had just met when all she ever had were the recurrent “you're annoying”s? That jerk.

Though Sakura has always considered herself to be above such things, experiencing those feelings for the first time was a lot harder than she had originally expected. Jealousy hurt. It stung her heart like multiple needles, and the simple memory of that fleeting moment was enough to make her feel another projectile penetrating deeper into her core. It made her disgusted to even think of him, and more than that, it made her feel ugly inside.

She should be better than this. She’s a highly ranked medical ninja and shouldn’t let those feelings corrupt her like that. If anything, she should be happy for him, right? Happy because, after so long, he was finally being able to interact with different people and move on with his life.

Sasuke deserves to be happy. However and with whomever he chooses to. And if she really was his friend, she should be happy for him.

If she loved him— truly loved him, then she should be happy for him.

But she was not. She just couldn’t. Instead of happy, Sakura was mad, resentful and begrudging.

She was ashamed of herself.

Ashamed for not wanting to share a free and independent person with a world of his own choosing simply because she somehow felt entitled to a position that has never been hers to begin with. In all of those years he was away from the village and she was trying to get him back, it never crossed her mind that, perhaps, just that didn’t make her special at all. She was his teammate and friend, sure, and even the only girl he has ever spoken to for over 10 minutes straight, but there was never any guarantee that she would ever become more than that.

Just because she was the only one by his side, it didn’t mean she would be the one if he ever opened himself to those kind of experiences.

Sakura had no right over his love life. She had no advantage or extra points for being who she is.

His heart is not a prize to be conquered at the end of a game. There’s no winner, but she was certainly the loser.

Her cheeks turned red and angry tears were threatening to spill from her eyes at that moment. She was feeling like a spoiled little girl, crying in order to solve her problems. She had to get herself together. He has always done whatever he wanted and there was no reason it would be any different when it came to the matter of his heart.

He leaves whenever he wants to and returns whenever he pleases.

And as always, she simply accepts it all. It’s their own routine— an old habit which she refuses to abandon. Sakura has settled into that kind of life of waiting for him to make the next decision, and that was fine until she realized that, maybe, the one decision she’s been waiting for him to make might not involve her.

In fact, it might even take her away from his life.

The stubborn tears finally fell down the side of her face, and her eyes widened. It became harder to breathe at the idea of losing him forever and it was as if her chest was being crushed. Her fingers were now clutching the covers until her knuckles turned white, and the turmoil was now stuck in her throat, making her sick.

And if she didn't do something— anything about it, she was going to throw up.

Without thinking twice, she threw the covers away and stood up from her bed. She didn’t know exactly what she was doing, but before she could convince herself otherwise, the pinkette was already jumping through her window. With her bare feet, she was running through rooftops, the winter night gracing her exposed skin. Her heart was beating faster now, adrenaline rushing through her system, and as she jumped around, her eyes could already see her destination from afar.

Her cheeks were burning due to the icy breeze, but she didn’t care. Sakura had to get to him. She had to listen to a different voice from the one hunting her thoughts.

Once she got to the Uchiha compound, she ran towards his house, only stopping at the threshold. She was not thinking straight anymore for, in the dead of the night, she started banging on his door, calling his name, and had he had any neighbors, they would all be cursing her at that moment.

“Sasuke-kun!” She screamed, her heavy fist almost making a hole in his door. Her voice was rushed, and she could see the white haze escaping from her lips. “I need to talk to you! Sasuke-kun!”

Her heart was beating as fast as she was knocking, and for a moment, she decided to stop banging to see if her ears would capture something coming from inside the house. Nothing. The only sound she could hear came from the night wind and that was not what she needed.

Her emerald eyes glared at the door, a pout taking over her lips. It was impossible for a skilled shinobi like him not to hear all that noise. She was growing anxious and even considered the idea of invading his house through the window, however; she knew better than to believe that catching him by surprise like that would be a good idea. It was Uchiha Sasuke’s home, after all. She could bet anything that he had traps all over the place. Breaking in was definitely out of question.

She shook her head and decided that it was too late to start changing her original plans— not that she has any plan at all. The pinkette raised her fist, then, ready to start knocking all over again. When she was about to move her hand, though, the door suddenly swung open, only to reveal the alarmed figure of the man she had been looking for.

“Sasuke-k—”

“What!? What is it?! Are you okay!?”

