#hes like barely even visible amongst all the paper wear and tear but hes there i promise
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
who loves making weirdly specific fake documents relating to my headcanons about inkling medical science and pre-gtw society? meeeeee :3
#splatoon#craig cuttlefish#capn cuttlefish#hes like barely even visible amongst all the paper wear and tear but hes there i promise#for lore context:#in my interpretation and fic universe he uses his cane due to an injury involving saltwater in his youth#and pre-war medical science wasnt the greatest in inkling society#you ever hear of the resurrectionists? ppl who dug up graves to sell bodies to scientists to research anatomy?#since inklings have regenerative properties...#they could just operate on them live for study instead of using cadavers#yowchie! anyways being a seadog of the state has its consequences unfortunately#lore context over
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Closer Than We Seem
kyoutani kentarou x f!reader
genre: slight angst, fluff, comfort, romance, mutual piningÂ
warnings: cursing, implied past physical abuse, mentions of physical/verbal harassmentÂ
synopsis: college!kyoutani demanded to know the source of the obnoxious arguing that kept him awake throughout the night. The thin walls barely filtered out the yelling and he had a 7:00 a.m. class in the morning. Venturing out to immediately put an end to it, kyou stumbles upon a person with a past that changes both their lives- and romance ensues.Â
a.n: 5.0k words of some kyoutani content! enjoy!
He was sick of it.
Amber eyes, bloodshot around the edges, shifted to glance at the digital clock seated on the nightstand. The dark plastic is well worn as the illuminated screen is covered in cracks. Undoubtedly, the piece of technology was victim to his annoyed clobbering whenever the alarm went off.
Smothering a plush pillow over his ears, the blonde fervently attempts to block the commotion. His fingers press tightly against the only source of comfort that keeps his sanity at bay. A raised vein etched across his jawline as his teeth grind together and he forces out a grunt.Â
2:25
âItâs been two damn hours.âÂ
Kyoutaniâs gravelly voice is barely heard over the yelling in the next room. Disgruntled, he removes the pillow from his face and tosses it beside him with a roll of his eyes. The part-time college student is openly miffed by the lack of peaceful sleep he could be getting. He, quite honestly, didnïżœïżœt appreciate showing up to morning classes with eye-bags as dark as the eyeliner that he meticulously lined his eyes with. Over the past four months, adequate rest is a miracle for him to discover each day.Â
âAnd theyâre still arguing,â Kyoutani rambles on while using the bottom of his hand to hammer the pillow onto the mattress, âwho the fuck argues that long?âÂ
Scrunching his thin eyebrows, he tries to comprehend the mere logic behind quarrelling in the middle of the night, especially on a school night. By all means, Kyoutani isnât a saint amongst sinners but in a couple hours the blond has a chemistry quiz, a subject heâs gloriously failing, and sleep was needed.Â
Another frustrated shout rips through the popcorn textured walls which doesnât muffle the noise due to the poor insulation covering. The voice is distinctly a maleâs and it takes all of Kyoutaniâs willpower not to roar back to assert his dominance. Instead, his fingertips rake through his cropped hair while letting out a grumble.Â
His eyelids feel like weights are strapped to them, progressively drooping shut, as his vision becomes blurry. A rare silence drifts through his cramped dorm room. The place resembles a battle zone with clothes tossed to the bed, papers scattered over the desk, and empty protein bar wrappers cascaded on the floor. Yet, Kyoutani adored the small freedom he finally had at the university dorms.Â
The silence lulls him to close his bloodshot eyes, a deep exhale flares out his pointed nose, and a relief floods through him. He might actually get some rest for once.Â
âGet out!âÂ
At the obnoxious yell from the neighboring room, the blond is far too annoyed to logically comprehend his actions before his bruised knuckles are knocking at the wall. The numbness of rapping at the wall is barely registered over how livid Kyoutani is at the intrusion to his sleep.Â
âShut up!âÂ
He throws in the bellow for good measure and stops his onslaught of assault on the wall. It seems awkward scolding the wall and his hand slowly drops to his lap. His sharp eyes track the movement of his fingers, dimly noting that he needs to trim the cracked edges. Perhaps his unpolished fingertips are the reason for his missed spikes on the volleyball court lately.Â
A solid thump resonates back to him, to which Kyoutani dumbly blinks at. Hairs at the back of his neck stand and he can literally feel the heat leave his ears as his blood boils. The college studentâs temper has simmered down since high school but hearing the other personâs unperturbed knock ticked him off. It was almost like they were taunting him.Â
âOh thatâs it,â he mumbles and kicks away the blanket that interlaced his figure.Â
Stretching across the small room, his legs move on its own accord and he reaches to twist the knob of the door. Using the expanse of his muscular shoulder, he pushes the wooden structure open in hopes of confronting the rowdy student that resided next to his dorm room.Â
Permanent frown plastered on his pale lips, the blond urges to dramatize the expression. He crosses his arms after knocking on the neighboring door and the action displays his athletic build as a result of years of sports. The irate appearance was perfected as a scare tactic that he used to his advantage in varying situations. Petrifying the student next door wasnât excluded out of the list.
âCould you shut your mouth? Youâre being too damn loud, man--â
Kyoutani allowed himself to commit a double take before hastily shutting his own mouth, only for it to part as a sharp inhale almost made him sputter. His onslaught of vulgarity, a script heâd previously rehearsed plenty of times, fell lost on his tongue as he eyes the female in front of him.Â
Youâre unfairly pretty.Â
It pains him that the first thought that races within his mind is a compliment when your mascara is smudged at the edges. Your frizzy hair is at a disarray, strands sticking up even when itâs pulled into a ponytail. The hoodie that youâre wearing is far too large as the end hits above your midthigh and his thoughts short circuit when he drags his gaze upward to see that youâre already giving him a sheepish smile.Â
âSorry,â your voice pitches higher at the sudden appearance of the male, âwere we being too loud?âÂ
âN-no? I mean yes,â Kyoutani sputters the first words and finishes his reasoning with a pathetic remark, âchemistry.âÂ
Your face lights up, visibly amused with his lack of speech at the moment while understandingly nodding, âyou have a chemistry test?âÂ
âYeah.â
âAnd you need to get some sleep before it?â
âYeah.â
His responses are pitiful- even he knew- but there was only so much he could verbally say when focusing on the way your lips curved up when smiling. Plus, perhaps he was delusional with the lack of sleep, but your curiosity seemed to dip to his lean physique.
âIâm so sorry,â your eyes follow the blondâs movement of leaning against the doorframe, âweâll try to keep it down so you can get some rest.âÂ
His brain disconnects with the small ounce of logic he carries when your sleeve sweeps across your nose to sniffle and he recognizes the dried tears that stain your face. Kyoutani isn't the best at handling emotions or being touchy-feely but heâs not ignorant.
âYou good?â He asks while cautiously taking a step forward.
His defensive instincts, honed by years of avoiding other people, raise at the wary glint in your eyes. The blondâs inquisition is answered with a meek nod of your head and your nose scrunches to halt your sobs. Upon closer inspection, the sleeves on your hoodie is drenched in what he infers are tears.
Your feet remain rooted to the ground, neither welcoming him or pushing his intrusiveness away. Heâs aware of the slight shake of your body and his golden eyes widen at how unnerved you were behaving.Â
âMy bad,â Kyoutani falters as his own doubts consume him, âI didnât mean to make you cry-âÂ
âWhoâs at the door, (Y/n)?â
The new voice, startling you with the sudden shout, comes from within the room. Distinctly, itâs the same tone that was hollering while Kyoutani was trying to sleep. The blondâs keen on how you were shifting your weight to each foot and the fidgeting only increased when footsteps resounded on the creaking floorboards.Â
âOh,â you squeak as your evasive gaze connects with his, âmy dorm room neighbor.âÂ
Pulling your hands away from your face, a naive expression is plastered on when a male comes up behind you. The stranger is shorter and less lean than Kyoutani is. Yet, when the male captures your stare, youâre reeling back by fiddling with your fingers behind your back.Â
The unpleasant male, brunet but his darker roots were peeking out, regards Kyoutani with a sniff, âcan we help you?âÂ
Something about the male irked the blond and a frown tugs at his lips. He predicted that the guy was your boyfriend or had some type of connection with you. Being in university led to freedoms such as relationships. Although Kyoutani was a stranger to such involvement, he knew the attachment or void others were attempting to fill during these years.
âYeah, you can,â the blond responds with a miffed scowl, ânoise complaint.âÂ
Thereâs an uncomfortable silence when the brunet eyes Kyoutani with an agitated glower. Itâs painstakingly silent. Heâs surely showcasing his superiority within the uneasy situation. Though, the volleyball player is grateful for his decision of wearing a tattered, sleeveless shirt because the other male loosened into an apprehensive gaze.Â
âShe wasnât listening to me, so,â the other male jut a thumb towards you and shrugs his shoulders, âsorry, dude.â
Raising a sharp brow, Kyoutaniâs expression is dubious when noting how the blame is placed on you when the other male was clearly the only one hollering beforehand. It clicks that the uneasy flickering within your eyes is due to the other male and disgust engulfs him.Â
His fist clenches, displeasure rolling off of him in waves before speaking up, âIâm pretty sure I just heard your loudass screeching. Just keep it down.âÂ
The brunet clams up at the jest, forehead wrinkling just enough to cause worry that lines would permanently stay there. Kyoutani watches the way the other maleâs jaw tightens before heâs storming off. The blond regards the otherâs lack of positivity with a roll of his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath.Â
A whisper, faint but lingering in the silent air, leaves your lips, âthanks.âÂ
âNah,â his amber eyes flicker to yours, âdonât need to thank me. âTs about time someone put him in his place.âÂ
âTell me about it.âÂ
âI could,â Kyoutani pauses to toe at the floorboards and the cheap tile chips at the touch, âif youâd let me.âÂ
The words tumble out of his mouth before it can be filtered and the result has him reeling back. His cheeks are warm, probably matching with his reddened ears. The invitation is annoyingly corny and the staleness makes him want to hurl.Â
âSounds like a deal.âÂ
Your response has his attention locked onto you again and heâs internally thankful that heâs not the only one embarrassed by his impromptu. Thumbing at the sleeves of your sweater, a lopsided grin etches across your face and the blond freezes up. His mind is functioning as quickly as a bullet train but his expression only stares back at you with a stupidly blank look.Â
Your giggle snaps him out of his stupor before putting him into a daze over how charming the noise sounds. An entertained peek casts over him as you tuck your hair away from your face.
âI guess Iâll see you around-â
âKentarou,â he discloses with a respectful yet hurried bow of his head, âKyoutani Kentarou.âÂ
â(Y/n)(L/n). Call me (Y/n),â you mention before begrudgingly edging the door closed, âand good luck on your chemistry test, Kentarou.â
The next day, it irritates him that he can only conjure up an image of your smile when he should be solving for Planckâs constant.
-
âWhatcha doing there?âÂ
Keys dangling in his grasp, he halts at the front of his dorm room door. Itâs unwelcomely cold today and the brisk wind has his fingers alike to popsicles. The blondâs tried to fight off the chill with his customary varsity jacket and black beanie. Ideally he didnât toss on the hat because he couldnât bother with styling his hair- of course not.Â
Youâre situated on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest while balancing a notebook atop of your makeshift desk. The lined paper has quick notes jotted down, highlighted words, and doodled diagrams that Kyoutani is able to discreetly peer at. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at him when your study habits are exactly what heâd picture they would be.Â
âStudying,â your eyes never leave your paper as you respond to him.Â
Uncapping a pastel highlighter, you exaggerate the action by underlining a phrase written in your notebook and raising a brow at him. The incredulous look on your face only comes off as sarcastic as Kyoutani rolls his dark eyes at your mockery. A grin curls on your lips while raising your shoe to nudge the side of his boot. Heâs recognized each one of quirks, including your friendly banter.
âNo shit Sherlock,â the blond pulls his hand away from the door and tucks the keys into his pocket, âcoulda sworn you were sleeping.â
Crouching on par with you, he extends a finger to poke at your cheek and indicates the dark bags underneath your eyes. Itâs lighthearted payback for the attitude he received just a second ago yet thereâs a concerned glint in his stare. The darkness that surrounds your eyes is apparent even with the dab of concealer you managed to slap on in the morning and an embarrassed hand covers half of your face.Â
âKyou!âÂ
The threat isnât laced with malice but the jab at his shoulder sure proves that humiliation is a strong consequence of emotion. He lets out a groan while gingerly rubbing the ache that emits from the bundle of muscle you punched.Â
Childishly sticking out your tongue at his dramatics, you declare, âthatâs what you get.âÂ
âYeah, yeah.âÂ
He pauses and then recognizes that the position youâre in is one that seemed too familiar. Your gaze flutters back to the flimsy notebook, aware of how perceptive Kyoutani was when it involved the wellbeing of yours.Â
Inviting the blond to warm up to you was certainly a gradual process but you did not regret it. Shy smiles transformed into late night talks over the phone. The two of you had a special yet uncharted compassion for each other that had bloomed over the last two months.Â
âWhat,â the words taste like venom in his mouth and he desperately wants to spit it out, âhe locked you out again?âÂ
You feign interest in your notes, physiology facts are sprawled onto the margins, while avoiding Kyoutaniâs heated gaze. His hand balls into a fist, dull fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. He knows that you wonât answer the seemingly obvious question even when youâre slumped on the floor in a feeble heap and it tugs at his heart.
Unfortunately, when Kyoutani faces displeasure heâs only adept to outwardly show his emotions. Ever since he was born, it was a rule to allow oneself to be impassioned about hobbies, beliefs, and avocations. The blond applied the rule to showcasing his appreciation to the people he deemed as special, as per usual. Except, he didnât have the best grasp on handling his intense emotions.Â
âHeâs always treating you like shit,â the next part comes out like a scoff that rages within him, âand youâre always falling for it.âÂ
The weight of the words felt like a blow to your face, leaving a stinging sensation that resonated within you. The confrontation shook you to the core. Not once has the male ever blamed you for your boyfriendâs inconsideration.Â
Kyoutaniâs chapped lips form around the syllables of the offense and he automatically knows that he just messed up. Curses sling together within his mind as he pitifully watches your reaction. A silent wince morphs upon your delicate face. Youâre recoiling away from him, shrinking yourself into the crevice of the wall. His fingertips reach for you, the action is subconscious, and the next words spill out of his mouth like an off brand remedy.Â
âListen, (Y/n), I didnât mean it like that-âÂ
âNo,â you speak up with newfound acrimony, âthatâs exactly what you meant.âÂ
Lifting your head up, your narrowed eyes connect with Kyoutaniâs wide ones. A part of you desperately wishes to become agitated with the blond. Envy grips a hold of you at the thought that heâs able to live his life freely without the burden of an overbearing significant other. By all means, he had all the attributes to attest your relationship- or lack thereof.Â
Your furrowed expression mellows.
Yet, his comment awakens a self reflection that youâve casted away to maintain some dignity. Your boyfriendâs attitude toward you equated to virtually nothing. Countless nights of arguing, getting locked out, and being pushed aside were bouts of normalcy to you. It was your responsibility to get the respect that you deserved. Cutting out toxicity, even if the future frightened you, was an initial step.Â
The golden hue outlining Kyoutaniâs eyes, intense in many cases, recast into a softened stare. Heâs mindful of the gears shifting in your head and the tremble of your bottom lip settles it. Unknowingly, you just received a life changing message with his chiding. The doors of independence and freedom swing open. An exhale passes through your lips.Â
Crouching closer to you, the blond compels your attention with a tilt of his head, âsorry.âÂ
The apology is gruff, likely the result of his avoidance toward wrongdoings, but the intent is clearly there. Chewing on his bottom lip, he gestures toward your fragile stance with a shifty gaze. Your cowering behavior scared him immensely. It wasnât often someone else was willing to interact with his loner self. He canât mess this up even when his pride is screaming at him to bicker.
âItâs not your fault,â you shake your head in reassurance, âI know that itâs mine.âÂ
Unintentionally, your demeanor frees open with his genuine apology and you canât help but be soothed at the gentle prod in his scrutiny. He appreciates that youâre able to acknowledge his opposition because the male wasnât planning on taking his comment back. The truth may hurt but itâll ultimately improve your mentality in the long run.Â
Perching on the heels of his feet, he repositions himself to improve comfort. His arms are draped over his knees and the jacket bunches at the ends due to his movement. The blond is close, alarmingly near your face, and an aromatic whiff of dry cedar invades your senses.Â
âYouâre just,â his confession smoothly slips out, âtoo good for him.â
The side of his face rests against his forearm while he awaits your response. Heâs content when your eyes light up, gleaming in reverence, at his blunt compliment. Lips tugging upward, your lopsided grin is all he has to witness as he hops to his feet. His palm pats at the faded denim of his jeans before offering his free hand to you.Â
âCâmon,â he easily pulls you to your feet in a quick motion, âyou can hangout in my dorm room, I guess.âÂ
âWhat do you mean, âyou guessâ?âÂ
Kyoutani catches your teasing eye roll while organizing your school materials that are cluttered on the floor. Heâs nimble, stacking your books into a pile and swinging your backpack over his wiry shoulder.Â
âI mean, letâs go.âÂ
With the grace of a dancer, the blond balances the items while fetching his keys and unlocking the door. He nudges it open and steps aside to let you enter first. Certainly the male mustâve picked up the chivalrous acts in a sappy movie or television show because your heart thumps against your chest. Itâs absurd in reality. A person helping another is ordinariness yet you feel like youâre flying when he looks at you expectantly.
âThank you,â the gratitude is a whisper as you tug your sweater tighter to your body and eagerly slide past him.
âDonât mention it.âÂ
The room is comfortably warm, easing away the shivers that racked throughout you while seated in the middle of the dorm hallway. Its surprisingly tidy, which also comes across as a shock to Kyoutani because the scrunch of his nose indicates that heâs accustomed to a messy room. However, upon closer inspection, you note that the blond is the one readily cleaning because he scoots aside a stray snack bag with his elbow. An embarrassed pout conforms to his face when he hears your amused giggle.
Gently placing your stuff on the desk, he notices your awkward stance in the middle of the room and gestures to either his bed or desk chair. You respectfully, minus the internal debate you had, settle on the chair and only then does Kyoutani move over to lounge on his bed. Itâs eerily silent despite how comfortable you both are with each other.Â
Indefinitely, he flops onto the mattress, much like a child would, and folds his hands behind his head to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. A couple months beforehand he wouldâve despised being locked up in his dorm room without having anything to do. Now, however, his nerves were bouncing off the walls.
Peering over to your rigid position, he takes your fiddling fingers and shy demeanor with scrutiny. Not once in his life did he think heâd actually invite a person into his sacred place. Yet, when his gaze locks with yours and you return a coy smile- heâs praying that this wonât be the last time.
âSo, I only let you in because I donât get this chemistry problem-â
âKyou!â
-
Treading backward, a sense of urgency rushes through you as you narrowly avoid the aggressive hands. Itâs bewildering that heâs willing to physically confront you in public. The dorm hallway was bound to have university students frequent the place and prying eyes were not on your current wishlist.Â
âWhat are you doing? I told you that weâre over!âÂ
The incredulous question goes over his head as he refuses to outrightly answer or perhaps he just didnât wish to. Before this incident, you attempted to just force in a power nap before your next class that was situated across campus. Your ex boyfriend, however, had other plans as he lingered by your dorm room while you were unaware of the unwanted surprise.Â
The unruly male is clearly tipsy and his wandering hands are not in your favor as he lunges for you once more. Thankfully, you sidestep away while your shoulder bumps against the wooden frame of a door. Your blood turns to ice.
âCome here and give me a kiss, babe,â your ex boyfriend garbles.Â
The stench of alcohol overwhelms your sobriety and a part of you yearns for the familiar scent of dry cedar musk. You longed for the latter of the aromas to engulf you in a reassuring embrace but grabby hands motioned for you again. A slight tug at your cardigan fuels the hatred that ignites within you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, inwardly loathing how you managed to date such a pathetic excuse of a person.Â
Your hands defensively jab at your ex boyfriendâs chest, âget away from me!âÂ
âBitch!â
The sudden force propels him backward, giving you an inch of breathing room, before heâs barreling towards you again. His furrowed brows and snarl illustrate that youâve unlocked danger. Sweat trickled down your temples, gathering at your hairline and your tongue sweeps across your chapped lips. The thrashing of your heart is the only sensation youâre aware of at the moment. Eyes fixated on his response, you donât dare to blink. Your ex boyfriend raises a hand, a sign youâve been introduced to before, and you instinctively flinch at the action.
A lean figure abruptly steps in front of you to provide protection from the physical onslaught. Dry cedar breaches your uneven inhales but youâre holding onto that scent like it was a lifeline. He was your salvation.Â
Landing a hit on Kyoutaniâs sturdy chest, your ex boyfriend promptly pulls away with a confused glance, âget outta the way, man-âÂ
âDidnât you hear her,â the blond barks out and shoves him, âget the fuck away.âÂ
Waves of animosity radiate off of Kyoutani, a scene that youâve never witnessed in your encounters with him. Heâs absolutely livid. His teeth gnash together while his hands are clenched at his sides. The veins on his brow protrude as a result of his creased forehead. Kyoutaniâs damp in perspiration from his hurried movement, a deduction youâve assumed.Â
The male is clad in exercise attire, probably coming back from a run, and his dri fit shirt conforms to his physique. His pullover and snug joggers were clear indicators that Kyoutani was in excellent physical shape, causing a wary stare from your ex boyfriend.Â
If the muscles rippling off of Kyoutaniâs body isnât a fright factor then his black, rimmed eyes are intimidatingly adequate. Yet, your ex boyfriend has intelligence compared to a newborn so he still lurches forward to attack Kyoutani. The blond dodges, grasps your ex boyfriendâs wrist, and twists it behind the otherâs back. His defensive response is swift- almost alarmingly so that you wonder if Kyoutani ever brawled before.Â
âSeriously, cut the shit,â the blond warns, âleave (Y/n) alone.â
When your ex boyfriend utters a curse embedded within your name, the blond pulls the seized wrist tighter and a sickening crack echoes. Your hand flies up to your lips. Yowling in pain, your ex boyfriendâs mouth instinctively shuts to avoid further punishment.Â
ââTs alright,â Kyoutani rolls his eyes at the otherâs dramatic behavior, âI didnât break it. Yet.âÂ
Your ex boyfriendâs eyes widen, irises dilated at the gruesome image conjured up in his mind, and pitifully begs, âI-Iâll leave you alone! Please. Iâll do anything! Jesus Christ, (Y/n), who is this guy?âÂ
Turning his cheek, your ex-boyfriend gets a glimpse of Kyoutaniâs face and the recognition dawns on him. Heâs seen the aggressive blond before. Months ago, when your ex boyfriend was hollering at your lack of intimacy and the otherâs lined eyes glared at him to surrender. One side of the blondâs lips raise, a snarky smirk directed towards the other male. Triumphant reigns within Kyoutani.Â
âHer new boyfriend.âÂ
Raising a freshly cut eyebrow, Kyoutani incites a victorious expression as your ex boyfriendâs eyes are downcast at the message. The blond sneers. A sense of satisfaction, you suppose thatâs the rare emotion, floods within you at your offenderâs misfortune. You toss Kyoutani a grateful smile and heâs left faltering. He blinks- once, twice, three times- before regaining his intimidating demeanor.
âGet the fuck outta here,â Kyoutani shoves the other male forward when acknowledging the lack of resistance, âor I swear Iâll invert your ribcage.âÂ
Your ex boyfriend doesnât need to be reminded, sprinting off with his tail tucked between his legs and stumbling on his uncoordinated strides. You and Kyoutani regard the pathetic male with a deplorable frown. Then, the blond is tugging you close while burying his face into the crook of your neck. You donât mind the sweat that gathers onto him and instead delve into comfort. A giggle resounds to reach him and he lets in a shaky inhale. He was indebted to the pure luck of running back to you. The thought of you getting injured or reliving the trauma youâve initially faced was heartbreaking.Â
âKyou,â your nickname to him was like a secret prayer you voiced, âI love you.â
Heâs steadfast, a physique of strength and warmth, giving you a perfect invitation to cling onto. Respect, loyalty, and adoration were qualities that you didnât have to force out of him. Violence, in any form, were taboos that he never crossed. The blond is undoubtedly the beginning of your journey towards self-love.Â
âI love you too.âÂ
The genuine moment lingers on when your teasing nature resumes upon hearing Kyoutaniâs forthright confession. Your hand comes up to trace his jawline, collecting perspiration that hasnât dried up quite yet. Heâs still cradling you, fingers protectively pressed against your waist. The sentiment is seldom, yet welcomed, and Kyoutaniâs drawing you closer. Heâs earnest. Scrunching up your nose, you jokingly flick at his forehead and heâs grumbling at your childishness.Â
âYou didnât tell me youâd gone out running,â you motion toward his frazzled state.Â
âPhone died.âÂ
He fishes out his phone from his back pocket. Sure enough, your reflection is illuminated on the dark screen and you nod in acknowledgement. Your head dips to lay on the junction of Kyoutaniâs chest. Allowing yourself to get swept up in his embrace is habitual, the addiction smothering an unmistakable itch inside you.Â
Heâs silent before remarking, âI got us takeout though.âÂ
Golden eyes donât miss your gleaming ones and youâre beaming at the mention of food. Raising your head, the narrow stare heâs given causes him to motion to the forgotten bag thatâs placed on the floor. Boxed cuisine was cast aside when Kyoutani saw the trouble you were caught up in.Â
âWhatâd you get?âÂ
âPizza,â he pauses, âand mozzarella sticks since you liked that stuff.âÂ
âYouâre the best.â
Lifting on your tiptoes, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek and you emit a carefree giggle. His ears burn crimson yet the presumptuous grin on his face brings butterflies in your stomach. Fingers pressing into the sides of your cheeks, he responds with a chaste, insistent kiss on your lips and hums in covert satisfaction.Â
Itâs dizzying. Your mind is flooded with images of Kyoutani- his appeal in usual clothing, each line of muscle on his physique, and the carnal desire that swirls in his gaze when he pulls away. Your knees are putty as youâre rooted to your spot. The observant fixation is all you need to recognize when heâs aware of his effect on you and he raises a smug brow.Â
âYour room or mine?âÂ
His question is in the form of a drawl, mostly uttered to raise impatience, but it only adds to the adoration you have for him. Your rooms are, quite literally, twenty feet apart.Â
Taking a step forward, the blond grasps the large takeout bag while slipping your hand into his free one. His thumb drags across your skin and youâre shivering at his tenderness. Kyoutani proudly rakes his gaze over you, openly compliant and completely in love, before slowly chuckling.Â
âNot that it matters, I guess.â
#kyoutani kentarou#kyoutani x y/n#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#hq#haikyuu fluff#college!kyou#kyoutani x reader#aoba johsai#mad dog
151 notes
·
View notes
Text
Three Is Company (Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes)
Summary: The first thing you felt upon realizing who your soulmates were was fear; you spent years avoiding the two men whose names were engraved upon your skin, dreading the day they met you and realized how ordinary you were. Your fear of disappointing them haunts you until one fateful day when the universe brings the three of you together...Â
A/N: Hello! Iâve been itching to write a Soulmate AU, and when a wonderful anon suggested this story idea, I just couldnât resist. WARNING: This fic contains dub con/non con. Read at your own risk! And please let me know what you think!!!Â
It was hot outside. Intensely so. The asphalt and concrete of the city had trapped the summerâs heat in until it was stifling, rising up in thick heatwaves from the pavement. Your studio apartment was situated above an old, crumbling used bookstore, and your ancient A/C unit had given up three days ago during the hottest week of the year. Your landlord was getting it fixed soon, but youâd slowly been going insane as you spent your days laying beneath your ceiling fan, only getting up to retrieve glass after glass of ice water from your kitchen.
It was the heat that drove you out of your apartment on that fourth day, and it was the heat that made you break your usual self-imposed rules in regard to your choice of clothing. Ever since your 20th birthday, youâd vowed only to ever wear short-sleeves in the privacy of your home, and you kept your hair long enough to cover the nape of your neck, never daring to pull it up unless you were also wearing a turtleneck. It was safer that way, youâd told yourself.
No one but you could know your secret.
That day, though, you left your apartment in a pair of shorts and a white tank top, your hair thrown up into a bun as you nervously made your way down the street to your favorite cafĂ©. You squinted in the sunlight and dug through your purse for your pair of sunglasses. Once they were securely on, marched onwards, eyes scanning the street around you closely. You dug your right hand into your pocket, keeping your forearm pressed against your body, and youâd left a few fly-away hairs loose at the back of your head; you could feel them tickling your neck with every step you took in your canvas-colored high-tops.
When you finally reached âCool Beansâ, you nearly moaned as a blast of air conditioning licked at your heated skin. People were scattered about the coffee shop; you hadnât been the first to come up with the idea of seeking refuge within its walls. You ordered a strawberry smoothie for yourself, and when it arrived you pressed the cold, sweating plastic of its cup against your cheek as you made your way to a vacant sofa in the corner. You sat down and pulled your notebook out of your bag, seeing the flash of black letters against your skin with every movement of your right arm.
James Buchanan Barnes
You sighed, pushing the man out of your head as you started jotting down an outline for your next three chapters, hoping that no one saw. Youâd made sure to sit with your back facing the wall, not wanting anyoneâs eyes lingering on the name scrawled into the skin beneath your neck. Steven Grant Rogers was a name that too many people were familiar with.
Not everyone had a soulmate; in fact, only about a third of the population did. It was even rarer to have two, but youâd been among the lucky few. Or unlucky was more like it in your case.
You were terrified of both of the men whose names were permanently seared into your skin. Their lives were dangerous, full of villains who would stop at nothing to tear apart anything or anyone they cared about. You werenât cut out for that lifestyle; you couldnât handle constantly looking over your shoulder.
Or at leastâŠthat was what you told yourself.
On the days when you couldnât lie to yourself anymore, on the days where you drank your feelings until your head spun, you knew that you were really just terrified of yourself, of not living up to them. They were both as powerful as they were beautiful, and you were justâŠyou. A little girl living in Brooklyn, her head in the clouds of whatever novel she was working on at the time. The universe must have been laughing when it chose you to be their third soulmate. How could you live up to the two titans you were meant to love? And how could they ever want you?
You were so certain that you would disappoint them that you fell off the grid, keeping the identity of your intendeds secret to everyone who knew you. You published under a pseudonym and deleted all of your social medias, letting your fear control you.
Now, your 20th birthday was long past you, and it was the first time youâd been around so many people with your soulmarks visible. As you sipped on your smoothie and focused on the scratch of your pen against paper, though, you were starting to relax. No one had so much as batted an eye at you, and inspiration was finally taking hold as you planned out the course of your lasted work-in-progress.
You became so focused on your thoughts, in fact, that you didnât even notice it when a hush suddenly fell over the coffee shop. People whispered amongst one another all around you as two sets of feet started making their way to the line in front of the barista. Your ears perked up when you heard the word âautographâ, though, and after finishing the last sentence you were writing, you glanced up towards the front of the cafĂ©.
And you swore that your heart stopped beating.
Captain America â no, Steve â was smiling good-naturedly at the girl behind the counter as he scrawled his signature on the napkin sheâd offered him, handing it to her while saying something you couldnât quite make out. The man standing next to him was almost as tall as he was, and his long brown hair was pulled up in a bun. Despite the heat, he was wearing leather gloves and a long sleeved Henley, but you would recognize him anywhere even with his metal arm hidden.
Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were standing less than thirty feet away from you, and you couldnât fucking breathe.
You couldnât help but stare as they placed their orders before shuffling around to the end of the coffee bar, waiting for their drinks as they talked with one another. Bucky said something that made Steve laugh, and you gulped as his eyes lit up and his mouth split into a wide grin. They were even more handsome in personâŠ
You shook your head and looked down at your notebook as your heart beat frantically. You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing yourself to just think. They were right there â they could see you. You needed to leave, but what if they noticed you when you stood up? Maybe you should stay and lay low? But that would just be stupid, right?
Your breathing was heavy as your eyes darted upwards, and you felt your blood run cold when you found two pairs of blue eyes looking right at you. It was the look on their face that made you shiver, though. They knew you. They recognized who you were, despite you having never met. And that was when your instincts kicked in. Run, your brain whispered. Get. Out.
You immediately stood up on shaky legs, shoving your things back into your purse while keeping your right arm pressed to your abdomen. Your knees wobbled as you headed towards the door, and you forced your eyes downward as you watched your unsteady feet move.
As soon as your back was to them, though, you heard one of them suck in a breath, and that was when you remembered the name on your neck. You froze where you stood and clapped your left hand over it, spinning on your heel to look at them with wide eyes.
For a long moment, all three of you just stood there, not knowing what to do. You were starting to feel numb from shock, and your throat was growing tight as tears filled your vision. Not like this, not now, not themâŠ
But then Steve said your name, the question just barely audible as it left his lips. Your arms fell limply to your sides, and Buckyâs eyes widened when he finally saw the words on your forearm.
âItâs you,â he murmured.
A sound that was dangerously close to a sob escaped your lips, and without a second thought, you turned and ran, pushing the cafĂ© doors open and turning towards your apartment. Your sneakers slapped against the concrete, and you didnât even feel the heat as you heard two sets of feet chasing after you.
âPlease, wait!â Steve shouted. âWe just wanna talk!â
You didnât turn back, sprinting until you came upon the used bookstore. You almost tripped as you turned down the alleyway, not even aware that you couldnât hear Steve and Bucky behind you anymore. Huffing and puffing, you climbed up the rickety stairs to your front door and fumbled with your key, shoving it into the lock roughly and jiggling it until it opened.
As soon as the door closed behind you, you leaned back against it, closing your eyes as you caught your breath. A flurry of emotions were raging within you, and your heart was hammering in your chest. You let your eyes close as sobs started to shake your body, and tears were starting to make their slow descent down your cheeks.
But that was when you heard someone clear their throat. Your head snapped up, and your lips parted in shock as you watched Bucky and Steve walk out of your bedroom, your open window just barely visible past the broad expanse of their shoulders.
âHowâŠâ Your voice trailed off, and your throat felt dry as you swallowed thickly.
The two men shared a glance, seeming to be able to read one anotherâs thoughts. They turned to you in tandem, and Steve took a deep breath in through his nose before speaking.
ââŠI really donât know where to start,â he sighed. âThis isnât how we wanted this to go.â
You bit your lip to stop it from trembling, wincing when you heard the gears in Buckyâs arm shift as he clenched his fist.
âWhy did you run from us?â he demanded, his shoulder brushing against Steveâs as he took a step towards you.
You shook your head and looked away, hugging yourself as they started closing in on you.
âI⊠I can explain-â you began, but Steve just huffed and shook his head.
âExplain what? Why you tried to run away from your soulmates?â he asked. âOr how about why youâve been running from us since you woke up with our names on your skin?â
You blinked in surprise, and Bucky rolled his eyes.
âHonestly, doll, you think we havenât known about you?â he scoffed. âYou know who we are. We could track down anyone we wanted to.â
âThen why-â
âWe didnât want it to go this way,â Steve repeated. âWeâve been keeping an eye on you, waiting until you seemed ready for us. We didnât mean to run into you at the cafĂ©. But now that itâs happenedâŠâ
His fingers drifted towards your face, but you flinched away, suddenly realizing just how close they were to you.
âWh-What do you mean, youâve been keeping an eye on me? Have you⊠Have you been spying on me?â
âWeâve been making sure youâre safe,â Bucky insisted. âYou donât exactly live in the nicest part of Brooklyn, doll.â
âAnd since you made it clear that you didnât want us around⊠We kept our distance. Tried to do this right,â Steve added. âWe didnât wanna scare you.â
âWell youâve failed!â you exclaimed, shoving past them and backing up towards your bedroom. âIâm terrified. You tell me that youâve been stalking me, and then you act like Iâm the one to blame?â
âWe didnât âstalkâ you-â Steve started, but Bucky stomped towards you, his jaw clenched.
âWe wouldnât have had to watch you,â he growled, âif youâd have justâŠjust accepted us.â His voice broke, and you felt your heart clench as you watched him blink away tears.
âAre we⊠Am I,â he corrected, âreally that frightening?â
You frowned, not understanding what he was implying, but then his eyes drifted towards his metal hand and you understood; he thought that he was the one to scare you, that his past was what kept you from wanting them.
âI⊠Thatâs not why,â you insisted. âThat has nothing to do with it.â
Surprise flitted over the Winter Soldierâs features, and he seemed too stunned to respond. Steve sighed and set a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
âI told you, Buck,â he murmured. He turned back to you, and that feeling of unease came back in full force. âBut what was it, then? What was the reason why you didnât want us?â
âIt⊠It doesnât matter now,â you stuttered, shaking your head. âYou two are scaring me; I want you to leave. This isnât⊠This isnât right-â
âBut it is right,â Steve insisted, caging you in between them. âThe universe itself wants us to be together, hon. Thatâs why our names are on your body. And its why yours is on ours.â
He rested one hand on your shoulder, keeping you securely in place while the other pulled back the neckline of his t-shirt. In bold black letters, your name was scrawled over his heart. Your eyes widened, and you felt your fingers twitch with the sudden impulse to touch it. You refused to listen to that thought, though, and tried to turn around, but you only found yourself face to chest with Bucky. He brought his metal arm up to rest on your hip, and you couldnât help but enjoy its cool sensation in the sweltering heat.
His eyes never left yours as he pulled the hem of his shirt up, and you bit your lip when you saw your name arched across one of his hip bones. Steveâs name was written across his ribs, just above yours, and you felt tears spring to your eyes. They were right here in front of you for the very first time, and you were starting to feel so much more than fear.
âI⊠I donât know what to say,â you whispered, jolting when you felt Steveâs lips descend onto the soulmark of his name written beneath your neck.
âYou donât have to say anything,â he murmured. âWhatever the reason was for your running, it doesnât matter. We have you now.â
âAnd,â Bucky added, grabbing your wrist to bring your forearm up against his mouth, kissing his name, âweâre never gonna let you go, doll. Itâs gonna be ok; youâre with us now. Where you belong.â
You struggled one more time, but they were too strong; you didnât even budge. Their smell was overwhelming â sweat and sandalwood cologne â and it was starting to drown out your better judgement. Steveâs mouth was working its way to the side of your neck, and you gasped when his cool tongue lapped at your skin before he started sucking a mark into it. Bucky, for his part, was running his vibranium fingers up your waist, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His flesh hand reached out, gripping your chin and tilting your face up to his.
âDonât you want us, baby?â he whispered. âWe feel it too, you know. The pull. Why do you keep trying to fight against it?â
You blinked away the moisture gathering in your eyes, feeling your resolve start to crumble as you stared up at his crystalline eyes; he was right. You did feel the pull â it was as if there was a string tied between your hearts, forever linking and binding you to them. It had always been there, but now that they were here with you, touching you, it was harder than ever to resist it.
âWhat ifâŠâ You gulped, looking down at his combat boots. âWhat if Iâm not good enough? What if I disappoint-â
âNo.â
Steveâs voice was hard as steel, and you found yourself being turned around by his hands, maneuvered like a ragdoll. His face was stern, commanding, as he looked down at you.
âI donât ever want to hear you saying something like that,â he demanded. âForces that are powerful and wiser than you or me have decided weâre meant for each other; itâs disrespectful of you to even doubt for a moment that theyâre wrong.â
You let out a sob, trying to push him away, but he grabbed your wrists, holding them against his chest. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling as you looked up at him, finding that his countenance had softened considerably as he watched you.
âAnd, doll⊠You are everything we ever could have hoped for and more,â he promised. âWeâve been watching, remember? Everything about you, even the parts you think are ugly, only make us want you more. How could we ever be disappointed with such a gift?â
Maybe it was the years of self-doubt, or maybe it was the bond between the three of you, or maybe it was your own fear that made you act next. You knew, in the back of your mind, that red flags were still flying; you were still horrified that theyâd stalked you, and the arms wrapped around you were no less constricting. But a wall came crashing down within you upon hearing Steveâs words, and with a soft noise of weakness, you cupped his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.
It felt as if his lips were made of fire as he kissed you back. Buckyâs hands tightened on your hips as Steveâs came up to your shoulders, playing with your flyaway hairs as he moved his mouth against yours. Though you had initiated it, he took control quickly, wasting no time in swiping his tongue across your lower lip. He forced it inside of you, licking into your mouth as you clung to him. You couldnât fight back the moan that arose when Bucky planted his own mouth on your neck, his teeth worrying at your flesh gently. Your toes curled in your sneakers, and your heartbeat threatened to drown out the wet sound of the kiss.
As soon as Steve pulled away, Bucky was moving to take his place, and you only had a second to gulp down a breath before he was kissing you. His lips were more chapped than Steveâs had been, but he was even more certain in his movements. His tongue brushed against yours expertly, and when he nipped at your lower lip, you let out what could only be described as a squeak. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, but Bucky only chuckled and leaned in for another kiss.
Steve was not idle, though. His hands started playing with the hem of your shirt, pushing his fingertips beneath it to map out your heated skin. At first, it tickled, and you couldnât help but smile against Buckyâs lips. But then his hands started moving upwards, and you were tense all over again. You pulled away, taking a step back and moving to shove your tank top back down, but both men didnât let you gain any distance.
âCâmon, baby, donât be like that,â the brunette chided as Steve tsked. âItâs just us. And weâve waited for so longâŠâ
Your eyes widened at his insinuation, and once again the Captain reached for your shirt.
âW-wait, I donât⊠I donât think Iâm ready for, umâŠthat,â you stammered, but all you succeeded in doing was making them laugh.
âOh, my god⊠Stevie, sheâs fucking adorable.â
âSo innocent⊠Câmon, doll, donât you trust us?â
You narrowed your eyes at their smiles, about to say that no, you didnât trust them considering the situation. But you didnât get to say anything before Steve was pulling you into another bruising kiss, hands on your cheeks. Bucky moved behind you once more, and this time you yelped when you felt cold metal against your stomach. A harsh ripping sound was heard, and you felt your tank top fall away. You tried to turn your head away, pushing at Steveâs shoulders and kicking at his legs, but he didnât move a muscle. He just ignored your protests, seemingly wrapped up in your kiss.
Bucky hummed and ran his fingertips up the curve of your spine.
âYouâre gorgeous, you know,â he mused, sounding as if he were talking to himself. âSo much prettier than any dame Iâve ever been with.â
You tried to scream when his fingers went to the waistband of your shorts, and Steve pulled away with a heavy sigh.
âBaby, câmon,â he chided. âThisâll help us grow closer. I promise itâll feel-â
âPlease,â you cried, your nerves coming back with full force. âPlease, I⊠I liked the kissing. We could just kiss; I promise I wonât run anymore.â
Bucky hummed, his nose brushing against your shoulder as he kissed it.
âSweetheartâŠâ You jolted when you felt something hard press against your ass, and Steve pushed his palm over your mouth when you tried to call out for help again. âDoes it feel like I just wanna kiss you? No, baby. I want so much more than that.â
âWe both do,â Steve added. He grabbed one of your wrists, pulling your hand to the bulge in his jeans. Your eyes widened when you felt the hardness there, and you tried to pull your hand away, yanking your arm back so hard that your shoulder ached.
âThereâs no need to be shy,â he smirked. âUnless⊠Wait, have you never done this before?â
Bucky froze, still gripping your shorts by their beltloops, and you nodded frantically. Steve pulled his hand away, and you once more took in a deep breath.
âIâve never⊠Please, I donât want my first time to be like this,â you pleaded. âIâm not ready; this is all happening so fastâŠâ
But it didnât seem like Steve or Bucky were listening to you. They were looking at one another intensely, as if they were reading one anotherâs minds. And, hell, maybe they were, to a degree â when you knew someone for as long as theyâd known each other, you must be able to tell a lot just from one look.
ââŠCâmon, Stevie,â Bucky suddenly said, âYouâre longer.â
âYeah, but youâre thicker,â Steve reasoned.
âIâve actually been with virgins before. Remember how good I was for your first time? We do not want a repeat of when I first let you fuck me.â
âIâve gotten better! You know I have; last night I didnât hear any complaining.â
âThatâs cuz I had to teach you how to stretch me! Jesus, that first time Iâm surprised you didnât split me in half-â
Your eyes grew round with terror when you realized what they were arguing about, and you started flailing again, desperate to get away. No, no, this couldnât be happeningâŠ
Your sudden frenzy drew their attention back to you, and both of them gripped you tight, holding you still against Buckyâs chest.
âWoah, woah, woah,â the soldier breathed, his long brown hair tickling your neck. âCalm down, baby girl. Neither of us is gonna split you in half; we can go nice and slow, ok?â
âLet me go!â you wailed, kicking at Steve. He easily dodged your legs, though, maneuvering you so your legs were off the ground, his pelvis pressing against yours. You winced when you felt just how big his erection had gotten, shying away from him. All that did was press you harder against Bucky, though, which he misinterpreted completely.
âSee, Stevie? Youâre scaring her. Just let me-â
âI donât want either-â
You were cut off by Steveâs hand on your mouth again, and the two men shared one more look. Eventually, Steve relented, sighing and giving Bucky a nod.
âFine,â he groaned. âBut you owe me.â
You turned your head just in time to watch Bucky press a peck to Steveâs lips as he grinned coyly.
âDonât worry, baby. I know how I can repay you later.â
He finally turned back to you, and you found yourself being carried into your bedroom. You gave up on your struggles, quickly realizing that there was no use in trying to fight them; you were no match for either of the super soldiers, much less both of them.
âThatâs a good girl,â Bucky praised, setting you down on the mattress. He sat down beside you, and you scrambled away, pressing your back against the headboard.
âNow, doll,â he said, pinning you with a look. âThis can go one of two ways. You can be good and stop your whining, or you can keep on fighting. But both of us know that fighting wonât get you anywhere. And if you just let us be with you⊠Hon, I promise youâll enjoy it.â
You looked between the two men, feeling your anger start to drain out of you. Because in spite of yourself, of what they were doing, there was a part of you that wanted this. It was the same part of you that had kissed Steve; it was the same part of you that had wondered about your soulmates ever since your 20th birthday. You knew that what Bucky was saying was true; there was no escaping this situation.
After a while, you heaved a sigh and met the Sergeantâs eyes. You gave him a hesitant nod, and that was all he needed to see before he was pulling you towards him by your ankle. You yelped as your head hit the pillow, but the weight of him laying between your legs quickly took up your focus.
âGood, baby,â he sighed, rutting against you. âI knew you would come around.â
You felt the mattress dip beside you as Steve lay parallel to your body, running his hand tantalizingly down your thigh. You winced when he suddenly gripped your flesh and pulled on your leg, maneuvering it around Buckyâs waist. You could feel his hard-on grinding against your shorts, and shame seeped through your blood when you realized you were enjoying it.
Wordlessly, Bucky once more grabbed the waist of your shorts, finally starting to push them down your legs. Your panties rolled down with them, leaving you in just your bra, and both men moaned at the sight of your damp folds.
âKnew you wanted me,â Bucky sighed, his metal hand moving up to cup your pussy. You flinched at the sudden change of temperature, trying to close your legs, but Steveâs firm hand prevented you from doing so.
âAh, ah, ah,â the Captain chided. âYouâre doing so well. Just give in. Relax.â
Your body was still tight as a bowstring despite his words, and the man on top of you huffed out a little laugh.