He sounded breathless, his mismatched eyes scanning her from head to toe, as if he was trying to find any injury or any trace of blood. His dark locks were a mess, and his lips were parted in awe. Now that she was thinking about it, showing up like that was probably not the best of the ideas if she didn’t want him to get all worked up. There was really no need for all that, but there was no way he would know it. Especially when she was the one who started all that noise to disturb his sleep.

She would have to do something about that, too.

“Calm down, Sasuke-kun, I’m fine.” She sighed, her head now starting to throb. “No one is hurt or anything.”

“Huh?” His brows arched in confusion, his lips still slighted trembling until they formed a frown. “Then what’s wrong, Sakura?”

Everything. “Nothing. I—“

“Nothing!? Tch, bullshit. If you’re here in the middle of the night, almost breaking my door, then something must be off. Is it something with Naruto?”

“No, he’s fine.”

“Kakashi, then?”

“No, he’s okay, too. I—“

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“I’ve said I’m fine already, didn’t I?!”

With every question, she could feel her anxiety building up inside of her. Of all the things that could have happened that night, being practically interrogated by him was not something she had imagined at all. And whether she liked to admit it or not, that was probably better than what she had originally planned— which was, again, nothing at all.

“Sakura, then, why—“

“Can you just shut up for a minute and let me talk!?”

Her heart was beating too fast inside her chest now, and she realized she had no control of the situation anymore. Sakura was just there, growing mad for no reason at all, and he was also growing slightly irritated because it was the middle of the night and she had just woken him up so she could literally stand there making no sense.

God, what a night.

Silence settled between them for a couple of seconds and her green eyes started to inspect him out of habit. His breathing pattern was slower now, his eyes still trying to read her, and Sakura was starting to feel overwhelmed by that. She had to say something. Anything or else he was going to think she was insane— and maybe she was because she didn’t really know what the fuck she was doing there anymore.

A new sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes for a second, trying to recollect what was left of her. She looked at him, then, and took a deep breath, the cold air reaching her lungs. “Look, no one is hurt. The village is safe, and for all I know, all of our friends are sleeping safely right now.”

“Then why—“

“Why am I standing at your door at such stupid hours and making a fuss for nothing?” She asks, rhetorically. “Honestly, I don’t even know, but here I am.”

He stopped for a moment, his face now holding a very confused expression. His fingers reached for the bridge of his nose and he closed his eyes for a moment, the adrenaline from earlier finally wearing off. He was annoyed, she could tell. Still, at least the interrogatory was over.

“Look, Sakura… I’m going to ask you something and I promise your answer won’t change the way I see you as the respectable shinobi you are.” He stopped for a second, tension now building up inside of her. “Are you drunk?”

Her brows knitted in confusion, and his question took her completely by surprise. She had no idea of what kind of expression was spread across her face right now, but she could bet it was a strange one. He couldn’t really be serious.

“What?” she asked, not really believing he was asking her such a thing.

“It’s a completely normal question. Did you go out for drinks with the Godaime?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

"I’m not drunk, Sasuke-kun!” She yelled at him, her red cheeks now puffed in anger. She clenched her fists, but loosed them after a second. It was late and cold, and damn, she should’ve thought properly before crossing the village wearing only one of her father’s large t-shirts and some fluffy trousers. That was not working at all. “Can I come in?”

When she asked him that, it was like something clicked inside of him and he realized that they were, indeed, in the middle of a winter night. Whatever was happening, they could do it inside his house, where it was clearly more comfortable. “Aah, of course. Come in.”

“Thanks.”

They entered his house, then, and for she was already used to it, the pinkette ended up leading him towards his living room. She sat on his couch, and with no ceremony, he sat next to her, their knees practically brushing. He was close enough so she could feel some heat radiating from him, and somehow that offered her some kind of comfort.

Of course it did. He is Sasuke-kun, the boy who has been holding her heart for at least a decade now. The same boy who can make her smile and cry with a single smile— or the lack of one— and the one who has dared to compliment a girl in front of her. Ugh, not that again.

“Can I get you some tea?”

“N-No, I’m fine, thank you.” She bit her lower lip, the ugly jealousy starting to bite her insides again. “Sasuke-kun, I need to ask you something.”

“Hn. I’m listening.” And indeed he was. He has always been a good listener, and perhaps that’s why it has always been so easy for her to talk to him. Just being with him has always been enough for her, but now— now that it was late and she knew there was a chance that he could, eventually, be taken away from her— it just wasn’t. Not anymore.