âItâs ok to be nervous, doll,â he assured you. âBut donât worry. Iâll have you begging for it in no time.â
His fingers started spreading your folds, the vibranium gliding along your heated flesh smoothly. You bit your lip when his digits skimmed over your clit, and you could see Steve lick his lips out of the corner of your eyes.
âSo pretty and pink, doll⊠Your pussy is so cute.â Bucky smirked, and one of his fingers slid inside of you without warning. You whined, letting your head fall back at the intrusion â it was only a finger, sure, and youâd fucked yourself with your little pink vibrator before, but it still stung.
Your breathing grew heavy as he started pumping his finger, curling it and working it in and out of you as the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. You shifted your hips, gasping at the friction it created against your bud, and you once again rolled them, this time upwards into his touch. It was fucked up, being used like this against your will, but your body didnât seem to mind the violation.
Within seconds, Bucky was adding a second finger, and though you would never admit it, you welcomed the stretch. Your brows were furrowed with the effort it was taking to hold in your moans, but neither of your soulmates seemed to care.
âGod, can you hear how wet she is?â Bucky breathed. Steve nodded, starting to unbuckle his belt.
âSheâs gonna feel so good, Buck. I just know it.â
You chanced a glimpse over at Steve, and your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you watched him reach into his jeans, pulling his throbbing cock out. Your eyes widened at the size of it, and you quickly snapped your gaze away as he started stroking it lazily. Bucky caught your eye and gave you a wink, smirking as he started to scissor the fingers inside of you.
âSee something you like, dollface?â he murmured. âJust wait till itâs inside you. Fuck, I canât wait to see those big, pretty eyes roll to the back of your head.â
You gulped, opening your mouth to protest, but your words died on your tongue when he added a third finger. A moan escaped your mouth unbidden, and you clapped a hand over your lips to silence yourself.
âHey,â Steve grumbled, pulling it away. âNo, no, baby. We wanna hear you.â His words were thick with his suppressed moans, and you watched as his lips parted in pleasure as he pumped his cock.
âFuck it, I canât wait anymore.â
Your head snapped forward once again, and you whimpered as Bucky pulled his hand away and started undressing. He shed his shirt, first, leaving you to watch his muscles flex and contract as he started working his jeans off. Your gaze lingered on the angry scar that was wrapped around the line where skin met metal, and you winced at how red and irritated it looked.
Bucky caught you staring and grunted, throwing his jeans and boxers to the floor with an impatient flick of the wrist.
âDonât look at it, baby,â he whispered. âI know itâs hard to take in. Iâm still all man, though.â He took your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm before guiding it down his stomach. You closed your eyes as your fingers brushed against his cock, trying to tune out Buckyâs moan as he rutted against your palm. âSee that, baby? Thatâs all for you.â
âYouâre starting to make me feel left out over here, ya know,â Steve grumbled, his hand stilling on his cock as he quirked an eyebrow up at Bucky. The former soldier only smiled, though, and leaned down to kiss the blondeâs lips. You felt your pussy clench as you watched their mouths move against one another, biting your lip when you saw Buckyâs tongue slide into Steveâs mouth. You felt as if you should look away, not wanting to encroach on such an intimate moment, but when Steve pulled back and pulled you into an even more searing kiss, all of those thoughts went out the window.
As he was kissing you, Bucky knelt between your legs and spread your thighs wider. Your eyes snapped open you felt the head of his cock bump against your entrance, and Steve pulled back, pressing his forehead to yours and forcing you to look at him.
âItâs gonna hurt for a second, baby,â he told you. âBut just relax; Buckyâs gonna make you feel real good.â
With that, you felt him start to push inside of you, and you wailed as he stretched your virgin pussy inch by inch. The moan that escaped his lips drowned you out, though, and you watched as he tossed his head back, the muscles in his throat working as he slowly bottomed out.
âFuck, doll,â he panted, pressing a quick peck to your lips, âGod, youâre fucking tight. Tightest pussy Iâve e-ever fe-eltâŠâ
He moaned once again, biting his lip as he started circling his hips. Your pussy felt white-hot with pain, but you couldnât deny that it was accompanied by a sense of pleasure. You were so wet, and so full, and the noises that both men were making went right to your cunt. You shut your eyes tight and tried to follow their advice, tried to relax beneath Bucky as he slowly started thrusting his hips.
âThatâs good,â he praised. âJust enjoy it; lay back and let me take care of youâŠâ
His thrusts started out shallow, just barely pulling back by a few inches before pushing back in, but he was still managing to graze your g-spot with every shift of his hips. His hair hung in loose tresses around his face, and his skin was already starting to grow slick with sweat. Steve, meanwhile, had already shucked off his shirt and his pants, and he was working on shimmying his boxers down when Bucky started moving faster.
âI-Iâm sorry, doll,â he grunted, âI know I should be going slow, but youâre so fucking goodâŠâ
You let out a moan as he started snapping his hips harder, and your fists clenched around the sheets on either side of your hips. Your legs were splayed out wide, swaying with the movement of his hips, and once Steve tossed his boxers to the floor, his hands were on you. One of them trailed down between yours and Buckyâs body, his fingers seeking out your bud. His other hand was in your hair, pulling your head back as he attached his lips to your neck. You knew that, come tomorrow, you were going to be covered in bright purple bruises.
Your breath caught in your throat when Steve found your clit, and Bucky let out a sharp moan when your hips instinctively bucked up against his.
âThat feel good, baby? You like it when Stevie plays with your cute little clit?â
You felt yourself nodding, and suddenly Buckyâs hands were behind your knees, pushing them up towards your chest as he fucked deeper into you. In this new position, you swore you could feel him in your stomach, but between the way his cock was hitting against your g-spot and the swirling of Steveâs fingers, you knew you wouldnât last much longer. Your fear, your pride, they both faded into the background as you were fucked into the mattress, and you were only vaguely aware of your own voice, moaning and begging for more, yes, more, please I need it so badâŠ
âYou want me, baby?â Bucky growled out from behind clenched teeth. âYou want this? Then prove it. Cum for me; I know youâre close. Cum all over me; do it now, doll, cum for me-â
Your head pushed back against the pillow beneath it as your body suddenly went taught. A strangled gasp left your lips as the knot inside of you burst, and just moments later you felt warmth flood you as Bucky found his release. Both of your voices were hoarse as you came down from your high, hips lazily rocking with one another as you rose out your orgasms. His eyelids were half closed, and his lips were just barely twisted up into a tiny, satisfied smile.
âFuckinâ hell, baby⊠You did so good.â He leaned down, strands of sweaty hair brushing against your forehead as he pressed soft, gentle kisses to your temples and cheeks. You allowed it without complaint, feeling weightless the pleasure finally ceased washing over you. You leaned into the cold metal of his hand as he brushed some of your hair out of your eyes, and his smile grew as he watched you.
âNot to ruin the moment,â Steve said suddenly, âBut Iâm still waiting for my turn.â
Bucky let out a chuckle and rolled to your left, and two strong hands suddenly gripped your hips and pulled on you. You didnât struggle as Steve manipulated your body, making you straddle him as his hands rested against your ass.
âI know youâre tired, baby, but look how hard you got me.â You looked down obediently at his cock, flushed a deep red and leaking a bit of precum. âYou can do this, baby. Iâll help you. Letâs see if I can make you cum one more time.â
He guided your hips, and when you felt his head press against your entrance you gripped his wrists, your nails biting into his skin.
âN-no, wait-â
Your protests were ignored as he made you sink down onto his cock. Despite just getting fucked, your pussy still felt stretched as he slid inside, but you were so wet that he met with no resistance. Bucky had been right earlier; Steveâs cock was longer, and you felt it brush painfully against your cervix as your pussy finally rested against his pelvis.
âOh, godâŠâ You planted your hands on Steveâs chest for support, watching his eyelashes flutter and his lips part as he felt your tight, wet heat. âFuck, doll, youâre⊠Shit, this is so goodâŠâ
âLanguage, Stevie,â Bucky snarked. You glanced over at him; his arms were crossed beneath his head as he watched the two of you, and his lips were bright pink and swollen from kissing you. You winked at you, actually fucking winked, and Steve let out a growl as he reached over to swat at his thigh.
âShut up, jerk,â he grunted.
His hands once more found your hips, and you gasped as he started moving them.
âRide me like this, sweetheart,â he begged. âPlease, just⊠Move those little hips for me, just like that.â
Despite having just cum, you let out a moan as you did as he said, starting to roll and bounce your hips just like heâd instructed. Your walls were sensitive, and every time Steve bottomed out, you winced at the feeling of his pelvis brushing against your clit, but it still felt so good, so unlike anything youâd ever felt while pleasuring yourself alone at night.
You gradually started finding your own rhythm, leaning back to press your palms against Steveâs thighs for better leverage. The new angle made both of you let out a deep, drawn out moan, and unbidden you started to move faster, chasing your second release as it started building up inside of you.
Steveâs hands closed down on your breasts, squeezing them and watching them bounce as you rode him. His thumbs tweaked your nipples and you preened, arching your back at the foreign, pleasant feeling.
âOh, you like that, huh?â he murmured. âHow âbout this?â He leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, letting his bottom teeth just barely graze it before letting his tongue lave over it, tracing tight little circles against it.
You nearly screamed at the sensation, bouncing faster on his cock until he had to let his head fall back, his eyes screwed shut tightly.
âShit, doll, youâre gonna make me cum,â he grunted. âDonât stop; donât you dare fuckinâ stopâŠâ
His hands closed down on your hips again, and you glanced over when you heard Bucky moan. He was still watching the both of you, but you gasped when you saw him thrusting into his fist, his cock hard once more. He was biting his lip, eyes focused on your face, and suddenly your second orgasm was hitting you like a freight train.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your lips parted in a scream as you felt your pussy clench around Steveâs cock. You heard a muffled curse escape his lips, and he started thrusting up into you as your cunt fluttered around him. Once, twice, then three times, and he was spilling his seed inside of you.
You slumped against his chest, his cock softening before he shifted his hips, pulling it out as both his and Buckyâs cum started leaking out of you. If you had felt more present, you would have been ashamed of how that must look, but you didnât give it a second thought as your head rose and fell with the cadence of Steveâs breathing.
ââŠFuck.â
Both of your soulmates let out a laugh upon hearing you say that one little word, and you were tempted to crack a smile of your own. But then the gravity of what had just transpired washed over you anew, and you sat up in shame, looking between the two men who had just⊠Theyâd justâŠ
âShhh, doll,â Bucky cooed, pulling you down to lay between them. Two sets of muscular arms wrapped around you, and you felt a sob wrack your form as dread started to overtake you. âItâs ok, shhhhâŠ. I know, I know. Youâre feeling a lot of weird emotions right now. But itâs all gonna be ok.â
âHeâs right, princess,â Steve murmured, ghosting his lips over your hairline. âEverything is gonna work out; youâll see. Me and Buck are gonna take such good care of you. Youâll see, in time. Youâll love us, just like we love you.â
#stucky#stucky x reader#stucky imagine#steve rogers#bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#steven grant rogers#captain america#the winter soldier#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagine#dark!steve rogers#dark!steve rogers x reader#dark!steve rogers imagine#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes imagine#dark!bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Need You Now | Satan x f!reader
Fandom: Obey Me! Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.600 Genre: Smut | Slice of Life | Romance | Fluff Additional tags: Breath play | Fingering | Double penetration | slight Voyeurism | Hair pulling | Dirty talk Summary: Who knew a trip to a library will bring you this far? Notes: And here it is. At long last! I wanted to post this yesterday on his birthday, but didnât find the chance, so here it is. One day later, but not less filthier asdfghjkl I apologize ahead if there are mistakes left cause Iâm running on time, but I hope youâll enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
If there was one thing you knew, it was that libraries in the human world held nothing against the Royal Library in Devildom. Not even infamous Tianjin Binhai and Alexandria libraries could measure up to it. With many floors beneath the surface, Royal Library was one of the most stunning libraries you had ever seen. It made you wonder how in the whole wide world, Celestial Realm and Devildom did Satan get a job in this one. Then again it was Satan we were talking about. He could devour book after book with no stopping, knowing of things you didnât even know existed just like you didnât know demons and hell really existed.
Which was why you were currently gaping at the bookshelf after the bookshelf while Satan was calmly walking in front of you. As someone who loves books and even has a small share of them at home, this felt like living in a dream. It was too good to be true. You pinched yourself into the same place as you did ten times before and no wonder a small redness was already visible.
Not hearing your footsteps behind, Satan stopped and turned. He raised an eyebrow when he saw you peeking behind a bookshelf, eyes unable to stay in one place for long before you walked to the next bookshelf and repeated the same thing. He let out a silent sigh and shook his head, unsure how to keep you distracted.
âYou know,â you began slowly when you finally stopped by his side. Your eyes were still all around the place, still unsure where to look before you finally looked at him. âI love this place. Tell me, is there a house built in? An apartment? If you say yes, Iâd believe you without checking the facts.â you said ever so seriously and Satan believed you.
âI must disappoint you, but there are no apartments in this library.â He chuckled. âRooms for staff yes, but nothing else.â He began walking once more, but this time you followed right away. âEach floor has three rooms for staff. One on each side and one in the middle. Makes it a better help when searching for books.â
âOkay, but how many ⊠demons are working here?â you asked.
âToo many; but then again there are always at least two by the counters beside those rooms, at least three inside to prepare books if you check them over the computer you saw on the ground floor and thereâs always at least five returning the books to their right places.â He explained and you nodded intently. âAlthough lately, especially in the floors beneath the surface, weâre trying with a different approach to return the books. Itâs something similar to the Harry Potter wizarding world.â
Your eyes widened at that. âYou mean like magic?â you wiggled your fingers in front of your face and Satan laughed, nodding. âWhat about Little Dâs?â
âTheyâre mostly behind in the archive, but theyâre also looking if the books went to the right place.â He answered and stopped in front of the elevator. âIf you wish we can check it out later.â
âIâd love to!â you agreed without hesitation.
Satan smiled at your enthusiasm before you walked inside the elevator. âI hope you donât have other things to do today. It could prolong too late.â
âDonât worry,â You waved with a hand. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you wrapped your arms around yourself, smiling. âIf I could, I'd live in a library.â
âOh?â he raised an eyebrow, curious. âWhy?â
âI donât know,â With a shrug you followed Satan out when you reached the second floor. Your eyes widened, feeling like you just stepped into a castle instead. Shaking your head, you paced to Satanâs side, continuing; âI love books. I have two bookshelves back in the human world. I want more of course.â you grinned.
âSo what kind of books are to your taste?â Satan asked as you walked down the hallway.
You kept looking around, almost missing his question. âCriminal, sci-fi, stories based on real events are cool too.â You murmured and stopped when you spotted a sofa chair amongst all those bookshelves. âAre you kidding me?â you looked at Satan, scowling. âYou guys can literally sleep here on those chairs and no one would bat an eye?â
Satan looked behind you and smiled. âSleep over the night no, but something similar.â
âYou guys are no fun.â You pouted before you continued your way. âHey, since Iâm here, can I look around?â you asked, pointing behind yourself.
âSure,â he nodded and before he could say anything else, you were long gone. Satan stood there, in the middle of the hallway, watching your fast decreasing form with wide eyes. He laughed, shaking with his head and continued with his work.
Stretching your arms, you straightened on the sofa chair you were sitting. With legs beneath you and book on your lap, you completely lost track of time. Checking the time on your D.D.D the corners of your lips twitched when you saw a couple of messages from Satan. The last one seemed to be from a couple of minutes ago, asking for a second time about your whereabouts. Feeling guilty for not responding, you decided to call him instead, after all, you didnât exactly send him where you were in this big library.
It only rang once, when he picked it up.
âWhere are you?â
Smiling nervously, you looked around. âAmong ⊠history, I think?â
âYou think? Iâve been trying to contact you for the last hour, sending you message after message only to get no response. I was ready to overthrow the whole library.â
âIâm sorry!â you were quick to apologize. âI just got so absorbed into the book that it completely slipped my mind to text you where Iâm at.â Placing a paper among the pages, you closed the book and stood up, but not before putting on your shoes. âWhere are you? Iâll meet you halfway.â You said and looked around, noticing no one around.
âDonât worry, Iâll be there quickly.â
You pouted. âThen Iâll look around a bit if you donât mind.â
Satan chuckled. âI donât. But try to be in a visible place.â
âAye, aye sir!â you were grinning from ear to ear. Hanging up, you placed the phone on top of the book before you disappeared among the bookshelves once more.
You were humming to yourself when you felt hands on your waist. Your eyes widened and you turned your head enough to see blond hair. Satan was leaning his forehead on your shoulder, his grip tightening until you were sure it would leave marks in its wake.
âSatan?â you called quietly, softly and tried to turn, but he didnât budge. âWhatâs wrong?â you asked worried and narrowed your eyebrows.
The moment his lips brushed against your skin, you remembered the incident with syrup. You blinked, but before you could speak, Satan bit on your shoulder. You flinched and the moment you took a step forward, Satan pushed you, caging you between his arms and bookshelf. You barely caught yourself only to be turned around and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. Your eyes were wide at his actions that seemed rushed and needy. Your cheeks heated up in a second when you felt a familiar sensation in your stomach.
âIâm sorryâŠâ Satan panted, his warm breath tickling your neck.
A shiver ran down your spine as you tried to control your sudden need for more.
âI-Iâll explain everything, but I need you right nowâŠâ his grip tightened before he nibbled on your neck, leaving a small bruise behind.
You unconsciously shut your eyes and parted your lips, a silent moan escaping. With one hand, Satan held your chin and turned it his way, his lips capturing yours while with the other he began to grope your chest. You felt something wrap around your leg.
âCan-can I?â Satan stuttered.
You found yourself nodding and Satan wasted no time to press himself closer to you. You felt his hardness through your clothes and unconsciously ground yourself against him, wanting more. The kiss was anything but soft and gentle. It was needy and rushed. He was holding you by your shoulders before he sneaked one of his hands down your arm and thigh.
Feeling goosebumps on your arms, you shiver when his hand sneaked under the vintage dress that youâre wearing. He half groaned, half moaned into the kiss when he felt your panties already damp and you felt your cheeks grow hot because now he knew. He could feel what he was doing to you. Placing hands on his shoulders, you supported yourself from falling to the floor because the next moment he pressed a finger to your heat, making you gasp in anticipation.
âFuck, youâre so tightâŠâ Satan cursed when he pulled away and it only dawned on you in that same moment he already had one finger inside. He looked into your eyes. âIs this your first time?â he breathed out as he pulled the finger back out, rubbing at your clit instead.
You moaned at the loss, but shook with your head. âWellâŠâ you began, but stopped. You were the first to avert your gaze, feeling embarrassed to admit it. âI-I tried d-different things.â You stuttered and moaned when every once in a while he slid his finger inside. His fingers felt completely different than yours did. It felt so much better. He was already filling you with just one. How much fuller will you be when he penetrates you?
Leaning closer, Satan began to trail his kisses down your jaw and beneath and then to your neck, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else. You closed your eyes, your fingers going through his blond hair that felt so soft to the touch. Adding another finger, you gripped his hair tighter when you felt something wrap around your panties and tear them apart. Eyes widening, you looked down and bit your lower lip, seeing his tail forming and twirling around your waist.
âDoes it bother you?â Satan spoke, his lips peppering your shoulders.
You shook your head and he cursed silently when his fingers easily slipped inside.
âYouâre so wetâŠâ he growled, gritting his teeth. âDoes it turn you on to see my tail?â
You felt the tail wrap itself around your waist harder, its sharpness almost prodding through the dress and into your skin. You were dripping over his fingers, but couldnât find it in yourself to care more than you did for the fact that you wanted more. More of his touch, more of him.
âTell me âŠâ Satan whispered against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. âWhat did you do? How did you do it?â
âM-mostly w-with fingersââ You gasped when his fingers went deeper inside you.
âAnd?â he growled, relishing at watching your expression.
âP-pillow!â you stuttered with a moan following right behind. âFuck, Satan!â you gripped on his upper arms, biting your lower lip.
âDid you do it since you came to Devildom?â he asked, his green eyes focused solely on you.
You parted your lips, panting as your hips rocked against his hand, wanting more friction. A whine escaped you when he stilled his movements, which made you look at him with tears brimming in your eyes.
âAnswer me, kitten.â
âYes!â you nodded rapidly. âI-I did it here a-as well!â you stuttered, cheeks hot both from embarrassment and lust that was overwhelming you each second more. âI-I wanted to do it with you so muchâŠâ you admitted and widened your eyes when you realized what you just spoke.
Satan stilled completely, his own eyes wide as he stared at you. The edges of his tail prodding through your dress and digging into your skin. It was wrapped around you possessively, marking you with its sharp edges like it wanted you to remember to whom you belonged.
You covered your face and moaned at the loss of his fingers inside you when he pulled them out and grabbed your hands instead. He pried them off your face and you realized his cheeks were dark.
âYou have no idea how long I waited to hear this.â He was the first to break the silence only to capture your lips with his, shoving you against the bookshelf. His hands gripped yours tight as his tongue slipped into your mouth, deepening the kiss. He released your hands soon after and you went with fingers through his hair, tugging on the edges, making him moan.
He grinded against you and you could feel his bulge which made you grind back, trying to match up with him. This time you didnât care if someone heard you, because the next moment he was sliding into you painfully slowly, relishing at every gasp and moan that left your lips as your fingers dug into his scalp.
âFuck, youâre so tight âŠâ he growled against your lips. Once completely inside you, he stopped to let you adjust before he began to move slowly. He raised one of your legs for better access and you let him.
Your eyes fluttered open, looking up into the ceiling. There was pain, but it slowly turned into pleasure and you wanted more. âF-faster, pleaseâŠâ you whispered and Satan complied.
His thrusts became faster, slamming into you harder. His hands were on your waist, trying to keep you in place as his tail trailed up your side, swiping itself over your lips. You parted them and it slipped inside. You shut your eyes, moaning around his tail, completely oblivious to green eyes that watched you. Your walls clenched around his cock and Satan groaned. He leaned down and nibbled on your neck, leaving a small bruise in its wake.
âI-I was always-ah thinking of you âŠâ you moaned.
âY-yeah?â Satan stuttered. âWhat were you thinking? What was I doing to you?â
Your cheeks heated up. "Y-you took me from be-behind while I was supporting my-self on the w-wall." you stuttered.
Satan leaned forward and began to kiss your neck and collarbones. "What else?" He whispered, taking his time in pleasuring you as his thrusts became rather painfully slow and teasing.
"You-you used fingers y-you make me c-come t-two times in a rowâŠ" you gasped when he stilled completely inside, his cock reaching even deeper. His tail wrapped itself around your neck, making it slightly harder to breathe, but not enough to make you unconscious. You shut your eyes, your walls clenching around his cock more than before.
"You like that?" Satan asked as his tail tightened its grip just a bit harder.
You parted your lips, moaning in answer.
"What a filthy girl you are." He snarled and began to pound into you, taking you by surprise. You yelped and held onto his shoulders, unable to hide your moans and pants, your nails digging into his shirt.
"If you won't stay quiet someone will come to check." He said against your lips. "But maybe that's what you want," he gritted his teeth; "since you're swallowing me more than you possibly can." His tail lessened it's grip around your neck and it trailed down, sliding along his cock.
Your eyes shot wide open when it slid inside along his cock. "Satan!" You hissed his name, tensing at the sudden penetration.
Satan began to pamper you with kisses on your cheeks, over the tears that escaped. You panted, trying to relax, but it was hard because he began to move slow, yet stilling every now and then. You leaned your forehead on his shoulder, unconsciously biting into the soft material beneath, as pain began to turn into pleasure and you soon started to beg for more. And Satan gave in.