She had to get it out of her chest. No matter the risks, she had to be honest, and whatever he decided to do with that honesty, she would have to accept it.

“The thing is… I don’t want to lose you, Sasuke-kun.” She bit her lip, her cheeks growing warmer. “Not again.”

His eyes widened, and she noticed the way his expression slowly melted into a softer one. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he was looking at her with all the tenderness in the world, as if he immediately understood her. “I'm not running away from the village again, Sakura. I won’t—“

“Not like that.” She spoke, and she could feel her cheeks growing redder in embarrassment. “I’m not worried about you leaving the village again, Sasuke-kun. I’m just scared that, when you decide to stay… It won’t be with me.”

Though she had decided to be straightforward about the whole thing, Sakura didn’t think she could use any other words to describe her feelings at that moment. That was the best she could muster at that moment, and that would have to do.

Her eyes were looking straight at him, carefully searching for something— anything that told her he had understood the real meaning behind her words. She could feel that her heart was about to burst out at any moment now. Her hands were shaking on her lap, and with every second of torturing silence, she could feel her senses screaming at her to run away and never look back.

Perhaps, if she ran home at that moment, he could go back to bed and pretend it was all a strange dream. Perhaps she could try to convince him she was, in fact, wasted after a night out with her master. Perhaps—

A sudden warmth enveloped her small hands, and when she looked down at them, she saw his big, calloused palm over them. His skin was warm and his thumb carefully started to caress the back of her hand in circular movements. Her eyes widened at that, and when she lifted her head to look at him, his eyes were already on hers.

They were so deep at that moment— so delicate and caring that she just couldn’t bring herself to look away from them. His eyes have always been her favorite things about him, and even after everything, she still found them the most gorgeous things in the entire world.

“You’ve always had the strangest concerns, Sakura…” He spoke softly, as his lips slightly curled upwards. “How could it not be with you?”

Her eyes were tearing up now, her lips twisting into a pout. A wave of relief was spreading across her body, and she knew she was really close to start ugly-crying in front of him. “It couldn’t?”

“Of course not.” He squeezed her hands. “As long as you don’t change your mind, then—“

She cut his words before he could finish his sentence as she pressed her cold lips against his warm ones. It was an impulse she couldn’t control, and she was glad for that. After years of holding back and imagining how actually kissing him would feel like, there she was, making the first move and making sure he knew there was no changing her mind.

His lips, as she realized, were soft as she had always pictured them to be, and she couldn’t help the sparks that took over her at such simple contact. She had dreamed about that for most of her life, and once she felt his hand cupping her cheek as he started to kiss her back, Sakura realized that it was all worth it in the end.

She was smiling against his lips, and though chaste, that was probably the most intimate moment they’ve ever shared. Once they parted, she noticed that his hand remained on her cheek, and she couldn’t help but lean against it. Her eyes were holding a smile of their own, and even if her life depended on it, she didn’t think she could hide the happiness radiating from inside of her core.

Not from him. Not at that moment.

“I won’t ever change my mind.” She said, eagerly.

“Hn, that’s good to hear.” He said, caressing her cheek one more time before letting his hand slide from her face.

“And you better not change yours either, Sasuke-kun!”

“Where did you even get this stupid idea from, anyway?”

“Eh?” Her eyes widened, a new blush taking over her cheeks. How on earth was she going to explain to him that she woke him up and kissed him in the middle of the night just because he complimented a random girl the other day when the whole team 7 was together having lunch? He would never stop mocking her if she told him that. “No particular reason…”

“Tch.” He scoffed. “Honestly, you’re spending too much time with that Dobe.”

“And whose fault is that?” She crossed her arms across her chest, a mocking tone lacing her words.

“Hn, you might have a point.” He nodded, accepting her words, but choosing not to comment on them. “Are you feeling better now?”

“A lot. I was going insane back home, and I just had to do something about it. Sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night.”

“It's fine. Whenever you need."

“Hey, don’t get used to me just coming in and kissing you!” She blushed madly, finally remembering her boldest move.

“Your words, not mine.”

“Shannarou.” She sighed, her heart a lot lighter now. Anxiety was no longer torturing her from the inside, and the green monster of jealousy was now silenced in the depths of her mind.

In the end, Sakura was glad for doing what she did. She was proud for finally taking a stand and not just keep waiting for a magical moment that might never come.

She took the first step towards a new future filled with possibilities, and though she didn’t really know what was to come next, at least, she knew for sure that, in the end, they would be together. And for the moment, that was enough.

fin.

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a/n: so, why not write a jealous Sakura every now and then, right? I had a lot of fun writing this one and I can really imagine that pink-haired dork being all worked up over something like that XD Also, this was inspired by that song “Stay with me”, which is originally a Japanese song, but I can’t stop listening to Caitlin Myers’ version of it! Anyways, enough of me. Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and please, leave me a comment with your thoughts!

#sasusaku #sasusaku month 2021 #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss month 21 #myssfics

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libraryofloveletters · 4 years ago

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Heir To The Throne

Chapter 1: Emerald Green

There comes a day where all fathers pass their business down to their children. This was no ordinary business, this was the mafia. You were the sole heir to the throne and you didn’t want it. Your father’s right hands Derek and Aaron are tasked with convincing you otherwise, the last thing you expected to do was fall in love.

Mafia AU

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader, Derek Morgan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of death, loss of sibling, blood and shooting, Emily portrayed badly, brief mention of Matt x reader, hotchniss (kinda), grudge holding, fighting, swearing, y/n gets violent and angry, alcohol and the consumption of, crying, slapping, mild panic and slight feelings of claustrophobia.

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: God I'm so sorry this took me fucking forever to write. I literally couldn't decide how I wanted it to go. I promise I'll update again soon but feel free to ask anything about this chapter or upcoming chapters!! :)

Masterlist /// Chapter 2

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The balcony doors were open as you got ready, the cold night breeze blew through your room. Stepping onto the balcony with your cigarette as you watched the water below.

There was a knock on the door, “come in” you called out, not caring to look back and see who it was. “Your father is looking for you” you looked over your shoulder to see Aaron, one of your father's right hands.

“Do you have a light?” you asked, he stepped out onto the balcony with you. The cigarette rested between your lips, he lit the cigarette watching as you took a pull. As you blew out the smoke you offered him the cigarette, your red lipstick leaving a mark on it.

“Can you please get dressed? Your father is waiting on you to start dinner” he told you while taking the cigarette and tossed it off the balcony.

“I wasn’t done with that.” you rolled your eyes as you stepped into the room to get your dress. It was a beautiful emerald green dress that had belonged to your mother many years ago. You stepped into it and pulled your hair to the side, “zip me up.” He nodded, brushing the rest of your hair over your shoulder before pulling the zipper up.

“What would your girlfriend say if she saw you in here with me ?”

“I simply came up to get you for dinner, I don’t see how that concerns her” You weren’t the biggest fan of Aaron, nor were you even a fan of his girlfriend, Emily. She felt as if she was entitled to something because she was dating him.

Stepping into your heels, you headed towards the door. “Shall we?” he opened the door for you, letting you step out first as he locked your door behind him. He held his arm out for you to link yours with his as you walked down the staircase to the dining room.

Everyone was chatting as you and Aaron walked in arm in arm. His girlfriend looked especially unpleasant tonight. Aaron walked you to your seat and pulled your chair out for you, you went to say hello to your father before sitting down.

“I'm sorry I took a while to get ready” you leaned down to give him a hug. He smiled as he kissed your cheek “Bella, you look beautiful” he smiled at you.

Tonight was the monthly dinner for your father’s immediate “family” To his right sat Derek, Aaron, Emily, JJ and Matt in that order. To his left was you, Spencer, Tara, Penelope and Luke. Once a month, you all got together to have dinner and discuss the profits of that month.

Currently, you have no other position other than the boss’s daughter but since you were next in line to take over, it was mandatory that you were there. You didn’t care much for the business, you were only there to see Matt.

The two of you had been sort of seeing each other over the last few weeks. It started as out as drinks and a few blunts which ended with you in his bed. It wasn’t anything serious but you did like him, it was hard not too.

Matt was your best friend.

Your father pulled you to dance with him as everyone else danced together. Emily with Aaron, Luke with Penelope, JJ with Derek. Your father held your hand as he spun you around, you had always loved watching him dance with your mother.

They were so in love.

“Mind if I cut in?” Matt asked your father, he handed you over to him and patted Matt’s back before going to get a drink.

“You look beautiful” Matt whispered in your ear as the two of you danced. Your head rested on his shoulder, you could feel someone watching you, the sensation of eyes burning into your back was all you could feel. You shifted, turning so Matt stood where you previously were.