Watching your expression filled with nothing but pleasure edged him on. He reached for your hands, fingers intertwining as he leaned them on each side of your head on the bookshelf behind you. He completely ignored the book that fell down by your feet.
"Shit!" You cursed, feeling you were close. "Shit, shit, shitâŠ" you painted and Satan paced up, his pants, hot breath mixing with yours. "I'm so close, Satan. Please!" You begged and looked at him with tears in your eyes.
"I'm close too, kitten. S-so close." He whispered and when he felt your walls tighten around his cock, he pulled you into a kiss that prevented you from moaning even louder. He didnât want to have more company than there already was. With a few more thrusts he was quick to follow you, stilling inside you completely. He grunted with eyes shut and it was your turn to pamper him with kisses along his face, a small smile breaking on your lips.
Satan mirrored it, pulling you into another kiss that was gentle, soft to touch.
After you both caught your breath, Satan pulled out of you and you felt his cum dripping down your thigh. A shiver ran down your spine at the odd feeling, but frowned when you saw Satan was staring at you. He was quick to dress himself and thankfully you wore a dress so you didn't need much fixation aside from your hair.
"What?" You asked, head tilted on the side, trying to ignore the slick on your thighs that freely ran down.
"Have you checked the books you wish to bring along?" He asked like the two of you just didn't have sex between the bookshelves.
"I don't need any." You smiled and reached for his hand that he didn't hesitate to take. He raised it and pressed a kiss on the back, smiling as he stared directly into your eyes.
Your cheeks heated up, but your head snapped towards the footsteps that were coming closer. Your heart paced up and Satan chuckled as he pulled you closer and turned you both around so he managed to hide you completely. Peeking over his shoulder, you spotted a Little D with green horns. Your eyes widened, recognizing it.
âWhat?â Satanâs voice was slightly harsh, directed at the Little D, who didnât seem to be bothered by it. As a matter of fact it looked slightly disappointed, which confused you.
His green eyes stared at Satan before they focused on you. Blinking a couple of times, he turned and left, not a word spoken.
âWhat was that?â you murmured more to yourself than to Satan.
Satan pursued lips into a thin line. You looked at him and he couldnât resist kissing you on the lips. Your eyes widened at his gesture and his lips turned into a smirk.
âDonât pay attention to him.â he said, his fingers intertwined with yours, giving your hand a small squeeze.
You hummed and tilted head to the side. âWhy?â you asked, looking at him. âI wanted to talk with him.â you pouted and Satan laughed.
âYouâll have many chances later.â he pulled you to his side, his tail wrapping itself around your waist.
Your breath hitched before you felt something being put over your shoulders. Your eyes widened seeing it was his jacket and you looked at him confused.
âFor your dress.â he mumbled under his breath, his cheeks turning into a darker shade.
You blinked and looked down, seeing it was slightly torn around your waist. Covering your face, you couldnât stop the heat from spreading over your cheeks and ears, remembering how his tail felt around you. You buried your face into his chest, hands clinging on his shirt as you groaned. He chuckled, kissing top of your head.
âCome on, letâs go back.â
âWhat about the books and your work?â you were confused.
The corners of his lips twitched into a teasing smile and it dawned on you.
You gaped at him and you slapped his arm. "I can't believe you!" You hissed, feeling the embarrassment three times more. "We could've gotten caught!"
"But we didn't." He said. Who was he to tell you that you had a small company towards the end? "Also it's been one of my many ideas to try out." He admitted and added; "Don't deny it wasn't yours either." when you were about to argue.
You closed your mouth, unable to say anything, because he was right. It was indeed one of your many ideas to go through with. Letting out a sigh, you shook with your head, murmuring; "Can't believe you did this to me." more to yourself.
Satan's chuckle reached your ears and you slapped his arm once again, trying to glare at him, but unable to do so for long. It was something you came to realize soon after you arrived into Devildom. You had an abnormal weak spot for the Avatar of Wrath.
"So," Satan woke you from your thoughts. "Where do you want to try next time?"
Blinking, you stared at him before you burst into laughter. "If I say Diavolo's throne would you dare?" You smirked.
It was a joke, you wanted to say. But the way his expression remained serious and rid of any emotions as he thought it through sent a chill down your spine. It was of excitement and not of being terrified that you even came up with that idea. Instead of saying anything you continued to remain silent as you waited for his response.
Satan blinked at you before he leaned down and whispered into your ear; "Well if you truly wish to do that, who am I to tell you no? Do you think he'd notice?"
#Obey Me Satan#Obey Me Satan x reader#Satan x reader#Obey Me! Shall we date#smut#safrinawrites#Obey Me oneshot#Obey me fanfic#oneshot
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
stolen things
[A catalogue of things stolen by, for, and from Princess Vivi of Alabasta with regards to a certain thief, as documented by her long-suffering captain of the guard. Namivivi, Rated T. Read it on AO3 here!]
(1. a necklace)
It starts small, comparatively speaking; a month or so after the rain returns to Alabasta and the countryâs pain is soothed at last, thereâs a little package of folded cardboard addressed to Princess Vivi buried in amongst the palaceâs morning mail. This, in and of itself, isnât terribly unusual. The princess has taken on a significant portion of the countryâs day-to-day administration since her return while her father recovers, and she has many friends and contacts across the country sheâs been corresponding with to aid in the rebuilding.Â
What is unusual, though, is the way itâs addressed. Ordinarily, missives to the princess will be addressed to Her Grace, Princess Nefertari Vivi, stamped in formal black ink on clean white paper and packaging. This one, though, just says Vivi, written in an exceedingly neat hand with nonetheless a few trembles in the lettering, as though the writer had been, perhaps, aboard a boat when penning it.Â
Thereâs no return address or sender name- instead, a pinwheel of four thick spiralling lines with a small circle attached to the uppermost swirl has been drawn where one would normally be.
Pell frowns, and breaks the seal on the back of the package. One of the many duties heâs resumed since returning to work (a feat that had required shouting down Chaka, the princess, and the king when theyâd tried to insist he remain bedbound) is checking the mail, after all. And heâs been especially vigilant about the princessâs safety.Â
After everything sheâs been through in the past months and years, from her infiltration of Baroque Works to the inevitable nightmare of the civil war to the slow and arduous reconstruction of a devastated country, he canât think of anyone who more deserves to rest easy at night.
He opens the little package with due caution, and tips its contents out onto the table. Heâs not sure what heâs expecting, but itâs not the shimmer of gold that spills out onto the dark wood. Itâs a necklace. A pendant shaped like a compass rose hangs from a thin golden chain, with what looks suspiciously like a diamond set at its center.Â
Well. Unusual, perhaps, and definitely expensive, even Pellâs untrained eye can discern that much, but certainly not dangerous. He carefully replaces it in the package and makes his way up to the princessâs rooms, knocking on the doorframe.Â
(It had become common knowledge around the palace after the first week or so that it was unwise to surprise the princess. She had developed a newfound tendency to stash those tiny daggers of hers in the sleeves of her dresses.)
âCome in,â a slightly distracted voice calls, and so he slips inside. Vivi is bent over her desk, where she always seems to be these days, brow furrowed in thought, worrying the end of her fountain pen between her teeth. She glances up when he enters, and he canât help but worry, just a little, at how tired she looks.Â
Sheâs taken a lot onto her shoulders. He always seems to find her at her desk these days, if sheâs not in the council rooms or talking to the citizens or poring over the newspapers or-
âPell,â she says, smiling slightly. âWhat is it?â
âAh.â It takes him a moment to remember why heâs here. âThis was sent for you today,â he says, crossing the room to hand her the small package.Â
She frowns slightly, confused, as she takes it- and then he can see the moment her eyes catch on the little symbol drawn in the corner, that odd pinwheel shape, because she lights up, a smile immediately spreading across her face and brightening her eyes like he hasnât seen in weeks. She tears into the package like a birthday present, and in seconds the necklace is cupped in her hands, gleaming under the light of her desk lamp.Â
She swallows hard, and for a moment her face scrunches into a look Pell knows well. Ever since she was a child, sheâs always made the same face when struggling not to cry. Itâs only a moment, though, and then it passes, leaving her with just a wide smile and shining eyes. She nearly drops the necklace in her fumbling haste to fasten it around her neck.Â
The compass pendant falls perfectly into place on her chest, the gold bright against desert-dark skin, and she smiles down at it with a softness that makes Pell abruptly feel like heâs intruding on something personal.
âPell,â she says, and he straightens to attention automatically, âbring all future packages with that symbol on them directly to me, if you donât mind. No need to check through them.â
âPrincess-â he starts to object, but thinks better of it when she shoots him a look that makes him automatically swallow back his protest on behalf of her safety. â...As you say,â he concedes.
Sheâs always had grit and iron in her, ever since she was young and scrapping with Kohza amidst the sand dunes, but her two years away have tempered her into a pirate in truth, a sharp-eyed young woman who digs her fingernails into everything she treasures and wonât let go no matter how it hurts.Â
But then, it was pirates who saved Alabasta. Maybe thatâs the kind of princess they need.
He turns, and is half out the door when he canât help but ask, âItâs from them, isnât it?âÂ
He doesnât need to specify who. Vivi doesnât confirm aloud, but when he glances back over his shoulder sheâs looking at the wanted posters pinned to her wall with an aching sort of look on her face, and thatâs answer enough.Â
When the next package marked with the same symbol and addressed in the same neat handwriting arrives a month later, he takes it straight to her.Â
(2. a newspaper)
The sun is rising over Alabasta as the king and princess break their fast. Pell tosses the morning newspaper to the table, and no sooner has it hit the wood that Vivi is snatching it up with all the desperation of a marooned sailor grabbing for a thrown lifeline, nearly tearing through the paper in her urgency.Â
Pell canât say heâs surprised by the response, because the front page headline reads STRAWHAT PIRATES LEVEL ENIES LOBBY, printed in striking bold lettering above a photo of a grinning boy wearing a straw hat with all the confidence of a kingâs crown. Vivi opens the paper and a sheaf of wanted posters fall out of the centerfold, scattering onto the table.Â
Thereâs at least one face among them that Pell doesnât recognize, and one that he definitely does recognize (clutch-) but certainly hadnât expected to see grouped among the Strawhats, but neither is the poster that Viviâs focus falls on first.
Instead, the Princessâs gaze is drawn to one of the lowest bounties of the lot, an dark-eyed woman giving the camera a playful smile over her shoulder, hands tangled in her orange hair and a familiar spiralling symbol emblazoned in deep blue ink on her shoulderblade. Cat Burglar Nami, the poster reads. Wanted Dead or Alive.Â
Vivi reaches out and brushes fingers against the paper for just a moment, a complicated sort of look on her face that Pell couldnât begin to put a name to, and he sees her lips move in a whisper of a name. Then all of a sudden she seems to remember sheâs not alone, and hastily snatches up the sheaf of wanted posters together with the newspaper and clutches them to her chest like theyâre infinitely more precious than mere ink and paper.
âIâll- be right back,â she says, the words rushed, and then sheâs gone from the room before the king can do more than send a slightly befuddled look after her.
Pell sighs, more fondly than anything, and goes to find another newspaper for the king. He has a feeling they wonât be getting that one back.Â
(3. a kiss)
Itâs four months after the Whitebeard War, four months since any word of the Strawhat Pirates has reached Alabasta, and four months of Princess Vivi staring out the windows of the palace and clenching her fists so hard her knuckles go white, when Pell realizes there is an intruder in the palace.Â
Whoever they are, they are very good. Itâs not a broken window that alerts him to their presence, or a scream- nothing so blatant and clumsy. Instead, itâs a faint footprint, left in the thin dusting of sand on the railing of one of the third-floor balconies, just barely visible in the fading light of the setting sun. If not for the inhuman eyesight his devil fruit grants him, he surely would have missed it completely.
The princessâs rooms are nearby, and his heart crawls into his throat. Heâs not an idiot. He knows the princess has enemies. Heâs seen her slipping out under cover of night to negotiate with pirates and smugglers, words sharp and spine unbending.Â
(There are times when Pell wishes, for the sake of his peace of mind, that she was just a little less fearless.)
He slips down the hallway silently. Thereâs light shining from under the princessâs door, and muffled noises from inside the room. He rests one hand on the hilt of his sword, eases the door silently open with his other hand.Â
It takes him a moment to register what heâs seeing, itâs so far off from what heâd half-feared heâd find.Â
The princess is pressed against a wall by a woman with orange hair and tan skin who Pell recognizes immediately from the wanted poster on the wall as Cat Burglar Nami. Vivi has her legs up around Namiâs waist and her hands buried in her hair, and sheâs kissing her like itâs the end of the world, even as tears run down her cheeks and her shoulders shake.Â
Thereâs words murmured between them, too quiet to make out, blurred by voices thick from crying. He hears war, and lost, and should have been there, broken up by kisses and sobs, and he wonders just how much weight his princess has been truly carrying on her shoulders these past months.Â
Pell takes a step back and noiselessly slips the door closed again, to give them their privacy.Â
Well. At least sheâs not in any danger. Heâs going to have to tell the king he really, really shouldnât get his hopes up about those marriage prospects.Â
The pirate haunts the palace for another week and a half, and Pell canât help but be reluctantly impressed by her elusiveness. Her presence only shows in how Viviâs started to always keep the door to her room tightly closed, in silent footprints on the balcony and the low hum of nighttime murmurings, and in the smile the princess canât seem to drop.Â
He has to grab her by the shoulder one morning before she heads into the council chambers and advise, in a quiet voice that canât help but be long-suffering, that she apply some makeup to the blossoming bruises on her neck.Â
And then Nami is gone again, like a sea breeze, like she was never there, like pirates are wont to do. A pair of Viviâs favorite earrings goes with her. The princess doesnât cry, at least nowhere that Pell can see. She still wears the golden compass necklace every day, bright against her chest, close to her heart, and he thinks he understands, now.
Heâd thought the necklace a present from the Strawhat Pirates at large at first, but it isnât that. Itâs a memento from a lover, from a cartographer- a compass pointing ever north. Someday, no matter what, find your way back to me.Â
(4. a heart)
It doesnât exactly take a falconâs eyesight to see that Princess Viviâs heart doesnât belong to Alabasta anymore. Or, at least, not wholly to Alabasta. There will always be a part of their princess buried in the golden sands and fed on the oasis waters, and Pell knows thatâs why sheâs still there with them, and not far away on an unknown ocean with salt in her hair and a rolling deck beneath her feet.Â
But thereâs something about the ocean, about the sea winds and the endless horizon and the boundless freedom it brings, that takes. Pell has known a lot of sailors, and theyâve all had the same look on their eyes that Princess Vivi bears all the time now- always looking, searching for the waves, for the horizon, for the next adventure.Â
He feels for her. He has always belonged, heart and soul, to Alabasta, and someday he will be buried in its sands. There will never be any other home for him. The princess, though, is torn in two, between two homes and two loves and she can never have one without leaving the other, and thatâs a cruel fate, for someone who deserves nothing but kindness after all sheâs been through.Â
Itâs one of the reasons he always has to bite his tongue when the king takes it into his head to push the concept of marriage again, floating the names of thoroughly-vetted suitors, even as Princess Vivi gently shuts him down cold. The princessâs heart will go to no respectable young man, thatâs clear as day. Itâs already been stolen.
Thatâs what pirates do, after all. They take, just like the ocean they live and die by.Â
The cat burglar could have asked for any riches Alabasta had left, and the king would have probably honored her request, even gutted as their country was by drought and famine and war. But instead she fled with their princessâs heart in her hands, one treasure that could never be replaced.
(5. a princess)
Itâs a dazzlingly bright desert morning in Alubarna when the Pirate Kingâs navigator arrives at the palace.Â
Thereâs no sneaking this time, no scaling walls and vaulting balconies under the cover of darkness. Nami walks right up the sun-bleached stone stairs, all tanned skin and lean muscle, bold as brass for a wanted pirate with hundreds of millions of beri on her head, and Pell doesnât make a single move to stop her. The tattoo on her shoulder reminds him of a little cardboard package, sent and delivered years ago.Â
The princess meets her at the doors with a packed bag already on her shoulders, crashing into her arms without even a shred of royal dignity, and Nami doesnât waste a second before sweeping her up into her arms and into a hungry kiss, like it doesnât matter in the slightest that thereâs dozens of eyes on them, the everyday traffic of guards and politicians and citizens through the palace stopped dead in its tracks.Â
Maybe it doesnât, for pirates. Maybe pirates only know how to love like they could be dead tomorrow.Â
A few of the guards are shooting him confused and somewhat panicked looks; Pell just shakes his head and signals at ease. In all honestly, heâs almost surprised this didnât happen sooner- but then, Vivi has always been loyal to her country to the point of martyrdom, and itâs only in the past year or so that all the tireless work she has put in to build the country up has finally blossomed to a point where her constant presence is no longer necessary.Â
The country is safe, and healthy, and at peace, after countless days and nights of fighting with steel and ink to make it so. She can rest now, at least for a time, and she deserves nothing less. He knows the bag on her shoulders now has been ready in her room for weeks.Â
Nami and Vivi finally break apart for breath, and Nami rests her forehead against the princessâs, grinning like she canât stop. âReady to go?â she asks. âEveryone else is waiting with the Sunny at the river port.âÂ
Vivi casts a glance over to Pell, silently questioning, and he bites back a chuckle. âGo on, then, your majesty,â he says, waving a hand, and canât help but add, to Nami, âAt least you had the decency to come to the front door this time, instead of climbing in the window.âÂ
The blushes that decorate both their faces at that are more brilliant red than any desert sunburn heâs ever seen, and then he does have to laugh in truth. And then Vivi is burying her red face in her hands and wheezing with laughter, and the look that Nami gives her is so impossibly soft that Pell feels comforted about his princessâs safety then and there, no words needed.Â
Once Vivi can meet his eyes again, he smiles, and just says, âBe safe.âÂ
âI will,â she promises, and thereâs freedom in her voice.
No one moves a finger to stop them as the laughing thief flees down the front steps of the palace, a stolen princess beaming to outshine the desert sun in her arms.
99 notes
·
View notes
Text
Iâm Sorry
Disclaimer!
As much as I love My Hero, these are not my characters. They belong to someone else and I just like to make them suffer. With that on to the fic!
     It started with a small fight. What about? Neither boy could tell you. One second they were fine and the next Bakugou and Midoriya were screaming at each other in the middle of the dorm buildings kitchen. Horrible words spilled from the enraged blonds mouth. Cursing the green haired boy loudly, drawing the attention of all of class 1A. The class watched on from the hallway leading into the kitchen as the boys fought, completely unaware of their presence. It was then that the whole argument turned against them.
      âSTOP IT DEKU! YOU ARE SO FUCKING ANNOYING! JUST LEAVE ALREADY!â
      âIF THATâS HOW YOU FEEL THEN MAYBE I WILL TAKE YOUR ADVICE AND KILL MYSELF!â
      They both fell silent. Bakugou stared at Midoriya in shock while Midoriya covered his mouth. âIâŠIâm so sorryâŠâ He muttered.
      âWhat is he talking about Bakubro?â Kirishima asked as he steped forward, making them both aware they had an audience and have had one for a while. âYou didnât actually say thatâŠ.did you?â Bakugouâs head had dropped and he stared at the floor, unable to look his friend in the eye. âBakugou tell me you didnât tell him to kill himself!â Kirishima demanded. Still the blond kept his eyes to the floor. Tension rose in the air as Kirishima got pissed. âTELL ME YOU DIDNâT SAY THAT!â
      âI CANâT!â Bakugou yelled back. Finally making eye contact with the fiery red head. âI DID IT! I TOLD HIM TO AND I CANâT TAKE IT BACK!â
      Yelling broke out amongst the students as they all looked at Bakugou. He took each hurtful word, knowing he deserved it. They all called him horrible things which he knew he deserved. His friends taking turns to yell and even slapping him a few times.
Shouts of âHow could youâs rang through the dorms as the Deku Squad carefully pulled Midoriya away. He too had crossed a line. There was an unspoken rule between them that the âincidentâ would never be talked about. He had broken the rule and now Bakugou was paying the price for it.
      âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry, I shouldnât have said that.â Midoriya mumbled to his friends.
      âYou did nothing wrong Deku. Bakugou should never have said that to you.â Uraraka said as she pulled him into a hug. âDonât worry. We will take care of everything.â He cries at her words. Knowing that she didnât know the whole story, or how they both had grown. It just made everything worse as he cried harder.
      After he had calmed down he explained everything to his friends and how Bakugou had changed since coming to UA. It made Bakugou sound worse. Especially when they found out Bakugou hurt Midoriya physically, with and without his quirk. They told him it was ok to tell them and everything would be fine.
      Things werenât fine and absolutely not ok.
      That day Aizawa was informed about what happened and many things happened. A new seating chart was made with Bakugou in Hagakureâs  seat and Midoriya in Urarakaâs. Jirou was switched with Sero and Bakugouâs old seat was now Satouâs. Bakugou was now surrounded by people that could physically stop him if he became aggressive. He was also forced to wear a quirk suppressor collar, to ensure no quirk use was possible. He had mandatory counselling three days a week, community service on the weekends, and was no longer allowed to be less then three yards away from Midoriya. And so much more.
      In less words, his life became hell.
      Bakugou attempted to talk to his friends but they ignored him or pushed him away. When he tried to answer questions in class he was overlooked. Even when he got hurt in training now Recovery Girl healed him to the bear minimum before kicking him out of her office. No one wanted him.
      The realization of this hit him like a ton of bricks. No one cared about him anymore. They all hated him and for good reason. Who would want a bully as a friend? This caused him to spiral into his darkest thoughts. I hate myself. Unworthy. Cruel. Mean. Villain. Villain. VillainâŠ.
      His thoughts were repeated every second of everyday. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, making him nauseous. He stopped eating to get the feeling to go away but it didnât work. Neither did the sleepless nights he started to have more frequently. He had taken to writing out his thoughts. His counselor thought it would help to get his emotions out in a less destructive manner.
      This worked for awhile but as he became more depressed so did the writing. His depression made him uncaring, not his usual way but worse. He stopped caring about basic needs like eating, sleeping, bathing and things of that nature. He stopped caring about school and homework. He didnât care about his perfect attendance anymore. Bakugou had become a shell.
      When he explained it to his counselor she prescribed him an antidepressant that was supposed to helpâŠâŠ.That was weeks ago. And Bakugou had never felt more sad and alone since.
(START OF TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELFHARM)
      He found that pain helped him feel alive after stubbing his toe one day. It was the first time in a long time that he felt anything besides crushing despair. He started with small things. Pinching himself. Running into things on purpose. But that got boring fast.
      He stepped it up after getting a paper cut from his journal. The small cut caused him to feel so much more and he craved it. He started cutting himself with his razor, scissors, pencil sharpener and any thing else he could find. He took to wearing long sleeves and sweatpants. He never cut his upper arms as they were visible in his hero suite. They all stayed where his gauntlet would cover.
      Finally feeling something, he got back into school work. He had started putting up a front that he was ok. Fooling everyone, even his counselor, except for the small green haired boy who knew him best.
(END OF TRIGGER WARNING AND START OF A NEW ONE FOR MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY)
      His secret came to light during training. Bakugou and Satuo were teamed up to fight a special hero guest, Gang Orca, when a building with âhostagesâ started to collapse. Before Satou could turn or Orca says that that wasnât a part of the training, Bakugou moves.
      He didnât think. It looked like Midoriya out there instead as he moved into the building. Everyone in the booth watched as âhostagesâ were thrown out of the doorway. One. Two. Three, four. On the fifth one the building fully fell, trapping Bakugou inside.
      âKACCHAN!â Midoriya yelled as he raced out of the booth and to the rubble. His class followed him but stopped short when he, Aizawa, and Gang Orca started trying to dig him out. âHELP US!â He yelled.
      âMidoriyaâŠ.why should we help? Heâs been nothing but mean to you. Heâs just a villain.â Mineta said.
      Midoriya turned to him. âWhy? Because heâs my friend! Because even after everything he has done, I know he is a good person! Everyone makes mistakes! He never actually meant it! He had already apologized but you all made him feel horrible! Its your fault, all of you, for making him so sad!â he yelled. âIf you donât help, then you are not a hero. You are a villain, and Iâm not friends with villains!â
      His words shocked everyone to their core. Midoriya was right. They had seen the change but didnât care. If the situation had been reversed they knew Bakugou would secretly help them. He would have talked them through it. Because he had to live with the guilt every day. And they made it worse.
      Slowly they all broke up and started to help uncover the blond. It wasnât until Kirishima moved a large slab of concrete that things got worse.
      Bakugou was under it, barely awake and breathing hard. His head was bleeding profusely as were the parts where the rebar were sticking out. His gauntlet was destroyed and gave everyone a good look at his arms. The scars and new cuts on full display as he struggled to breathe.
      âBAKUGOU!â Kirishima yelled. He got down next to him and started trying to stop the bleeding with parts of his costume. âSOMEONE GET RECOVERY GIRL! CALL AN AMBULANCE!â
      Bakugou coughed a bit as he looked up. âKi-kiri?â
      âIâm right here man. Iâve got you.â
      âIâmâŠâŠIâm sorry.â
      Kirishima teared up. âNo. We did this to you. You have nothing to be sorry for. Iâm sorry ok? Please, please just hang on for me.â
      âIt-âŠIt doesnât hurtâŠ..not- not anymore.â Bakugou mumbles. âIâm dyingâŠ..arenât I?
      âNo. You are going to be fine. Just hold on.â Kirishima pleads.
      âItâs okâŠIâm finallyâŠwhat I wanted to be. Iâm-âŠ.Iâm free.â Bakugou smiles as he closes his eyes. A cough causes blood to well up into his mouth as the rest of his former squad comes over. They speak softly to him, apologizing for not being there when he needed them. For being mean. He just chuckled around the blood. âIdiots. I never h-hated youâŠâŠ.â He says weakly. His eyes slip closed as he mutters âI f-forgive y-youâŠ.â and falls limp.
                      THE ENDâŠ.For now.
If you would like to see a part two where everyone says sorry then like this post and give it tons of attention. Bakugou isnât dead I promise so donât worry about that. Hope you enjoyed and feel free to request more fics. Stay Angsty!!!
#angst#mha bakugou#fanfic#my wriitng#mha angst#bnha#mha#kirishima#midoriya izuku#injuries#mental illness#im sorry#but also no i'm not#its a bit sad#triggers#self harm
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Merry Christmas @okay-sky! Iâm your secret Santa for the @fmasecretsanta2020 #fmasecretsanta
I had an absolute blast writing this for you and I hope you like this RoyEd piece as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a happy holidays and I wish you the best.
You can also read this on AO3
--
The snow was a foot deep and maneuvering through it was a pain in the ass, but Roy was determined to make it to the post office in North City. Normally, Roy rarely makes the trip unless he's on the last dredges of his food supply but the potential for one of Ed's letters to be there had him pushing onward.Â
For the short amount of time he'd gotten to spend in Central, he'd spent a large amount of it enjoying the company of the Elric brothers, specifically Ed. It was like an old wound had finally stopped aching when he got to see the man. And he was now. A man, that is. A maturity he never thought he'd see from the older Elric permeated his actions. While he still had a temper he didn't bare his teeth at the smallest of teases. He seemed wiser now and Roy wondered what he'd experienced in this other world.Â
His interest and desire to spend more time with Ed wasn't one-sided either. The man--amidst Royâs own scramble to steal his attention from Miss Rockbell and Alphonse-- found him at all hours of the day to discuss anything. From alchemic theories to the property damage done while he was away, the two never seemed to run out of things to talk about.
When he'd been forced to return up North, Ed had been the one to suggest keeping up a correspondence through letters. Roy didn't mention that heâd have to essentially hike to the post office and instead happily agreed. Ed promised to write often and Roy said he'd do the same.Â
And he intended to.Â
Which brought him back to his every other day trek.
He didn't know when he'd receive his first letter so he just kept coming back. For the first time, Roy was thankful for the cane that the doctor suggested he get for strenuous exercise in case the scar tissue flared up. He'd been adamant about not using it for the longest time, but out here -- where he wasn't surrounded by people who unintentionally put him on a pillar-- using the cane didn't matter.
His breath puffed in the frosty air as he took a moment to rest his legs. He could already see the city so he'd only have around another 30-minute walk if he continued at the pace he was going.Â
North City was as lively as it could be for one with near-constant snowfall. While the population consisted mostly of military personnel there were still plenty of families and small businesses dotted amongst the abundance of government buildings.
These little businesses felt like theyâd been plucked out of a different location, the warm glow of the fluorescents glimmering through the large windows. Roy's favorite was a little bookstore that specializes in customer requests. They'd take a poll from an assortment of people to find out what they wanted and go from there.
Roy indulged in much of the literature they had to offer and the sweet family-run shop told him he was welcome to make any requests he wanted.
Ed would've salivated at the thought.
On the outskirts of the inner city lies the post office. It was never terribly busy which was a blessing so Roy had no trouble siddling up to the counter.Â
"Well I'll be," the scruffy man at the counter whistled, "you're back again already."
Roy gave him a tired smile. "Glettner, I just don't want to miss the letter I'm supposed to be getting."
"I guess, but you don't live in the city so you gotta walk here." He shuddered. "Couldn't pay me to make that hike more than once a year and I've lived here for over a decade."Â
"I want to be punctual."
Glettner rolled his eyes, but those eyes only held mirth in them. "Well Mr. Punctual, you're in luck, a letter for you arrived yesterday evening."
Roy wasn't sure what his reaction was but it garnered him a chuckle all the same.Â
"Ah-ha!" Glettner cried victoriously and walked back over with the letter. "This person must really like you if they're willing to use four stamps and Express delivery." He shook his head. "Express is always so expensive.â
The letter in his hand was hefty with Edâs tell-tale god awful handwriting on the front. He brought the letter close to his chest with a content hum.Â
âUgh,â Glettner whined, âGo read your letter somewhere else if youâre gonna be looking like that when you only read the cover.â
Roy sent him a flat look. âIâll see you, Glettner,â Roy called over his shoulder, tucking the letter safely into his coat. âStay warm.â
âSpeak for yourself! Try not to get yourself killed walking to the post office you flame-brained moron.â
Glettner always did say the nicest things.Â
Back in the relative safety of his cabin, Roy was able to settle down and open the letter. Carefully, he pulled the small bundle of papers jammed inside, out onto the table. Offhandedly he stoked the fire a little more with a snap of his fingers.Â
Admittedly, heâd missed the ease that using his alchemy allowed him with certain tasks.Â
Colonel Bastard,
Roy snorted and shook his head. Heâd already told Ed he wasnât a colonel anymore, but apparently, the fact hadnât stuck in the shrimpâs mind. He wondered if Ed still had his infamous temper tantrums about his height.Â
Something to find out later.
The other man seemed to have grown up a great deal in the past two years, but Roy doubted Ed wouldâve been able to calm himself down when it came to his height and the lack thereof.
I hope this gets to you fast, and that you havenât frozen solid up there. Havoc told me about your cabin and Iâll be honest: sounds shitty. But they did say you had a fireplace so maybe it isnât too bad as long as you donât move from in front of the fire. Though now that I know what your job entails I can honestly say that you might be fucked.Â
Seriously, who wants to stand out in all that snow to watch for potential attacks from Drachma? Thatâs what Briggs is for. So get your ass back here before your ass freezes to a chair or something.Â
He couldnât stop the laugh that burst from him. The letter was just wholly Ed and it almost felt like the other man was here in person.Â
Al wants me to tell you he says hi, so thatâs from him. Heâs doing okay, heâs kinda got everything figured out now. I mean he obviously did before, he was doing fine while I was gone. Heâs made a name for himself even if he did kinda steal my look.Â
He doesnât need me anymore.Â
The ink is smudged and blurred in spots and Royâs heart clenched in his chest when he realized that those were probably tears.Â
I expected it and Iâm glad he was able to keep moving forward with everyoneâs help. I donât know. I guess I didnât realize how thatâd make me feel when you were here. Youâre kinda distracting even when Alâs around.
No higher praise than being able to pull Edâs attention away from his little brother.Â
Resembool is the same, which is weird. Germany seemed to change every day. There were always new people coming through or some kind of showcase going on. Did I tell you about the rocket we were building? Itâs hard to remember that Iâm no longer in a world governed by the laws of âmodern scienceâ instead of Alchemy.
I wish you were here. I miss your stupid, smug face.Â
Oh did he ache for Ed to be able to insult him in person.Â
Itâs your turn to write a letter.
-Edward Elric
Beside his name, Ed had drawn what he assumed was a self-portrait of him sticking his tongue out in a cartoonish style. Charming.
Roy set the letter on the table and rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Somehow, the letter only made him miss Ed more. He wanted to ease Edâs worries and reassure him that he was needed.Â
Well, he had a letter to write.
--
Fullmetal,
I thought telling you four times was enough, but maybe your ears were too tiny to hear me correctly. Iâm not a colonel anymore so the name isnât correct. Havenât we known each other long enough to be a little less informal?
Youâre right, itâs freezing up here, and staying warm is near impossible without the fire. I wear two layers of wool socks and Iâm still wary that Iâm going to get frostbite on one of my watches.Â
Briggs is in charge of guarding our border. Iâm just in charge of keeping watch on the trading routes that weave along the mountain valley for any sign of trouble.Â
Al may not need you in the same capacity that he did, but I guarantee heâs happier than heâs been in the last two years now that youâre here. From what Iâve heard from both Hawkeye and Miss Rockbell, he always seemed to be looking over his shoulder for you when heâd accomplish anything.Â
You are absolutely needed, and not just by Al. Never forget that Edward.Â
Small towns donât change often so Iâm not surprised it seems the same. People grow older, but small towns keep to themselves for the most part. Every once in a while fresh meat joins the community and theyâll be a stir and things might change a little, but generally go back to normal quickly.Â
City life is vivacious and ever-changing. A bigger place and more people means more changes. My aunt runs a bar and I remember how often the city would change around us.Â
If by rocket you mean the one you released into that crowd of people, then yes I remember you telling me about it. But feel free to tell me again, you have a knack for storytelling that I didnât think youâd have.Â
I wish you were here too. I miss your impish face.Â
-Roy Mustang
--
A week later, Roy received his second letter.Â
Glettner gave him a wry grin and presented it to him with a flourish. âYour sweetheart replied,â he tittered, âshould ask for a lock of hair in your next letter or a care package.â He winked at Roy. âMaybe something for those long, lonely nights.â
âGet your mind out of the gutter,â Roy grouched, âitâs not from a lover.â
Glettner sighed dramatically. âWell, certainly not with that attitude! Youâre clearly pining, canât you see it?â
He raised his only visible eyebrow at the man. âReally?â
The other man waved him off. âNevermind, just get out of here. Iâll see you in a day or so.â
âTake care, Glettner.â
âYeah, yeah, go read your damn letter.â
--
Bastard,
FUCK YOU, I GREW.Â
Not that much Ed, Roy thought with a chuckle.Â
I hope thatâs a better name for you. And Iâm not Fullmetal anymore, not really. Sure plenty of people are going to keep calling me that, but Iâm not part of the military right now. Still gotta prove Iâm not dead and shit.Â
Do you know how hard it is to try to reinstate documents after theyâve listed you as dead? I was literally two seconds away from straight-up murdering a lawyer who was at city hall because he kept saying I needed more identification. Which is bullshit because Iâm DEAD to the government.Â
This wouldâve been really handy when Al and I were running from the military, though. But not now! Luckily, it is being sorted out and I shouldnât have to wait much longer before I have all my documentation in order.
That was good. Ed had just started the whole process when he left to return to his post and itâd given him a headache just thinking about it.Â
So you lived with your aunt? Did you grow up in Central?
As much as Iâve traveled, Iâm a hick at heart. I still enjoy the peace and quiet of the countryside more than the noise and life of the city. I can live in either though.Â
A corner of his mouth lifts. Ed preferred anywhere he could read and learn without interruptions. That hadnât changed.
Are you lonely up there by yourself? I feel like youâre probably spending way too much time criticizing all your past actions and moping. Fuck that. Tell me about something you want to do when you come back to Central. Whatâs on Roy âSmug Bastardâ Mustangâs agenda?
-Ed
Oh, and thanks for saying that. I think I needed to hear that from someone. Iâm glad it was you.
--
Ed,
I guess if you can so kindly call me something else, I can just use your name. And as much as I appreciate your affectionate nickname for me, you can just call me Mustang or even just Roy, it wouldnât bother me at all. But if you insist on a nickname I suppose I can give you one too, shorty.
I havenât had to deal with retracting a declaration of the deceased before so I honestly donât have any advice for you. Iâd suggest going through all the hoops that they line up for you to jump through even if a shortcut looks promising. Other people were claiming to be you for fame or what-have-you so they arenât intentionally trying to be difficult.Â
Why am I not surprised you actually thought about how useful the situation wouldâve been back then⊠Maybe youâre getting predictable.Â
I did grow up with my aunt as my legal guardian. Both of my parents passed away when I was a young boy and she took me in. It was a rocky start. I was mourning my parents and terrified of my new living situation. But Chris Mustang always did her best to make sure I was comfortable and taken care of whether it was food or new clothes.
But she also put me to work. I obviously couldnât work at the bar, but I bused tables and cleaned the place once we closed for the night.Â
Her bar doubled as an information network with her girls -- my sisters-- acting as spies while going about their business. People talk a lot during sex and will let their guard down if they feel comfortable. I learned my networking strategies from them.
I donât know if I can imagine you as the typical hick. Itâs something about all that rage and attitude that makes me think more of small town punks. But there is something nice about the quiet of the countryside.
Itâs not Iâm not I suppose I am a bit lonely out here. I donât really have much communication to speak of besides your letters. Theyâre the highlight of my days. The only other person I normally talk to right now is the man who runs the post office. I feel like Iâm disconnected from people nowadays. Whether thatâs because I was part of a coupe that unsettled them or my demeanor is just off-putting. Let me know what you think.Â
When I get back to Central, the first thing I want to do is look for an apartment. Then Iâm not sure. Maybe go back to pursuing the title of Fruher. After the whole Homunculus debacle, I stepped down in a rush to⊠run as far away from what had happened as I could.Â
After that⊠would you like to go out sometime? Get something to drink, eat a good meal with good company?
Youâre probably going to have to fight to spend time with me at first. The team kept reminding me that when I was there that they missed me. But Iâll make plenty of time for you.
-Roy
--
âRoy, you have a package,â Glettner commented the third time he came into the post office that week. âDid you take my advice and ask for a token from them?â He leaned over the counter with a lewd grin. âThereâs no telling whatâs in here.â
Roy huffed and held out his hand. âBox, Glettner,â Roy ordered. He thought Glettner was funny and the man reminded him of an older, grayer Havoc with all his teasing and good-natured ribbing. It made him miss his team, though.
Glettner deposited the box in his hands before holding out a box cutter, handle-first to Roy. âCan I convince you to open it here? I can even let you use the back room for some privacy if you want.â
Roy shook his head with a put-upon grin. âYou seem more excited about this package than I am.â
He shrugged âI donât think you realize how boring it can get here. Usually the most exciting thing I get in this place is the military personnel transferring sensitive documents.â He scrunched his nose. âI donât know, guess the whole thing makes my romantic heart sing.â
âYou trying to get me to feel sorry for you so Iâll open the package here?â
âThat depends, is it working?â
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. âFine, take me to your backroom.â
Glettner threw a fist in the air and gestured to a door on the right. âFollow me, lover-boy.â
He grumbled but followed after the perky man. They weaved through the stacks of boxes and came across a desk. Glettner shoved a few papers to the side so Roy had a spot to put his package on.Â
Roy set his box down and carefully ran the knife along the taped edges. He shifted through the newspaper thatâd been carefully positioned around the gift.Â
And what a gift it was.Â
Nestled inside the box was a phone that was almost the exact one thatâd sat on his old desk. He gently pulled it out of its protective paper. Now that he could see it fully he noted the wear on some of the parts. The rotary dial was a polished bronze and looked to be the newest piece on the phone. The body of the phone consisted of a few welded pieces of metal but the job was near seamless so unless Ed knew someone who could weld, heâd probably done it himself with alchemy.
He thumbed at the handset and couldnât stop the grin that spread across his face. It felt like the same metal as Edâs new arm was made of and he knew Ed had made that choice on purpose.Â
âThey sent you a phone?â Glettner asked, interrupting Royâs casual admiration of his gift.Â
âIâm pretty sure itâs so we can call each other in case we donât want to wait for the mail system to deliver our messages,â Roy explained.Â
The other man turned his attention to him sharply. âSo I wonât see you anymore?â
Roy shook his head. âNo, youâll still have to see me,â he nodded his head at the phone, âEven with a phone I wonât have a guaranteed connection with where I am, but it gives us the option if weâŠâ He paused, his smile going from soft to joyful, âto hear each otherâs voice.â
âAw fuck,â Glettner sniffled, âyouâve got that mushy look on your face.â
Royâs face closed off. âBetter?â
The postman shook his head. âI think whatever you two are, it makes you better.â He rubbed at his nose and shrugged. âTake that as you will.â
--
Setting up the phone was relatively easy after he finagled a makeshift antenna to the roof of the cabin. Heâd picked up a few pieces of scrap steel and transported his load back to his cabin. With a quick transmutation, heâd constructed an antenna that would ideally not break if the storms got bad.Â
Ed had suggested he use steel in his letter and if he trusted anyone when it came to metal knowledge itâd be the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric.
He glanced over at the letter heâd set on the table and reread what Ed had written.
⊠Winry and Al pointed out to me that I could be calling you if I didnât want to wait to get a letter. But when I asked Riza how to call you she told me you didnât have one.
What kind of bullshit is that? I figure everyone has a phone but then you get relocated and havenât bothered to get a phone in the two years youâve been gone?
There's a large inkblot on the dot of his question mark as if Ed had paused to gather his thoughts but forgotten to pick up his pen.
 Sounds like you were in a bad place.Â
Ed had always had a special gift of understanding why Roy did what he did. Even more so now that he'd matured more and had gone through a similar mindstate.
I get that. Iâve been there. But Iâm taking away some of this forced isolation youâve coveted for yourself.Â
Iâm not telling you that you have to start talking to people now that you have a phone, but try. You may have lost an eye, but you arenât blind. And you have tons of people who care about you and I know you can see that so donât keep shutting them out.
Like that.Â
Everyone else had given him ample space to adjust to his vision change and his disillusionment of the government he'd put so much time and effort into. But that space became hard to contain and soon he'd pushed almost everyone behind the protective wall he'd crafted for himself.Â
He needed someone to tell him that what he was doing couldn't-- nor should it-- continue.Â
Iâve written everyoneâs number down on the back of this letter just in case you forgot, old man. I hijacked the Rockbellâs landline so I can have a phone in my room. Feel free to call whenever after seven.Â
I don't care if it's ass o'clock in the morning, call me if you need me or wanna talk or whatever.Â
Talk to you soon, hopefully.
-Ed
He didn't use the phone for a good three hours until the hands on the clock were just shy of eleven. He tried two fingers of scotch to help him sleep, but it left a smoky aftertaste in his mouth that brought up too many memories of being a walking crematorium.Â
He finished spinning the dial and waited for the call to be picked up or ignored. It wasnât that he thought Ed was lying about being able to call whenever, but Ed couldnât guarantee heâd be by the phone at all times.
There was a click and then a familiar voice echoing through the receiver. âRockbell Automail, the store hours are from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. but if this is an emergency weâll see what we can do,â Ed recited before continuing with a knowing tone, âUnless this is a certain soldier out in the middle of nowhere up North who received his package and decided to give me a call.â
Roy wasnât one you would call a religious man, but he considered praying for patience. âHello, Edward,â he conceded.Â
âFuck⊠holy fuck Roy,â Ed said with the sort of casual blasphemy only he would dare. There was a shuffling on the other end of the line. âYou actually called.â
âTime hasnât made you any less explicit,â Roy teased. He imagined a metal middle finger jerked at him in return.Â
âItâs been what? A month?â Ed snorted, âIf my cursing hasnât changed since I was a kid then a month has no chance of changing it.â
He grinned and propped his head up with his hand. âYouâre right about that.â He looked around the room for something to focus on, landing on Edâs letter. âHow are you?â The question came out softer than heâd like, but itâs what he meant.
Ed made a noncommittal noise. âItâs weird. The old lady and Winry keep treating me like Iâm still a little kid. Maybe itâs because they didnât get to see me grow up over the last two years. But theyâre doing their best to adjust.â
Roy hummed in understanding. âItâs not dissimilar to a person coming back from deployment. They know the person who left, not necessarily the person who comes back.â
âYeah, I guess⊠Itâs still taking some getting used to. How come you didnât treat me like I was the teen you last saw?â
âYouâre a brat, but it was easy to see youâd changed.â That golden hair pulled back into a ponytail instead of his signature braid. The broad shoulders that filled out his brown trenchcoat and the bookish outfit underneath. He might mourn the loss of the manâs leather pants, but he looked every inch of the man heâd become. His thoughts made him brave. âYouâve become quite the looker, Ed.â
A sputter from the other line had Roy chuckling into his shoulder. Itâs enchanting to hear Edâs embarrassment over the phone and a longing yawned in his chest to see the ruby flush against the manâs cheeks. To see the way heâd turn incredulous eyes to gawk at Roy like heâd spoken gibberish. To see Ed fight the smile thatâd reveal his teeth in joy instead of a threat.
He just wanted Ed. Here, with him. Or him with Ed. Together.Â
Glettner was more aware of Royâs feelings than he was.
â-up! I hope youâre not mocking me you ass,â Ed grumbleing finally making it through Royâs thoughts.Â
âIâm not mocking you, you really are beautiful.â
The line remained silent for a stretch and Roy wondered briefly if heâd pushed Ed a little too much. That heâd made the man uncomfortable with his sudden forwardness.Â
âYou look pretty good yourself,â Ed mumbled.
His heart skipped a beat in his chest and his cheeks grew warm. âNot much to look at compared to you,â Roy managed to say.
âYeah, okay, sure,â the eye roll unmistakably tacked onto the statement. âIâm guessing you couldnât sleep.â
âCouldnât I have called you because I wanted to hear your voice?â
Ed actually laughed at that. âYou could and Iâm flattered, bastard, but I can hear the exhaustion in your voice.â
âAlright, yes I canât sleep.âÂ
âWhat do you want me to do about that?â
What indeed. He already felt better after hearing Edâs voice so perhaps more of that? âTell me about your day.â
âAs long as you're willing to pay anything the Rockbellâs might be charged for the long-distance call, Iâll talk all night.â
âJust until I fall asleep should do the trick.â
âWell get comfy and Iâll tell you about my return to city hall.â
Roy settled as comfortably as he could on his couch and closed his eyes, letting himself drift upon the lilts and steadiness of Edâs voice.Â
--
As they reach the two-month mark of their separation, Roy was getting antsy. His transfer back to Central seemed to be in a stalemate. Too much silence from both sides for Royâs patience to tolerate. He already sent another letter to Ed to inform him that he still didnât have a timeframe for his return.Â
With no set date for his relocation, he got wrapped up in his thoughts. The snow bit angrily at his cheeks and heâd started moving his post office trips to every three days because he couldnât get his body to plow through the snow. The cabinâs walls were thin and the flames fanned uselessly in the fireplace no matter how close Roy put himself to the heat source.Â
Loneliness heâd been able to ignore for years was near intolerable now. Heâd talked to his team, reconnected with Riza, or at least started mending the relationship thatâd been damaged in the wake of Bradleyâs defeat and the loss of his eye.