Derek made eye contact with you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched as JJ whispered something to Derek and stepped away from him. She stepped onto the balcony with Emily, “I’ll be back love” you whispered to Matt and headed towards the balcony too.

What the fuck were these two up to now?

The two of them were off to a corner whispering, which stopped the moment you stepped into the balcony. “Emily, Jennifer” you nodded as you walked past them to the other side of the balcony.

They returned to their conversation, glancing over at you every now and again. You leaned against the railing, watching as the water splashed against the rocks below. “Em, JJ, Dave is asking for you” You didn’t bother looking back, you knew who by their voice. The clicking of heels quieted as they headed back in and the smell of his cologne got stronger.

“Derek”

“Y/n”

“Did you need something ?”

“Just came out for a smoke”

You hummed, stepping to the left so he had some space.

“You look beautiful tonight. Your mother would have loved to see you in that dress.” he whispered to you before taking in a pull of his blunt.

Derek was well into his 20s, almost 30s and you were only at the ripe age of 21. He had known your mother for a short period of time before her passing. Aaron knew her much more than Derek did. The two of you stood outside for quite a while, the sound of waves filling your ears.

“Are you and Matt seeing each other?” Derek asked you, rather harshly you thought. “I don't see how that concerns you” you answer him in the same tone.

“You know, I think Dave would like to hear about your little romance with the armoury guy”

“Derek, shouldn't your head be up JJ’s ass or maybe Emily’s ? Why are you bothering me?” you looked over at him, he gave you a look, one you knew all too well. It was the same one your father had given you, as did Aaron.

“No” you pushed past Derek, his hand grabbing on your arm.

He pushed you back up against the wall. Derek’s eyes were looking into yours, something about the whole situation felt off but not in a bad way. It was as if you were meant to be there with him, like that.

“Listen to me, your father wants you there when he calls it quits, or god forbid, he dies. It’s your birth right” Derek stated, earning a groan from you.

“Are you fucking serious Derek ? You too ? It’s not my “birth right” to run the fucking mafia! I didn’t ask to be born. It’s not my job”

“James isn't here to do it, you know that”

The mention of James made your blood boil, how dare he even say his name to you?

“Don’t fucking say his name. It’s your fault he’s not here! it’s your fucking fault I'm “next in line” so don't ever speak his name again or I swear to god, I'll kill you.” you pushed past him and walked inside. Derek followed you inside, his hand grabbing onto your arm again. This time you turned and your hand hit his face, hard.

“Let go of me!” you pulled your arm away from him, everyone in the room stopping at the sound of your shouting. Derek stood in the middle of the room, you made your way over to the bar.

Your father just watched you, not saying anything to you. He knew you well. You never acted up unless someone irritated you. It was better to leave you alone before you end up killing someone.��

Everyone went back to their business. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey, not bothering to get a glass, you took a swing from the bottle. Emily made her way over to the bar, “hey bartender! I think I'll get a cosmo” she grins at you, “think you can do that for me ?”

You ignored her, knowing that she was trying to trouble you. “Can you hear me?” she waved her hands in front of you which made you roll your eyes. She groaned and turned away.

“What a bitch” she mumbled.

You were already upset and Emily was just the cherry on top. The bottle left your hand when you threw it towards her, it hit her in the back of her head. The glass shattered and ended up on the floor, the contents of the bottle spilling all over her and the floor. Emily’s fingers touched the back of her head and pulled away, she let out a small gasp.

There was blood on her fingers.

You couldn't help but smile, they had no idea how long you had been waiting for that. Aaron rushed over to Emily to see if she was alright, you rolled your eyes again and hopped onto the counter of the bar. Taking another swing of alcohol, vodka this time, you watched as Aaron walked over to you after sending Emily off with JJ.

“You wanna be next?” you shook the bottle slightly, Aaron scoffed and looked at your father.

“Dave, control your daughter” Aaron told him.

“Don’t try that shit with me Aaron. She’s my daughter, you and your girlfriend are replaceable. I’m not telling her anything.” Dave rebutted.

So yeah, there were perks of being his daughter after all.

Dave gave you a smile as he walked over, you gave him the bottle and kissed his cheek.

“I think I'm going to head up for tonight”

“Are you sure Bella ? we should go for a walk or maybe have a drink ?” he asked

“Maybe tomorrow pops, it’s late and I think we’ve both had enough to drink for tonight” you laughed and left him in the dining hall. Heading up the stairs, there were another set of footsteps behind you.