But ever since his realization during the phone call with Ed, nothing seemed to fill the Ed-sized space in his heart. He pondered on the feelings heâd developed for Ed, questioned why he loves him but only came up with Ed himself as the reason.Â
He took a sip of his tea when he heard a knock on his door.Â
The suddenness of the noise was enough to startle him into almost dropping his mug and he turned a wary eye to his door. He didnât get visitors, not out here. The only time anyone had visited him itâd been about the strange phenomenon that ultimately led to Ed returning home to them.Â
He doubted something that severe would pop-up again in such a short span of time, but stranger things had happened so he couldnât rule out the possibility.Â
Slipping on his gloves, he cautiously approached the door. He waited until he heard another knock before he openned the door, his fingers poised to snap.
And thereâs Ed.
Snow and ice clung to his clothes and he noted that Edâs trench coat seemed to now be lined with a fur of some kind. He took in Edâs wind-chafed skin and red nose, saw the ice crystals that had attempted to attach themselves to his lashes.Â
This couldnât be real. He mustâve fallen asleep and heâs dreaming. He had to be.Â
Except Ed was waving his hand obnoxiously in his face, grinning at him with the pride of a show dog. âYou still in there or did I break you?â Ed asked.
He gaped uselessly at the figure that stood in front of him. âEd?â He rasped, still not believing his eyes.Â
âThe one and only.â He tilted his head to the side, his smile going lazy. âAre you gonna make me stay out here much longer? Because Iâm pretty sure my toes have fucking frozen off and I only have five. I really canât lose them.â
Roy snapped his jaw shut with a click and stepped back to let Ed in. âYeah, of course, come in.â
Ed blustered in with all the hesitation of a tornado, stripping out of his dripping coat and unwinding the scarf from around his neck, hanging both over his kitchen table.Â
âThank fuck you have a fireplace,â Ed grunted, holding both of his hands out towards the heat source. âIf Winry and Granny hadnât hooked me up with this new automail I wouldâve really gotten frostbite.â
Roy nodded absent-mindedly, still stuck on the reality that Ed was here in his cabin. âHow-How did you get here?â
Edâs forehead furrowed. âWell after I took a train up here I asked around if anyone knew where Iâd find a soldier with an eyepatch, the postman pointed me in the right direction.â He shrugged. âThen I walked here.â
He'd have to thank Glettner the next time he saw him. Or avoid him at all cost because the man was never going to let him live this down. He probably felt like he was some sort of matchmaker, guaranteeing Ed made it to him.
âThrough all the snow?â
The man squinted at him. âYes?â It came out as a question more than an answer. âAre you okay? Youâre really stuck on this whole âEdâs here with meâ thing.âÂ
And whatâs he supposed to say to that? That heâs still convinced that this could only be a dream because this sort of thing doesnât happen to him. âI just never expected you to come here.â
He gets a bemused expression from Ed for that. âWhy not? I got your letter.â He huffed and lounged on his couch. âSo they canât even give you a date?â
He shook his head. âNot now, maybe in a week or two, Iâll get an answer from them.â Roy shuffled awkwardly for a moment trying to decide what to say. âDo you want some tea?â
Ed snorted, his nose crinkling. âI could go for some tea, but Iâm fine with something stronger if you've got it.â
He cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms. âDonât you mean if Iâm feeling generous?â
âNope,â Ed chimed.
âLetâs start with tea,â Roy snagged the only other mug he owned and poured Ed a cup, âget you warm first. After that?â He handed the mug to Ed who took it gratefully. âWeâll see about alcohol.â
Humming in agreement Ed took an aborted sip, cursing as the liquid scorched his tongue. âFuck, dammit you couldâve warned me it was this hot,â Ed grumbled, glaring at his mug.Â
âI didnât know you were expecting cold tea.â
âBastard.â
âBrat.â
The jibes were gentle despite themselves and Roy felt the familiar contentment in his being that heâd been getting when he was with Ed in any capacity. Whether itâs a phone call or in-person or even in a letter. Ed remained a stained glass masterpiece in his heart.
They sat in campanionable silence. The flickering of the fireplace casted a red glow around the room except for Ed. Edâs always an exception. Instead of the red overlay across Ed, he glowed gold.Â
His skin -- tanned and scarred-- reminded Roy of wedding rings and sun-warmed bronze. His eyes of finely crafted jewelry and the lace-gold details in famous paintings from the west. And his hair. The finest silk, bundled into a ponytail that trailed to at least the bottom of his shoulder blades.
He desperately wanted to say something to hear more of Edâs voice. A voice that had haunted his mind for the past two years. A desperation to take, take, take until he had all of Ed.Â
âI didnât get to say this before,â Ed said, finally breaking their silence. âBut Iâm a fan of the eyepatch.â
From anyone else, he wouldâve ignored the comment, but Roy knew that Ed was being serious right now. âIt was a necessity after Bradley got it,â Roy said, setting his cup down and bringing a hand to the patch. âIt isnât a pretty sight, even Hawkeye had trouble looking at it.â
âI doubt that,â Ed took another sip from his drink, âif anything she probably still feels guilty that you lost it at all.â
He made a noncommittal noise. âNo one should feel guilty about this, I got it taking Bradley down. And I survived.â
âYou did.â Ed grinned at him. âAnd I think the patch makes you look rugged.â
Roy snorted and quirked a brow at him. âSure thatâs not just from living out here for the past two years?â
Edâs eyes rolled so hard that Royâs surprised they didnât just pop out of his skull. âYou havenât grown any stupid facial hair yet so Iâd say itâs the patch.â
âYou donât think Iâd look good with facial hair?â
The tips of Edâs ears flushed. âI didnât say that,â he mumbled, âI am saying youâd look god awful with a moustache.âÂ
There is a niggling temptation to grow one just to get on Ed's nerves but he pushed that thought aside. He heaved a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I'll refrain for now."Â
Ed laughed and it reverberated through him with the warmth of an embrace. He wanted to bottle the noise up and tuck it into the spaces between his ribs. Roy couldn't remember the last time he felt this content.
The other man was still looking at him when he focused back on their conversation. "Can I see it?"
Royâs face closed off and he shifted awkwardly on the couch. âYou⊠you want to see it?â He clarified because surely he'd heard wrong.
Ed shrugged and scooted a little closer. âWhy wouldnât I?â
He asked like it should be obvious to Roy, but doesnât comment on it. Roy couldn't bring himself to deny Ed something that Roy was readily willing to give. Wanted to give. And maybe there's a small part of him that wanted to show someone. To not have someone shy away from the topic. To look at all of him now and not who he was before.Â
Maybe he didn't just leave Central because he wanted to still help his country through a corrupt system.
Maybe he was tired of hiding.
He reached his hand up towards the strings that held his eyepatch in place but hesitates. "Are you sure you want to see it?" He wondered if he would want to see it if this was someone else. He knew for sure that heâd want to see Ed. Roy swore to himself that heâd never hesitate to look at Edâs scars, not a single one of them would be skipped by his eyes.
Ed's eyes softened and he moved himself closer to Roy. They were barely a foot away from the other, their knees knocking together. The solid press of Edâs automail knee against his own was surprisingly grounding. He wonderd if anyone else felt this way about Edâs prosthetic limbs.
Ed didn't hesitate when he cupped Roy's face with his metal hand. He expected the harsh metal to be icy to the touch â unlike his leg that was still covered by the thick material of Edâs pants â but it was heat-licked by the fire. Roy couldn't help but lean into the touch with a pleased sigh.
Mirth twinkled in Ed's eyes like honeyed gold. He ran his thumb along the bottom edge of his eyepatch. "I'm sure."
I want to see you. Thatâs what Roy heard inbetween Edâs words. It didn't need to be said. Ed had already proven his surety with his touch, but it comforted Roy to hear it all the same.Â
The satin ties of his eyepatch were easy enough to undo after he loosened the knot and soon the patch was fluttering down into his lap. He kept the eye closed for now, letting Ed see the mess of scars from the enucleation and trauma from Bradleyâs blade. He watched Edâs face for any reaction through his good eye, watching as he took in his face as a whole.
The first brush of Edâs metal hand on the scars had him letting out a shuddering breath. His heart was pounding erratically in his chest and he couldnât stop his sudden panic. Itâs just Ed. Edward was the only one here with him. Itâs just them. Together. Here. Now and not then. This steel was warm and nothing like the biting edge of a blade.
A second hand joined the first, this one with calluses and worn nails that worked their way through his hair. Instantly, he found himself relaxing under the ministrations of Edâs talented fingers. Losing time or just forgetting everything that wassnât Edward Elric.
âCome on, lemme see those eyes of yours, Colonel Bastard,â Ed urged, his thumb teasing along Royâs cheekbone.
Despite himself, Roy found himself smiling. âNot a colonel anymore, Fullmetal,â he reminded Ed, âand I only have one eye.â
âNot Fullmetal anymore, Roy.â
He could hear his name on Edâs lips for the rest of his life and Roy would never stop feeling his heart skip a beat. âEd.â
Slowly, he opened both of his eyes and went back to watching Edâs face. The breath hitched in Edâs lungs for only a second before it settled back to normal. Roy couldnât blame him. The clear conformer that prevented his eyelid from collapsing into the socket gave a clear view of the hollow interior. He hadnât bothered getting a prosthetic eye, not when heâd been out here by himself for so long. His doctors still werenât sure when he would even be able to wear one given the damage done to his eyelid and ocular cavity.
Instead of the multitude of reactions that Roy had prepared himself for, Ed gave him a gentle smile and cupped his face with both hands. âThere you are.â
âHow do I look?â Roy asked as though he couldnât see the way Ed looks at him.
Maybe he couldnât, because thereâs a touch of uncertainty to Royâs question that he couldnât write off. Whether itâs over the way the scars mar his handsome face or over what Ed might think about his appearance, Roy couldnât decide.
âLike you can take on the world,â Ed said without hesitation.
Stealing himself, Roy closed the distance between them and sealed their mouths together. Edâs lips are chapped from his journey through the snow, but warm and solid against his own. He didnât intensify the kiss, keeping it chaste since Ed hadnât started to kiss him back.Â
Reluctantly, he pulled away from Ed trying to catch the younger manâs eyes. Did he ruin this? âEd?â
âKiss me again,â Ed ordered but didnât bother waiting for Roy to act, instead grabbing two handfuls of his shirt and smashing their lips together.
Itâs messy, too much tongue and their teeth clack painfully against each other like Ed wanted to devour him, but he dived right in. He took control of the kiss, guiding Edâs lips to slide against his own at a more sedate pace. The corners of his mouth turned up when Ed sighed against his mouth, a near-silent moan escaping him.Â
Roy trailed a hand up Edâs back until he reached the end of the manâs ponytail. He wrapped the silken strands around his fingers and tugged lightly. Ed splayed his hands against the plains of his chest, releasing his shirt from his grasp.Â
When he found himself desperate for oxygen, he pulled away once more. Ed made a displeased groan but sat back enough to stare at Roy.
The affection and happiness that sparkled in Edâs eyes was overwhelming and he couldnât help but tell Ed exactly how he felt. âI think I love you,â Roy whispered.
Ed smiled back at him, his lips kiss-bruised and tempting. âWhy do you think Iâm here, Roy?âÂ
He didnât have to say it because Ed always showed you how he felt. So when Ed tilted his head back, Roy capitulates to the silent request, sealing their mouths together again.
A flame captured by the glint of gold and steel.
#fmasecretsanta2020#RoyEd#fma 03#falling in love#secret santa#fma#fanfic#royed fic#roy's eyepatch as a plot point#eye trauma is mentioned but very briefly and it doesn't mention any blood#letter writing as a wooing tactic#Roy is PINING#Ed is PINING#They're idiots in love until they aren't#Ed's CoS outfit#conqueror of shamballa and end of 03 mentioned#Glettner is any RoyEd fan really#my fic#my fanfic
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter 11: Royals Do Not...
A/N: Hello everyone! I am so sorry that I have not been as active on here. I have moved to England temporarily and its been quite the adventure! I feel inspiration here and there to write this story so I am hoping that this inspiration and I can continue to share more of this story with you. Much love xx
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
From the moment I was born I have lived my life in the spotlight. Many people I have met are envious of that fact, of the fame and apparent glamour that my birth right gave me. But... it is far from what they dream it as to be.
It is not all glitz and glam or dressing up in a pretty designer dress and wearing magnificent sparkling jewelry. Itâs about being a public servant to the people of your country and with that, there are rules that are not meant to be broken. Rules of how I should be greeted by another, who is allowed to touch me, how I am supposed to act in every occasion you can think of.
My grandmother instilled this quote in me at a tender young age as my rebellious side craved to appear... âto be believed you have to be seen. You have to give the people a monarchy they desire and envy to be like and thus act like one.â
I have stopped counting the amount of times I have been lectured on what âRoyals do not...â do, mainly its because I donât want to do things the way I was taught. To show no empathy or compassion, to not embrace and hug someone or try to relate to them by putting myself down from this pedestal that I should be cemented in.
I have been told to act âmore royalâ but what does that even mean? Does anyone really know? What really makes me different from anyone else I pass by on the street?
Nothing.
I can hear my grandmothers scolding tone invade my mind when I am on an engagement, telling me how I should be acting or the fact that I held someoneâs hand was wrong. And yet, I can never learn to stop that. I cannot put on a fake smile or not feel genuine emotions that these people elicit in me.
Those three little words.
Royals do not...
They define my life. Or at least that is what they want me to believe.
âââââââââââââ
Emilia lifted her chin up in the air as her stylist and make up artist, Ella, applied a natural layer of make up to her face. Mia Deacon was rambling off in the corner about the dayâs full itinerary of Harryâs tour accompanied by the princess, stressing over every single detail with little side notes of protocol reminders, no doubt her grandmother incorporated in through Mia.
Ella rolled her eyes with her lips spreading into a cheeky smile picking up on the fact that Emilia was starting to get annoyed with her private press secretary. âJust be you, Emilia.â Her stylist encouraged in a sincere tone that was matched within her eyes.
The princess closed her eyes with a slow nod and tuned out all the voices from around her to focus on calming her nerves. Emilia felt the pressure from every angle and today would only be another day that every moment would be cautiously watched and scrutinized not only by her grandmother, but also the Illyrian media.
âThere how do you like this Em? I could add a bit more but felt a natural look would be perfect for today and then this evening for the state banquet we could amp it up!â Ella delightfully smiled at the finished product and grabbed a mirror to hold up in front of Emilia.
âLooks perfect like always Ella. Thank you very much.â Emiliaâs lips tugged into a smile and stood up from her stool motioning for her stylist to follow her into the closet. âNow, I forgot which outfit we talked about last week for the first engagement.â
Miaâs heels clicked behind them and entered her walk in closet ready to put her opinion in. âLetâs make sure itâs elegant and regal. The style of a true princess.â Emiliaâs press secretary was adamant that she would be the one to ultimately decide if her dress was suitable for the occasion, but the princess was not going to succumb to the pressures placed on her when someone else would decide every single little detail.
âI appreciate the input Mia.â Emilia sorted through her closet analyzing a few options before continuing. âBut, I think this is a decision for Ella and I. Besides I am heading to a childrenâs hospital in a lower socioeconomic community and do not believe that is the place to be âregalâ as you put it, but more... relatable...â Emilia angled her head down, admiring a dress she thought would be a good fit for the event.
âEmilia⊠these engagements are important for you.â Mia was not backing down from the princess.
âImportant for me? Or important for you so you donât lose your job.â Emilia sassily replied and turned around to confront her private secretary with a disappointed expression morphing onto her face. With each passing day, it seemed like Mia was no longer interested in working with Emilia, rather for her grandmother. Able to keep a close watchful eye on the young royal and persuade her actions to those that would align with the Queenâs.
âBoth.â Mia crossed her arms defensively and narrowed a stare towards the princess. âYour grandmother hired me to set you on a straight path and you have been making this job more than difficult because of your attitude and the need to be on the front page of the daily paper... daily.â The brunette freely spoke her mind, not holding anything back. âYou need to grow up and be the princess your grandmother wants you, rather needs you to be.â Those words cut through Emilia like a knife, stinging on their way out.
Tristan had walked in mid conversation and was casually leaning up against the framed entrance watching the encounter unfold in front of his eyes. His brow furrowed in displeasure seeing how Mia was treating Emilia. He could recall all the difficulties he previously had with the princess, but he showed Emilia how they could work together and gave her the freedom she craved every once in a while in return for her cooperation and in time, built an understanding relationship. The moment he met Mia, Tristan had an inkling that she would rub Emilia the wrong way mixed with the fact that she was not the princessâs choice rather the Queenâs intention to keep a closer eye on Emilia.
Emiliaâs silence was profoundly felt amongst all standing around her as the awkwardness in the room rose. The disappointment that was etched on her face provided more proof of what the silence meant as she stared down Mia
Mia had over stepped majorly and she knew it. Opening her mouth to apologize she was interrupted before she could even start.
âMia.â Emilia spat out her name. âI need people on my team who can work with me, not work against me. There really never was a cohesive feeling when you arrived and partly for the fact that you believe my grandmother is your boss as she is the one you are required to please and not me. That was your first mistake.â The princess calmly spoke, mustering all she could within herself to not lose it. âYour second mistake is thinking you could speak to me that way and this is not the first time I have let it go unchecked.â
âEmilia, I apologize.â Mia stepped forward towards the scowling princess to beg for forgiveness, but Emilia was through with her.
âItâs your royal highness or maâam to you.â Emilia interrupted with a clenched jaw. âMrs. Deacon, I think this is where we say our goodbyes. Thank you for your service and I wish you all the best in your future endeavours.â The princess raised her head to look past Mia at Tristan giving him a slight nod of the head. âTristan, please escort Mrs. Deacon out of my apartment. I am sure she will be wishing to speak with the Queen on this matter.â
âGladly, maâam.â Tristan stepped forward and gripped Miaâs arm tightly, giving it a tug back. âItâs time to leave here, Mia.â
Miaâs big brown eyes that were filled with regret peaked up at the blonde RPO. âYou know this is ridiculous Tristan.â She was practically being pulled out of the princessâs apartment.
âWhat is ridiculous is how you thought you could change Emilia. Maybe she is what this family needs right now.â Tristan stood up for the young princess he had grown fond of despite her unprecedented ways. âA breath of fresh air.â
Emilia turned around being no longer able to watch Miaâs figure slowly disappear in the distance. She had to hide the tears that were threatening to over pour. Never had she felt so alone in this world before, but her mind could not stay on that thought as it brought images of articles to the forefront of her mind knowing this would have to be revealed publicly. Not to mention how her grandmother would react once she heard the news of Mia Deacon no longer being her look out for Emilia.
The princess fought back the tears and gained her composure while sorting through her dresses. âCan you pick one out Ella, I trust your judgment.â Emilia sat down on top of a white cushioned bench taking a moment to herself.
âI think this one will look fabulous on you along with these shoes and a simple pair of pearl earrings.â Emilia lifted her head and smiled weakly at a beaming Ella who was holding up a black and white simple dress with a turquoise heel to add a pop of color.
âMe too.â
ââââââââ
âGood morning.â Harry leaned in and pressed a greeting kiss on both of Emiliaâs cheeks. He had been waiting for the princess to join him on their first engagement as his team waited at the convoy along the palaceâs gates, but Emilia was nearly twenty minutes late. Judging by her quiet demeanour the prince guessed that something had happened.
âMorning.â Emilia spoke with a quiet voice and was visibly distracted, barely looking the prince in his eyes.
âWhatâs wrong?â Harryâs brow furrowed with concern while the princess peaked up at him through her dark lashes with those mesmerizing piercing blue eyes. For a brief second she allowed him into her thoughts that were painted across her face for him to clearly see, but they morphed into a fake smile that hide it all too quickly for Harryâs liking.
âNothing.â Emilia brushed him off and stepped around him to get in the vehicle. âWe better leave, Henry.â
The princess stared out the window hardly acknowledging the princeâs existence. Neither of them spoke a word to one another throughout the whole drive to the childrenâs hospital alerting Harry that something was definitely up with Emilia. His head lifted and locked with Tristan through the rear view mirror who was driving them to the engagement. Her RPO gave him a simple nod and pushed the button to bring up a separator between the back seat and the drivers, giving Harry and Emilia a bit of privacy.
âTalk to me, Emilia.â Harryâs soft voice was laced with genuine concern for the princess. âPlease.â The prince begged of her when he was met with a silent reply.
Emilia closed her eyes and swallowed a lump in her throat. She could not bare to look at Harry so she continued to glance out the window, staring absentmindedly at the buildings they passed by while her thoughts consumed her.
All her mind was filled with was her grandmothers ridiculing voice saying...
Royals do not be irrational about their decisions.
âI am sure you will hear a few people commenting today that I fired my private secretary this morning.â Emilia sighed at the end of her sentence.
âWell, that happens.â Harry non-chalantly played it off, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. âI am sure there are other people more capable for the job.â
âNoâŠâ Her head snapped towards Harry as he was met with a hard stare. âYou donât understand, Henry.â Emiliaâs cold icy stare bore into him. âMia was hired by my grandmother to keep a closer eye on me and change my unroyal ways. I am just waiting to hear word from her about how disappointed she is in me... again.â The princess turned away from Harry to hide her somber eyes. âNothing I ever do is good enough. No matter how hard I try, I am not good enough.... not royal enough.â
âI am sorry, Emilia.â The princeâs heart felt for her while her words tugged at his heart strings. âBut, think of this as an opportunity to find someone who you can work well with, who will be on your side now and do things the way you want to do them.â Harry shifted in his seat to move closer to Emilia. âCome here.â He whispered and gripped her arm gently to pull Emilia into him.
âNooo.â She fought it for a second, but quickly gave into his request craving his comforting touch. Emilia wrapped her arms around Harry, releasing a deep sigh and finding comfort once again in his arms. âI feel so alone, Henry.â The princess fought back the tears, but a stray one trickled down her cheek. âWhy canât being me just be good enough for someone? Why do I have to bend to their will only because I do things a little differently?â
âYou arenât alone.â His thumb rubbed over the soft fabric of her dress on the back of her arm. âYou have me.â Emilia picked her head up off his shoulder to look up into his eyes to see if the sincerity in his voice matched. âAnd you are good enough, Emilia. Donât let anyone tell you different.â The kind words that rolled off his tongue made the hurt subside a little, as she found solace in them.
âThank you for being you.â Emilia cupped his cheek and without warning, leaned in and captured Harryâs lips. The princess had no idea what had gotten over her, but having someone on her side without any ill intentions brought a sense of reassurance and security to her that had been lacking for numerous years, so she welcomed it with open arms. She realized what she had done and tore her lips off of Harryâs only to feel Harryâs hand on her neck to stop her from moving any further away.
âDonât pull away.â His lips embraced Emiliaâs again while holding her head steady. She smiled into the kiss and welcomed the feeling of Harryâs lips softly kissing her. He was gentle, but passionate as the prince continued a feverish attack, making his motives clear that he indeed wanted Emilia.
There was a piece inside of Emilia that had feelings for Harry, making it more difficult for her to ignore with each passing day as it continued to grow stronger within her. It was undeniable that there was this palpable connection they shared like an outside force was playing like a puppet with their heartstrings.
Harry tugged hard on Emiliaâs lips and captured a tiny moan that escaped from them. She clutched the collar of Harryâs shirt and pulled him down, fighting for a piece of control, but the prince did not back down and fought back with soft kisses trailing down her jaw line down towards her collarbone. Emilia was breathless as her head gently tipped back, giving Harry full access to her neck.
âWe should stopâŠâ The princess forced out from a fully clouded mind with evident regret laced in her tone.
âWe shouldâŠâ Harry mumbled against her soft skin as he found his way back to her lips and delicately tasted them, savouring the taste.
The screams of fans muffled from outside the vehicle brought them hastily back to reality. Emilia released her grip on Harryâs shirt and immediately sat back, clearing her throat and checking to see if her dress was in proper placement.
The prince was beaming from ear to ear as he licked his lips, tasting the remnants of Emilia on them. His eyes drifted towards a half stunned princess as she stiffly sat beside him, attempting to get the moment out of her mind.
âWe should not have done that before an engagement.â Emiliaâs shaky voice sounded as she fidgeted nervously with the ends of her dress.
âDonât worry, it will be fine.â The ever-assuring prince calmed her. âItâs not like they are going to ask if we locked lips, Emilia.â Harry tossed his head back in laughter after seeing her ice blue eyes wide with shock.
âYou can thank the blacked out windows for that.â The princess nervously giggled.
âJust, letâs keep it professional.â The princess informed him and even shifted further away from him. âKeep a good distance away from me.â
âYes, princess.â Harry tugged on the sides of his suit jacket to straighten it out as their vehicle pulled to a stop. âLetâs not forget to have a little fun too. You arenât the only one who likes to do things a little differently so letâs show them how the Brits do it!â Henry flashed a flirtatious charming smile at Emilia before his door sprung open and exited the vehicle to hear the hundreds of screaming fans hollering their names.
But, the same voice in her head was still louder than the cheers from the people... her grandmothers scolding her, again.
Emilia, Royals do not show any displays of affection.
Emilia gracefully stepped out of the back seat of the vehicle and briefly locked eyes with Tristan who displayed a genuine smile back towards the princess. Her eyes scanned the awaiting crowd and offered them a cheerful wave as they shouted her name. The princess walked around the vehicle to see Harry waiting patiently for Emilia before they headed towards the entrance of the hospital to greet the CEO and founders of St. Thereasitaâs Hospital.
Harry motioned for Emilia to step ahead of him, technically against royal protocol but he was bound to break a few rules today to show the Illyrian media that breaking protocol was not as awful as they were portraying Emilia while she did it.
âYour royal highness, itâs a pleasure to have you visit us again Princess Emilia!â The founder of St. Thereasitaâs Hospital greeted the princess with a warm handshake, attempting to speak above the erupting crowd behind them.
âItâs always a pleasure, Mr. Davies. Thank you again for allowing us to visit and see the children and their families.â Emilia smiled warmly and angled her body to proceed down to the next person while the prince stepped in behind her.
Harry and Emilia walked down through the pediatric cancer ward and visited a few families along with their eager children who were so excited to meet a prince and a princess. Along they way, they were educated on the different programs offered for families in this low income community and how their out reach in their community has changed many lives for the better.
Emilia sat down on a little girls bed who was playing with a stuffed animal. She looked quite pale and ill, lacking any expression. âHello there.â The princess quietly intruded in the little girls thoughts as she peaked up at Emilia. âMy name is Emilia, whatâs yours?â The girl leaned forward and tapped Emilia on the nose with her stuffed bunny.
âCharlie.â She cupped her mouth and whispered, shyly eying the hoards of cameras behind the princess.
âThat is a very pretty name, Charlie. I love your bunny!â The princess tried to distract Charlie from the media quietly listening to every one of their words.
âDo you have a bunny?! Like this one?â Charlie held the ratted out stuffed bunny proudly in the air, showing it off.
âYou know, I donât but I really wish I did though!â Emilia shared a glance towards Charlieâs smiling parents and delved into a conversation with him. She listened to Charlieâs story with empathy etched on her face, learning that this little girl was indeed a fighter but her treatments had recently stopped working. This family was at a crossroads in their life, unsure whether to let Charlie enjoy the rest of the little time she had left or go on to explore treatments in other countries that would put her body through so much to extend her life only by a little.
Emiliaâs eyes were brimming with tears while her heart ached. Her hand flew to her chest as she leaned in and tried to formulate a string of words that got caught up in her throat. âI canât imagine. She is a very strong little girl.â The princess felt a stray tear trickle down her cheek that she quickly brushed away and heard an array of cameras clicking making Emilia hide her face away from them.
Royals did not show emotion. Emilia could hear those exact words in her mind being spoken by her grandmother.
Harry was leaning up against the wall, watching the whole encounter take place before his eyes. The media were practically starving for anything they could use against the princess, rather anything that would sell the papers. He felt for Emilia deeply. Even though he had an understanding of the level of scrutiny she was under, this felt more like an obsession, like she was a money target.
The prince stepped in and made a joke with Charlie to which everyone laughed. Emilia was grateful for the distraction and was able to thank the family for a visit before moving on to the next event on the agenda. Emilia felt the immediate presence of Harry beside her and silently whispered a quiet thank you. She received a small nod from the British prince before Emilia heard the shouting coming down from the hall.
âMy friend! Itâs my friend!â A small little girl was holding on to her IV pole as she came running down the corridor towards Harry and Emilia.
As the child came closer and closer, Emilia was both heartbroken and caught off guard to find out that she recognized the young child with her tilted purple beanie slipping off her head that revealed her hair was all gone. It was Olivia, the little sweet girl she befriended at her patronage, the Breakfast Club, a few months back. She was sitting all alone because the bullies at school did not like her shoes.
Emilia crouched down and opened her arms out to invite Olivia in for an embrace. The little girl wrapped her arms around the princess and squeezed her arms so tightly around Emilia. Closing her eyes, she heard the clicks of the cameras going off behind her capturing what should have been a private moment between them.
Emilia hugged Olivia tighter as the words crept in, blocking them out and relishing the feeling of the embrace as if she tried to convince herself it was worth the risk.
Breaking away from the embrace, Olivia stared up at the princess with her big blue eyes smiling. âDid you come here to visit me?â She innocently asked with an excited tone in her voice that made Emilia giggle.
âYes! I did!â The princess stood up from and laid eyes on what appeared to be Oliviaâs mother.
âCome sweetheart, the princess is busy at the moment. Maybe we will see her later.â Her mother reached out for her hand, but she grasped Emiliaâs instead.
âBut, mummy! My friend is here to see me!â She pleaded with her mother. âI have a drawing for her.â
Emiliaâs head turned to see Harry smiling down at her with a fond smile plastered on his lips as he silently watched the sweet, but sincere interaction. His head lifted to stare into the depth of her blue eyed gaze that looked to him for guidance. He understood what Emilia wished for in that moment, private time away from the intrusive press, but if she asked for it there would be no doubt something written about her being difficult with them the following day.
Royals do not be difficult with those promoting their causes. Smile and give them what they want.
The prince stepped in and cleared his throat, approaching Mr. Davies. âWould you like to take me on more of the tour? I would love to see more of the work you are doing here and meet some more of the families and children here if possible. Emilia will join us for the story telling session later.â Mr. Davies hesitated briefly and looked beside the prince towards Emilia who subtly nodded her approval.
âThis way, your highness.â He led the way as the press followed in behind them.
Emilia stood there holding Oliviaâs hand loosely as she watched Harry glance back over his shoulder with a small smirk at the corner of his lips. One photographer lingered behind and snapped his lens at the princess, bringing her back to the moment.
Before Emilia could speak, Tristan stepped in front of him. âSir, please join the rest of the media crew ahead. Princess Emilia has a privately planned meeting.â The photographer reluctantly left them and joined the rest up ahead, leaving Emilia alone with Olivia and her family.
âHello, I am Emilia.â The princess stretched out her hand and shook the mothers hand, greeting her warmly.
âI must apologize. I have no idea why Olivia thinks you are her friend and for her barging in like that.â Her mother attempted to apologize.
âNo no! Do not apologize.â Emilia was quick to re-assure her. âActually, she is telling the truth. We are friends, arenât we?â She glanced down at the smiling little girl. âWhy donât you take me to your room?â
âAnd this is for you!â Olivia handed the princess a drawing to which Emilia took in delicately in her hands to analyze it. It was a drawing of the two of them at breakfast that day, but both of them apparently had massive feet as she had show cased them both wearing her idea of replicas of the shoes she had worn. Their smiles stretched across their whole face, making Emiliaâs reflect the same in that moment.
âThis is so well done Olivia! Do you mind if I keep it and hang it up?â The princess gently asked. Olivia was quick nodding her head in reply.
âYou can have it! It is a drawing of our friendship.â Olivia tilted her head and gave the most proudest, sweetest smile that tugged at Emiliaâs heartstrings.
âI know what you are wondering.â Oliviaâs mother broke the moment as she gained Emiliaâs gaze upon her. âOf what happened to my little girl.â
âI do... but you donât have to tell me.â Emilia reached out and brushed the little girls beanie gently with her hand. âIn my eyes, nothing has happened. Olivia is still that sweet, adorable girl I met that day. Who is now rocking more amazing style choices just like she always has.â
Oliviaâs mother, Leah, was taken back and grew into a silent demeanour while tears quietly streamed down her cheeks. It had been months since someone had looked past her daughters diagnosis and saw Olivia for who she really was and Princess Emilia did that. Wiping away her tears subtly, she watched from a close, but far enough distance to observe her daughters interaction with the royal. But, one thing her eyes could not stray from is the smile, rather the sparkle of life that had grown in Oliviaâs eyes at the moment she saw Emilia.
Leah had read her fair share of the news that surrounded the Illyrian royal family, more so of the princess who was now sat in front of her. The media had been slamming her for nearly every blink of an eye, tearing her down. But, she witnessed another version of Emilia that was often not showcased in the news and the rare time it was, they ridiculed her for being too âcommonâ and ânot enough royal.â In reality, that made her more relatable than most people who had walked through her daughters hospital room.
ââââ
Emilia followed the sound of laughing children with Tristan in step beside her. She could hear the sound of Harryâs laughter from down the corridor that elicited a growing smile on her lips. Her feeble attempts to mask it failed miserably, she loved his laugh. Entering the room, Emilia opted to sit back and watch Harry interact with the children. Leaning up against the frame of a door she quietly kept her eyes on him, careful not to alert the media to her presence.
Harry was sitting on the tiniest chair she had ever seen, obviously meant for a child and not a grown man. But, there he was with a book in hand reading a group of children a story. He made silly faces and gave each character a different voice. Harry had the children holding their bellies in laughter, forgetting for a few minutes why they were in this hospital to begin with. They, were just being normal children the way they were supposed to be.
She sighed a breath of relief. Some piece of Emilia knew that Harry was putting on a bit of a show to show the media that it was ok to be relatable and to have fun on engagements. She deeply appreciated what he was doing for her, but in the end she knew things would never change as that small voice in the back of her head came to the forefront.
Royals do not have fun on engagements.
ââââââââ
Harry and Emilia exited the hospital after having a lovely visit at St. Theresitas. They both thanked Mr. Davies and chatted for a few minutes longer. Emilia felt Harryâs body become tense next to her and saw his jaw clench out of the corner of her eye. But, she continued the conversation with Mr. Davies.
The princess said her goodbyes only to turn around and find a swarm of paparazzi that had not been invited to attend the event, nearly pushing some of the barriers forward. The police told them to step back raising their arms up in the arm as a line of police built a barrier with their bodies, but Emilia knew exactly what was about to happen.
âPrincess Emilia, Duchess of difficult! Why did you fire your private press secretary this morning?â One of them yelled at the princess. âOr did she actually quit because you were so demanding of her?â
Of course they had found out.
A sickening feeling in the pit of Emiliaâs stomach began to grow as anxiety coursed through her body.
She felt a hand being placed on her back, settling her nerves with a simple touch. âWe should go.â Harryâs voice broke through the clicks of the sea of cameras, his hand riskily guiding her forward. He knew that placing his hand on Emilia would insinuate rumours, but her safety was at the forefront of her mind.
Emilia quietly nodded and turned on her heel to leave, settling into Harryâs guiding hand on the small of her back. Showing off a fake smile and waving one last goodbye to the people who were awaiting so patiently to see them. But, with this media circus, a walk about would not be possible for security reasons.
The sound of metal crashing and shouting caused the princess to glance back over her shoulder to see some of the barriers being knocked down and a flood of paparazzi breaking through past the officers. Emilia gasped in shock as they shoved a policeman to the ground just to get to her, a hoard of running determined photographers came at her.
Tristan turned around and looked directly in Harryâs eyes for a brief second. âGet Emilia in the car now and go!â He barked an order at the prince, hoping he had made the right choice in trusting Harry with Emiliaâs safety. There simply was not enough security to hold them back from the group rushing at her.
Emilia felt an arm wrap around from behind her and brought her body protectively into Harryâs to shield her from them. âEmilia, run.â His voice was commanding and cold. She picked up her feet as her fear drove her to run towards the vehicle that had swiftly pulled up.
Glancing back over her shoulder she nearly stopped in her tracks to see Tristan and the rest of her security team combined with Harrys attempt to hold them back just long enough to get the royals out of what had become an unsafe situation for them. Tristan grabbed someone who lunged forward, trying to break through and shoved him to the ground.
Emilia locked eyes briefly with the man as he smiled devilishly seeing the fear in the young princessâs eyes and yelled....âEmilia! Are you not royal enough? Is that why no one can stand working for you?! ARE YOU EVEN PRINCE FREDERICKS DAUGHTER?â
Those words cut deeper through her more than anything before, wounding her internally.
Harry grasped her forearm tightly and pulled her ahead with such force her arm stung with pain. âEmilia! Get in the fucking car!â He spoke to her through clenched teeth, forcefully pulling her along side of him. Not understanding why she was stalling and ultimately in fear of her safety.
He opened the back door and nearly shoved her in the back seat. âLET GO OF ME!YOU DO NOT NEED TO SHOVE ME!â She glared back at the prince who climbed in beside her and slammed the door closed in a fury of rage.
âGO!â He yelled at the driver. âI said go! Get the princess fucking out of here!â
The vehicle hastily sped off into the distance.
Emilia had not spoken a single word since they had driven away. They both sat there in silence. But, unknown to Emilia who refused to look at Harry as she looked out the window, Harryâs gaze never faltered from her.
He felt a pang of guilt when she grabbed the spot on her arm that he had gripped so tightly, wondering if he had hurt her. All he was doing was trying to protect Emilia without showing the onlookers how much he actually cared for her. He couldnât just grab her hand and interlock their fingers in an intimate gesture for fear of reprisal.
âAre you ok?â He broke through their silence, asking a question he already knew the answer too. Harry had heard the words and accusations being tossed her way. He placed his hand on top of her knee, feeling a stiff tense body that did not reciprocate his touch.
Emilia didnât acknowledge Harry. She sat there with her head resting on the window, absentmindedly watching the world go by as she was trapped in the depths of her mind, replaying the words of grandmother over.
Royals do not be irrational about their decisions
Royals do not show any displays of affection
Royals do not show emotion
Royals do not be difficult with those promoting their causes
Royals do not have fun on engagements
Royals do not cause a scene
âEmilia! Are you not royal enough? Is that why no one can stand working for you?! ARE YOU EVEN PRINCE FREDERICKS DAUGHTER?â
After everything the media had bore witness to, after seeing a side of Emilia she was hesitant to even show, all that would be reported about was the scene that had unfolded while they left the hospital.
A deep sigh was released from the princess.
âNo, Henry.â His head lifted, hearing his name roll of her tongue.
âI am not ok.â
#prince harry#phff#royalfanficcentral#fanfic#prince harry fanfic#chapter11#chapters#boundtoyouphff#harryandemilia
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bats From Holly
Charles dragged his fingers through his full hair, keeping it curled back and down to his shoulders like a black mane. His tailcoat lay discarded to the side, his toned body clearly outlined under his dark green waistcoat and white shirt. He had loosened his tie so it would not choke him while he worked.Â
Even vampires need oxygen.
âCharlie.â A smooth, seductive voice called to him from past the light in the room. âIt just struck midnight.â
Charles looked up, a small smile under his thick beard. His eyes flashed red in anticipation before returning to their usual storm grey. âThank you, Iris.â
The horned demon stepped out from the shadows in an outfit similar to Charlesâ. He thought it looked better on her but that may be because she was a very attractive demon. Even with the long horns, sharp ears, and pitch black eyes. You learn to look past those things once you get to know her. She had a demeanor that burned like ice and that was hard to dislike.Â
She put her black hair into a bun, letting some of it fall forward to cover the left side of her face. It got in the way of her wire framed glasses but itâs not as if a demon needed glasses to see properly. Iris was simply being fashionable and it worked very well for her. âAurelia will be waiting for you.â
âThen letâs not keep her waiting.â Charles signed the last paper and waved his hand. The document burst into purple flame and left behind no evidence of it being there in the first place. He put his tailcoat back on and followed Iris out of his office. âEven if she has my patience.â
âIf only you had her politeness.â Iris said, removing Charlesâ hand from her back pocket.Â
âMy daughter is shy. Not polite.â He chuckled, returning his hand to her behind. âIâve missed you.â
âI can tell.â Iris sighed but she let his hand remain. She wouldnât admit it, but she had missed him as well. His smug smile would be intolerable if she told him.
âThank you for taking care of that nuisance for me.â Charles smiled. âWish the hunters would understand that Iâm one of the good ones.âÂ
Charles Ducarte was one of the rare vampires that thanked their familiars. Even having grown up with him, Iris was not accustomed to it. âYou are welcome.â
They walked down the paneled halls of the Ducarte family castle. If they hadnât seen them over a thousand times already, they would have admired the portraits adorning the walls intermittently. There was one, in the main hall, that they did pause by for a moment. A blonde woman with high cheekbones and purple eyes smiled down at them, her fangs just barely visible. Iris bowed her head respectfully. Charles just stared at his late wife. âSabine should have been here for this.â
What do you say to your lover who still remembers and misses his wife? Iris put a hand on his shoulder. âCome on, Charlie.â
Charlie sighed and they continued their walk to Aureliaâs room. He kept his hand to himself. When they got to his daughterâs room, Iris was the one who knocked. âCome in.â
Inside the room was a little seven year old girl wearing a black dress, white tights, and hair tied in twin braids. Of course one braid was longer than the other so Iris sat behind her to fix it. âAre you ready for the Bleeding Tree, mistress?â
âYes.âÂ
Charles squatted in front of her and put shoes onto her feet. âI was very scared when it was my Howling Day. Arenât you?â
Aurelia shook her head. If her feet werenât bouncing up and down she would have seemed uninterested in what was about to happen for her.Â
âOkay then.â Charles took his daughterâs tiny hands into his and she hopped off the bed. âIâm going to lift you up for a moment, alright?â
âOkay.â
He held her in his arm and smiled at her. The sides of her lips turned up in a smile that was about as easy to see as the wings of a flying hummingbird. Once her baby fat disappeared, Aurelia would look like her mother. As if an artist had been commissioned to paint Sabine but was allowed to take liberties here and there. Give her Charlesâ storm grey eyes, black hair, and ears but keep everything else the same. âI love you, Aurelia.âÂ
âI love you, Daddy.â Her smile was easier to see this time. She really did love him. He was busy but read to her everyday. He let her sleep in his bed when there was a storm outside or if one of his demonic customers had frightened her. Aurelia had never known her mom. If you asked her to show you her parents, she would only point at Charles. This saddened him but Aurelia didnât care. She didnât know that she should.Â
âIâve got a little Howling Day present for you.â Charles said. âWould you like it now or after we return from the Bleeding Tree?â
âNow.âÂ
âI thought so.â Charles smiled and handed Aurelia to Irisâ waiting arms. From his pocket came a black necklace with a silver holly pendant. The portion where the pendant hung from the necklace was covered by silver holly berries. From the berries sprouted three leaves that looked sharp but would do no harm to its wearer.Â
After it was put on her, Aurelia took the pendant into her hand to examine it. âThank you, Daddy.â
âDo you like it?âÂ
âMhm.â She smiled. âItâs very pretty.â
âYou make it so, darling.â Charles took her tiny finger into his hand after she was set back onto the floor. âCome.â
âDo you remember your lessons, mistress?â Iris asked as they walked back the way they had come, towards the main hall.Â
âYes.â
âThen please tell me what will be happening tonight.â
âI get a familiar.â
âAnd what is a familiar?â
âA demon.â Aurelia said. She was young but not so young that she presumed that answer would be enough. âThey help you.â
âCorrect, mistress.â Iris smiled. âWell done.â
âAnd missing information.â Charles said. âNot your fault, though, Aurelia.â
âOh?â Iris raised a finely plucked eyebrow. It should be noted here that Iris didnât pluck her eyebrows. Her eyebrows grew as though they had been finely plucked because she had them grow that way. The vast majority of things listen to demons and eyebrow hair is amongst that list of obedient beings. âWhat did I neglect to teach Mistress Aurelia?â
âTheyâre friends.â Charles said. âYour familiar is your friend, darling. Theyâll be there for you whenever you need it. Even when you donât know you need them, a familiar will be there.â He looked at Sabineâs portrait as they passed it and added softly, âMost of them, at least, will.â
âFriend.â Aurelia nodded solemnly, hardly giving her mother a passing glance. She knew who it was; Charles had made sure of that. But Aurelia was too young to care for anyone she didnât know. When she grew older sheâd miss the mother she had for the briefest of moments. For now, though, Sabine was just a beautiful woman in a painting that looked a lot like Aurelia.
She followed her dad into their castle courtyard. It was long enough where an average man would be lightly panting after taking a light jog across it and half as wide. Full, vibrant green grass, dusted by the orange leaves falling from the trees sparsley planted in the courtyard, filled the majority of the space. The leaves crunched as two large footsteps and a small one smothered them on a journey towards the middle of the courtyard. The place where the Bleeding Tree grew.Â
All Vampire Lords had a Bleeding Tree on their land. Should a minor vampire need one, theyâd need to gain the favor of the local lord. Appointments would have to be made and kept, along with a small fee. It was a hassle. Fortunately for minor vampires, they hardly ever needed a Bleeding Tree after they got their familiar.
Bleeding Trees didnât occur naturally in the world. Well. They were made from a tree that did occur naturally: Holly. Should you want a Bleeding Tree, all youâd have to do is stake a mortal man through his heart and deep into the tree during a new moon. Have a vampire drink from the manâs blood while 12 other vampires recited the appropriate spells. The tree wouldnât change in appearance after the ceremony was over, save for a gaping hole that would never close. It would bleed blood, human blood, for as long as it stood. Luckily for mortal men, there isnât a high demand for Bleeding Trees. Itâs easier, even with the hassle, to just go to your local Vampire Lord and use the one they had.
âReady, my love?â Charles asked, approaching the Bleeding Tree with Aureliaâs hand still held in his. Iris remained back, hands in her pockets and eyes on her master and his child.Â
âMhm.â Aurelia nodded.Â
âThen repeat after me.â Charles said. âItâll only work if both of us say the words.â
That wasnât true. There isnât even a spell that was needed. The Bleeding Tree could see into their hearts and know what they wanted. But it was more fun this way.
âOkay, Daddy.â
âDamned are the Lords Draculae Fathered our fathers then cast unto hell From beyond the fiery gates they watch us still Sending fiendish guardians to serve their kinâ
Aurelia dutifully repeated each line after her father then waited in the silence that followed. She disliked the silence for a split second only because the noise began right after. Once it started, she missed the quiet. This sound was unbearable and was forcing her into squeezing Charlesâ hand tightly while tears burst from her eyes. Youâd die if you were forced into listening to the howls of the damned. Little Aurelia, age seven, was getting a glimpse of the Hell her ancestors were from and all she did was cry and hold onto her daddy.Â
Aurelia is a vampire so it isnât fair to compare. Still. You ought to be slightly ashamed for being such a coward that youâd die from a little bit of screaming.