“I swear if it's you again” you turned, expecting to see Aaron or Derek but instead were met with Matt with a pan of brownies and two forks. “Want some company ?” he gave you a small smile.

“Always” he followed you to your room, you pushed the door open and immediately got on your bed. Matt put the pan down before helping you take off your heels. He joined you on the bed, the both of you sat in silence eating until he called out to you.

“Can I ask something ? you don’t have to answer if you don't want too” he looked over at you, you laid back against the pillows.

“What’s up ?”

“Who’s James ? I kind of overheard you and Derek”

You let out a shaky breath, you never talked about James. If you knew about him, then you knew but no one ever talked about him, especially after what happened to your mother. “Oh um, you don't have to-” you cut off Matt, your hand rested on his.

“It's okay. uh-” your tongue ran across your lip, “James.. James is my brother. Well, was, I guess.” Matt's eyes focused on you, he watched you as you sat in silence, unsure if he should speak or wait for you to speak.

“James died when I was 16, he was 26 at the time. He was coming home with dad, Aaron and Derek. Dad and Aaron were in one car and James and Derek were in the other. They were ambushed, Derek was supposed to protect James, but he didn't.”

“Hey, I’m sorry” Matt gave your hand a squeeze, you shook your head and leaned it back slightly in an attempt to get rid of the tears you could feel.

“James told Derek to go check on Aaron and dad, and Derek left him in the car by himself. Apparently the cars were a distance apart, so they didn't hear it but uh-” you cleared your throat, “when Derek came back to the car, James was dead. 12 shots to the chest.” your voice wavered for a moment.

Despite the age gap of 10 years, James was your best friend. He was the one who checked on you every night and made sure you were okay. James was the first person to hold you beside your mother after you were born because your father wasn't home.

You had always had a connection with James, and a special one it was.

When he died, it felt like you lost a piece of yourself. Sometimes, you still can’t grasp the fact that he’s dead.

Matt’s voice broke your thoughts. “You can't blame Derek for it sweetheart. James told him to leave right ?” he said softly, you sat up.

“They were ambushed Matt.”

“I understand that, but you said James said to leave him there, right ?”

“Matt, they were fucking ambushed! What happened to ‘no one gets left’ ? It doesn't matter that James said to leave him! Derek should have never left him! Maybe if he used his fucking brain, then I’d still have my brother!”

Matt sat there, quietly, and watched as you got up and walked out to the balcony. He followed you out, his hand rested on your shoulder. Shrugging off his hand, you whispered, “get out” you brushed the tears off the tears that were running down your face.

“I’m-” he started.

“Get out” you said harshly, you just wanted to be alone right now.

Matt turned and left, you heard the door shut and let out a shaky breath. Your hand coming up to your chest to try and steady your breathing. The night air was cold, there were goosebumps along your arms. Heading in and shutting the doors, you began to feel like you were trapped in the dress.

Tugging and pulling at the dress, trying to reach the zipper to get it off but you couldn't. The frustration of not getting the dress off and the anger and sadness about James resulted in you on the floor, in tears, in front of the mirror. You managed to maneuver your way out of the dress.

Standing up in front of the mirror, your hand coming up to your chest again. You looked at the mirror, there was a small picture of you and James tucked into the side of the frame.

It was from when you were around 8. The two of you were at some swing set you had found. James stood behind you and you were on the swing. The two of you were smiling and laughing. You could remember it like it was yesterday.

“Higher! higher!” you giggled, your brother’s hand pushed you forward. His loud laugh filled your ears, your little hands clinging on chains of the swings to hold on.

“You can’t go higher!” he laughed, he pushed you once more. Your parents sat across from the two of you.

“James! y/n! be careful!” your mother shouts from beside your father, his arm was over her shoulder as he smiles at you two. He whispers something to her which earns in a light smack to the chest. Your father laughs as he leans in to kiss your mother.

“Smile you two!” she shouts from across from you guys. You gave her a toothy grin and your brother laughs, leaning down so his chin is on your shoulder.

This was your favourite picture of the two of you. It was right before he got caught up in your father’ business, before he stopped being happy,

before he died.

Dragging your fingers across the picture, you smile to yourself before whispering,

“I promise I'll make this right James.”

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Ahhh what do we think ?? first chapter is finally up! how do we feel ? do we like it ?

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