Suddenly hundreds of bats burst from the bleeding hole of the tree and swarmed the two. They didnât touch them but the wind from their beating wings made Charlesâ and Aureliaâs hair fly in every direction.Â
âMaster Ducarte!â The Holly Bats screeched in unison, their combined voice sounding like the shattering of glass in a cathedral. âMistress Aurelia!â
âGreetings.â Charles bowed his head and squeezed Aureliaâs hand so sheâd do the same.
âHi.â Aurelia said meekly. Iris had said this would happen and it hadnât scared her. She had been mistaken.Â
âReach a hand out, Darling Aurelia.â The Holly Bats screamed. âInto the Bleeding Tree.â
Aurelia looked to Charles for assurance and it was given to her in the form of a nod, a smile, and the letting go of her hand. Darling Aurelia took three timorous steps towards the Bleeding Tree, the bats slightly parting for her. The blood oozing from the tree looked fresh despite it being five hundred years, at least, since it was created. Telling herself that vampires shouldnât be sickened by blood, Aurelia stood on her tippy-toes and squeezed her hand into the hole. The smell of iron and brimstone assaulted her.
âPull, Darling Aurelia!â The Holly Bats screamed louder. âYour servant awaits to hear your first order! Pull!â
She felt a warm hand take hers. She jumped, startled, but didnât let go. After looking back to Charles and getting more assurance, just a smile this time, Aurelia pulled. It was easier than expected. Like taking the top most cookie from the jar. The ease of it made her fall back onto her butt with a demon familiar on top of her. The Holly Bats disappeared, the howling stopped, and there was silence in Castle Ducarte.
The demon was slightly taller than Aurelia but just as skinny. Had pitch black eyes, like Iris, and black hair that was buzzed close to his scalp. Instead of horns portruding from his forehead, he had tusks jutting out from his jaw. They were small and blunted but they would grow to be threateningly sharp when he grew older. âHello, mistress.â The demon boy said, scrambling up to his feet and holding his hand out.Â
âHello.â Aurelia took his help and stood up. She smiled shyly. âIâm Aurelia. You donât have to call me mistress.â
The boy frowned at that but nodded. An order was an order. âOkay, Aurelia.â
âWhatâs your name?â
The boy looked around, looking twice at Charles and Iris, before returning his attention to Aurelia. He smiled between his tusks. âJudas.â
-Saha
0 notes
Text
Homemade, 50-Year-Old Fuel Motor Roars Back To Life
The Big Banger Theory
Fueler.
Improbable survival stories are standard equipment around here. HOT ROD Deluxe is known for telling resurrection tales that defy all odds and logic. Some of those story ideas surely wouldâve been rejected outright by skeptical editors as borderline unbelievable, had photographic evidence not undeniably documented a journey from distant past to survivor. Forget âborderlineâ; this is one backyard project thatâs been unreal from the very start, when a retired machinist began building his racing engine, literallyâa gigantic four-banger that once again cackles with nitromethaneâa half-century later.
If that already sounds unbelievable, prepare to suspend disbelief long enough to hear the rest of the story. The happy ending depicted by these current photos followed decades of neglect, disassembly, and even theft that couldâve, wouldâve, and certainly shouldâve written a far sadder story. The magical intervention of a young Springfield, Oregon, engine builder was the last link in a long chain of unlikely coincidencesâor was it something else?
âI feel like Grandpa led me to him,â says Carol Stange, a since-retired meter reader for the Springfield Utility Board in Oregon whose monthly route included a joint named Timâs Muscle Cars. Sheâd never met or even seen anyone on the grounds until the day she spied an old Lyndwood dragster chassis out front. As a lifelong gearhead from Long Beach, California, whose grandfather had exposed the whole family to nearby Lions Drag Strip, Carol couldnât resist knocking on the office door. When nobody answered, she walked inside and to the back of the building, following male voices.
âA buddy and I were painting his GTO in my spray booth,â Tim Riel recalls. âWe both had respirators on. I thought, âWow, this lady has a lot of nerve, walking up to a couple of strangers wearing masks!ââ Tim and Carol agree that their introductory conversation began something like this:
âHi, I saw your dragster out front. My grandfather had one of those.â
âOh, yeah?â
âYeah, in the mid-1960s. He built his own engine. Car Craft wrote about it.â
âIs your grandpa Byron Barnes?â
Imagine Carolâs shock, hearing a total stranger utter the name of her late grandfather. âI followed him up to the front office, where Tim had a big stack of magazines. He went right to the issue and pulled it out. I said, âYeah, thatâs the article.â I couldnât believe this was happening! Tim seemed intrigued that the chassis survived, was still in the family, and was here in Oregon.â
A magazine published seven years before Tim Riel was born just happened to be among several milk crates of âmoldy, smelly, old paperâ that heâd recently purchased from a swap-meet vendor. Tim and his machinist father, Rod Riel, had been going through the pile that very week. âWe kept coming back to that Car Craft and that one article. We couldnât get over how much work went into the engine. It still amazes me. This guy not only made his own engine parts; first, he had to design and build the tooling to make them. Everything had to be perfectly aligned for those pistons to go up and down. Even with todayâs technology, not many people wouldâor even couldâdo what her grandpa did 50 years ago.â
So, as an engineering exercise, this project was pretty hard to beat; as a race car, not so much. In fact, it never got past the testing stage. When the late, great writer A.B. Shuman submitted his tech story around March 1967, Byron had run the rail twice. First time out, injected on nitro, netted âa quite respectable 120 mph in eleven seconds, shutting off at the halfway mark and coasting through the traps,â CC reported. Switching to dual Weber carbs and, presumably, gasoline for a second try, there was another half-pass of 129 mph but no e.t reported by Shuman. Gifford Barnes counts three trips to Lions Drag Strip with his dad, all plagued by bogging off the line: âHe couldnât get the fuel system right,â he explains. âAfter the car stumbled, it really charged, but Mickey [Okahara, the driver] couldnât get away clean.â The wide variety of used parts visible in photos and recovered by Tim Riel point to additional experimentation, as does the only time slip left behind. On the back is scrawled, â50% nitro.â If, in fact, the indicated 8.74 and 164 were recorded by this car, it wouldâve been one of the swiftest four-bangers of the eraâbut not competitive for the type of racing Byron initially envisioned.
Considering how many years one old guy, working alone, needed to bring this engine, particularly, plus a homebuilt chassis all the way from conception to completionâthe crankshaft alone required 30 days, according to CCâitâs hardly surprising that classification rules would evolve. The article cites so-called âjunior fuelersâ for Byronâs inspiration. After Lions bowed out of the fuel ban in 1962, that unofficial term came to be loosely applied to single-engined, normally aspirated dragsters burning nitromethane and/or methanol, regardless of engine type or size. Those not quick enough to qualify for Top Fuel Eliminator mightâve run Top Gas or amongst themselves. Byronâs decision to make his sheetmetal cylinder block tall enough to displace either 353 or 392 ci hardly seems coincidental at a time when 354 and 392 Chryslers were fashionable. Some injected Chevys were poked ânâ stroked to 358 and even 389 cubes.
By the time Byron was ready to go, Lions had banished fuel burners from Top Gas and created an official Junior Fuel category for unblown engines no larger than 310 cubes. Bigger motors moved into either C/Fuel Dragster (up to 350 ci) or B/FD (to 400 ci), both of which were dominated by small-inch, blown Hemis and Chevys. No wonder Byron lost interest in 1968 or â69 and parked this car. Indeed, but for one old magazine article and however few firsthand witnesses remain, nearly nobody would know it ever existed.
Getting back to Timâs Muscle Cars, the Springfield meter reader regularly returned to share leisurely lunch breaks and talk shop. âAll I knew was that the bare chassis was hanging in her uncleâs barn,â Tim says. âCarol never got over there to take pictures. I told her that Iâd be interested in buying whatever was left.â
âOh, yeah, he bugged me for over a year,â Carol confirms, laughing. âHeâd say, âCan I just go see it, please?â I didnât want to bug my uncle Giff just so someone could look up in his rafters. But my family always hoped to get Grandpaâs dragster running. My cousin Frank, Giffâs son, started on that about 20 years ago. He took the car apart, spread the parts out on the bench, but it never went back together. When I finally called to tell my uncle Iâd met a young guy with his own engine shop who might want to buy the car, Giff said, âNope, he canât buy it. If you really think heâll do something with it, tell him to come get it.'â
What Carol didnât know at the time was that thieves had recently removed critical components from Giffâs unlocked boat barn and sold them for scrap. Luckily, her uncle and cousin noticed parts missing in time to track down the metals dealer before he got around to melting or reselling most, though the rare quick-change rearend was already gone. They went to court to recover what remained and prevailed, eventually.
âAll I expected to get was a chassis, or part of one,â Tim says. âI planned to look for dragster parts at swap meets, maybe put in an early Hemi or small-block. Carolâs mom, uncle, aunt, cousin, brother, and sister were all there to say goodbye to Grandpaâs dragster. I walked into this big metal shed with a huge fishing boat on one side. I couldnât believe my eyes. Byronâs short-block was sitting on a crate. Piles of parts were on the floor. Both M&H slicks were still mounted on Halibrands. The original parachute was hanging from the rafters. We found the complete clutch assembly and can, all the mag body panels, even a firesuit. After everything was laid out at home the next day, I was amazed by how complete the car was. I saw it as a giant erector set, minus the rearend and some small pieces that my dad and I could probably make. We were lucky to have the Car Craft for reference.
âI was worried that Byronâs two children wouldnât be around long enough to see it get done,â he adds. âIâd made them a promise to try, but Giffâs health was not good. He and his sister, Carolâs mom, were in their eighties. This was important. I wanted that engine to run again, on nitro. I really got into it.â
He sure did, gradually assembling the erector set most nights and weekends for eight months, in between engine work for patient patrons of Timâs Muscle Cars. When he proudly unveiled the sum of those parts, Byronâs descendants were there to witness the resurrection of a father and grandfather, along with an old dragster. âWe were all in tears,â Tim admits.
âTo me, itâs just amazing how things worked out,â says Carol Stange, the fearless meter reader whose knock on one door opened so many more. âIt was fun, and I just felt like it was meant to be.â
The all-homemade engine was designed to displace either 353 or 392 ci, depending on crankshaft selection. To minimize weight, designer-builder Byron Barnes settled on four cylinders (versus eight), a sheetmetal crankcase (versus cast iron), and valves in the block (versus overhead). Note the 3-inch offset, to counteract torque.
Both the dragster and the former Romania Chevrolet store were operational in the 1960s. Despite its lengthy wheelbase of 152 inches and maze of suspension tubing, the car weighed just 710 pounds, wet.
Everything orange was powdercoated by McKenzie Chrome Plating (Springfield, Oregon). All four wheels and tires are original. After the original mag body was ruined by a careless sandblasterâand Tim Riel was quoted a price of $3,500 per magnesium sheetâbuddy Les Schoonover (Springfield) replicated the cowl and side panels in aluminum.
Restorer-caretaker Tim Riel estimates that no fewer than 100 pieces of sheet steel were welded together to create the 116-pound bare block.
Byron Barnes obviously had his own ideas about weight transfer, probably influenced by his oval-track history. He formed the fuel tank by cutting and merging two military-surplus water kettles engraved with the words âU.S. Army.â
The aluminum cover contains the coolant sitting on top of four individual cylinder heads. Water enters through the open hole (which still lacks a pressure cap to replace the tiny original). Boiling water exits through the overflow tube. Mike Maher did the pinstriping and lettering. The rear-main seal is a small-block Chevy item.
The parachute, M&H 8.20-15 Racemasters, and magnesium Halibrand wheels are original. The Portland Swap Meet produced a virtual duplicate of the stolen rearend assembly, including Halibrand champ-car quick-change, that fit perfectly.
Rod Riel, Timâs machinist dad, reproduced one of the Anglia-style spindles and some missing suspension pieces on his CNC machines. The shocks are Volkswagen. The aluminum fuel line is original.
The custom tri-drive system is a work of art. A spur gear on the crank runs the cam, which drives the Bendix Mini-Mag, Hilborn fuel pump, and a Ford six-cylinder oil pump at the bottom that fills a custom dry-sump pan. A piece of leather that seals the timing cover to the crankcase is the closet thing to a gasket in the entire engine. Byron even built his own injectors. The original velocity stacks and Hilborn barrel valve survived, but not the exhaust flange and headers, which Rod Riel replicated. Since our photo session, Tim has completed the complicated linkage and added a mini-starter to the front of the crank. Previously, he hand-operated the throttle with a long rod connecting the individual injectors and fired the engine on a stand, since none of the Riels can squeeze into the cockpit for push starting.
Since stumbling onto this photography location in Eugene, Oregon, weâve learned that the former home of Lew Williams and, later, Joe Romania Chevrolet is infamous for 2000 and 2001 arson attacks by local âecoterroristsâ targeting gas guzzlers. In the first incident, three light trucks collectively valued at $28,000 were torched by activists who happened to be under surveillance by a terrorism task force that night. Nine months later, a different gang set fire to 35 new Suburbans and Tahoes worth $959,000. The Chevy store was sold shortly thereafter and ultimately closed in 2005 when the University of Oregon purchased the prime, four-and-a-half-acre property adjoining the campus for storage. The wooden panels were installed after rock-throwing vandals found the original glass irresistible.
Machinistsâ Union
It took a father-son team of master machinists in Long Beach, California, to create this engine, and it took another to restore it to running condition, a half-century later and 900 miles north. The shared experience has tightly bonded the Barnes-Garwood and Riel families to this day.
Gifford Barnes, 86, machined the individual cylinder heads for his late dadâs engine. He inherited Byronâs last race car in 1981 and stored it for 34 years. The Barnes-Garwood family photo album produced a rare 1930s snapshot of father and son together.
Kay Barnes Garwood, 84, is Byronâs daughter. Nearly eight decades after posing with the family dog and midget at home in Long Beach, she lives with daughter Linda Garwood (left) in Port Orford, Oregon.
Tim and Jan Riel rescued and revived their rail with invaluable assistance from Rod Riel (left), a semiretired CNC machinist. Its new home is Timâs Muscle Cars, a restoration and engine shop in Springfield, Oregon.
Social Media, Old School
For 400 years before digital devices connected us senders and receivers, magazines did that job. This one still does, albeit with a time delay measured in months or years, not nanoseconds. You know the drill: HOT ROD Deluxe publishes an article or column or photo caption that thrills/irritates you into sending love letters/hate mail. Correspondence deemed worthy of print shows up in stores and mailboxes two or three issues later to thrill/irritate fellow readers. See, just like Facebook posts, minus fake news.
Despite modern production technology, âslickâ magazines still take forfrigginâever to print, bind, and transport, as youâve undoubtedly noticed. Our bimonthly infrequency automatically puts HRD another month behind the monthlies. If youâre reading this on the West Coast, add another week for trains and trucks to move the bundles all the way from the Midwest, where most of Americaâs ink gets spilled. Finally, your copy shows up in, say, Springfield, Oregon. Reading from front to back (as editors and the good Lord intended), you eventually get to a couple of 50-year-old, unpublished outtakes from a 1968 Car Craft story. The caption asks if any reader knows what happened to an obscure race car that vanished 15 years before you were born, a car that happens to be parked in your shop.
Reader Tim Riel responded almost as soon as his heart settled back into his chest. Editor Hardin couldnât wait to print the letter and photos Tim sent of the restored rail. Meanwhile, though, another issueâs bimonthly production cycle came and went, delaying publication by one more edition. When the car reappeared in color in January 2016âs Scrapbook section, Mr. Ed. promised in print to send contributor Dave Wallaceâwho claimed a personal connection to its builderâto shoot a proper feature. In consideration of the Northwestâs notorious rainy season, we postponed that photo session until the late spring. Finally, the Byron Barnes rail returns to these pages, completing a print conversation started nearly two years agoâif not 50 years ago this December, when Petersen Publishing Company staffers Bob Swaim and A.B. Shuman visited the car both at home and at Lions Drag Strip.
Original Car Craft article, June 1968
From HRDâs âThe Golden Age Of Drag Racing,â September 2015
From HRDâs letters section, January 2016
Shortly after Tim Rielâs letter and photos appeared in HRD, another stranger showed up at Timâs Muscle Cars. He told Tim that, as a kid, he lived in Byronâs neighborhood and helped clean out the home shop after Mr. and Mrs. Barnes died weeks apart in 1981. He was given the blueprint as a souvenir. He thought it belonged with the race car. Sure enough, these cockpit measurements match. Byron evidently purchased a partial kit from little-known H&L Metals. Tim was so stunned by the gift that he never got a name. Heâs hopeful that the generous mystery man will see this and identify himself to HRDâextending the series of old-school, ink-on-paper âpostsâ described above.
Lost And Found
On the snowy morning in January 2014 that Tim and Rod Riel dragged a trailer to the Oregon coast, a bare chassis was all they expected to find. Imagine their surprise!
For the first time, Tim Riel laid his handsâand eyesâon the remnants of a chassis heâd seen only in a Car Craft issue printed four years before he was born.
Carol Garwood Stange (right) is the retired Oregon meter reader who put Tim Riel (left) together with Grandpaâs slingshot. Her big sister, Linda Garwood, held up the nose while their uncle Giff supervised.
The rotating assembly stayed inside of Byronâs sheetmetal block since he last ran the car, circa 1968-69. Three types of steel were pressed together, then arc-welded with titanium-nickel rod, to form a hollow crankshaft with a 4.5-inch stroke.
Gifford Barnes machined the individual cylinder heads so precisely that they seal to the sheet-steel crankcase without gaskets. His dad used 40 capscrews made of aircraft-grade titanium, likely left over from one of Byronâs aerospace projects. All but a few of the original fasteners were located, cleaned up, and reinstalled by Tim Riel. Threaded tubes around the spark plugs prevent coolant from grounding out the plugs.
The camshaft is hollow. Byron fused individual lobes onto the tube, then had Iskenderian grind them to deliver 230 degrees of duration with 0.400-inch lift. âThe cam wasnât even in the engine, so I had no idea about where to degree it or set the lash,â Tim says. âThe drive gear is slotted about 70 degrees where the bolt goes, for advance and retard. So I called and talked to Iskyâs son, who remembered Ed playing cards with Byron. He said his dad would call after he got back from lunch. I thought, âOh, sure, like Ed Iskenderian is gonna personally call some little engine builder in the middle of nowhere.â That same afternoon, I answer the phone, and Mr. Isky says, âOld man Barnes still owes me 40 bucks from our weekly card game!â He said heâd look around and let me know if he found anything. About two weeks later, I get a box with the original cam card with all of the specs, a new set of valvesprings, and a handwritten note: âBest wishes, Ed Iskenderian.'â
Jahns Pistons cast five of these aluminum, 5-inch-diameter monsters in the wooden mold. Byron finish-machined four to arrive at 10:1 compression. He also made five 4130 chrome-moly connecting rods, welding the ends to the tubular beams. This spare was never run.
The worn main bearings proved to be the most difficult replacement parts to find, plus the most expensive. Because all crank journals are identical, Tim had to spend $1,200 on five complete sets of obsolete aircraft bearings to get the five pieces. An old-timer at Federal-Mogul successfully cross-referenced the original part numbers by searching old paper catalogs. The valvetrain combines original, slipper-style lifters with Chrysler Hemi springs, retainers, and locks.
Everything here was formed from steel. First, though, Byron had to make wooden or cardboard templates for each piece, then construct a flame-cutting rig with a tracing stylus at one end and an oxy-acetylene cutting torch at the other. The intake and exhaust ports are two pieces of steel stampings, welded together. Also note the six water jackets per cylinder.
The original, giant 2-5/8-inch intake and exhaust valves are stainless heads on chrome-moly stems.
Half a century after this big banger first went together, itâs as good as new, plus much prettier. Of many missing parts reproduced by the Riels, the most difficult to design were the spur gears and shaft driving the magneto and fuel and oil pumps. In some old photos of the engine wearing Weber carbs, the two-hole bracket contained a different mag and a coil.
Who Was Byron Barnes?
This writer should know, having met him a few times in the mid-1970s. We even lived on the same Huntington Beach street for a while, yet I never really knew the man. Among my regrets is not spending more time in the large shop behind his house on Old Pirates Lane that held both the Hudson heâd customized and his fully assembled slingshot, covered in dusty plastic. I was introduced by my then-girlfriend as the editor of Drag News, but to him I was the longhair sleeping with his beloved granddaughter, Carol Garwoodânow Carol Stange, the retired Oregon meter reader responsible for connecting his last race car to the young guy destined to rescue and restore it.
Byronâs family revealed that he was born in 1907 in Nebraska. In 1911, his parents moved to Long Beach. At age 16, Byronâs first homebuilt hot rod got him arrested and jailed. Since his dad was then running for city council, the folks shipped him offshore to herd goats on San Clemente Island until the election was over. He and a buddy later assembled an airplane that Byron flew before building and driving his first midget. When World War II halted auto racing, he worked for Douglas Aircraft Company as a mechanicsâ instructor and design engineer developing tooling for the B-17 bomber. In the mid-1950s, Byron designed, built, and patented oil field equipment that enabled an early retirement. For the next 25 years, he indulged automotive passions ranging from the dragster and Hudson custom to off-road racing with local pals Bill Stroppe and Parnelli Jones.
Though Byron could likely afford any new car, I saw him driving Ford Pintos exclusively. Rather than bother changing fluids, heâd torture an engine until it rattled or smoked, swap motors in an afternoon, then perform an autopsy on the dead player. (The same boat shed that stored the dragsterâs engine held another big surprise for Tim Riel: âThere mustâve been 70 Pinto 2000- and 2300cc motors stacked up in there!â) Byronâs last daily driver was reportedly returning nearly 50 mpg when emphysema ended an incredible journey in April 1981, just shy of his 74th birthday.
Byron (right) was also a pilot. During the Depression, he earned money repairing and reselling crashed planes. Neither his son nor daughter recognized the other dapper dude.
The crowd at San Diegoâs Balboa Stadium illustrates the huge popularity of midget racing before WWII and immediately after, until free competition from television kept people home on weekends. The fourth car back appears to be Byronâs.
This flathead is thought to be the first that Byron built from scratch, during the 1930s. It disappeared with a fast-talking salesman who promised to take it from track to track, nationwide, and write orders for production copies. Byron also constructed a DOHC prototype that might be the motor pictured in his wrecked racer. Historian Greg Sharp tells us that more than 100 different engine types powered midgets, all limited to 105 ci.
A page from Byronâs logbook documents eight events in five weeks at L.A.âs Gilmore and Atlantic Boulevard Stadium tracks during the summer of 1939.
Unlike most midgets of the era, Byronâs looked as good as they ran.
Gifford Barnes doesnât know whether this could be his dadâs overhead cammer, but itâs the only DOHC engine shot in the family scrapbook.
Evidence that Byronâs hot rods attracted hot drivers includes this steamy shot of a guy recognized by historian Greg as Mel Hansen, âa big-name midget driver who qualified six times for the Indy 500, with a best finish of eighth.â
The forward-leaning positions of both drivers suggest this to be the moment of impact after Byronâs unknown shoe spun. Weâre guessing that the background cars belonged to the two workers behind the wall.
The dragsterâs finished block and crank are shown in the Long Beach shop where Byron handbuilt his last racing engine. The Barnes-Garwood family still owns the building on Signal Hill. Appropriately, itâs currently leased to a company making parts for Smart cars.
In the early 1970s, granddaughter Carol paid $100 for this Northern California barn find. It was original and complete except for a front seat. Once Carol got the engine running, her mom drove the 400-plus miles home to Long Beach sitting on a crate. Never content to follow a crowd, Grandpa Barnes hopped up the straight eight and built himself the only Hudson custom weâve ever seen.
The post Homemade, 50-Year-Old Fuel Motor Roars Back To Life appeared first on Hot Rod Network.
from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/homemade-50-year-old-fuel-motor-roars-back-life/ via IFTTT
0 notes