#i might be a little drunk. but this image. made me nearly cry laughing at it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyogonokitsune · 4 years ago

Text

longing -- suna rintarou x reader

college!au, tw alcohol use, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of angst, some smut at the end because I can’t fucking help myself 🥴 (oral -- m and f receiving, choking, creampie, cockwarming hnnff)

11,600 words

“Hey, ‘Samu, I gotta go lie down.” You had to practically yell to hear yourself over the music blaring from the speakers. Osamu was less than two feet from you, but you might as well have been yelling from a mile away.

“Huh?”

“I said I gotta go—fuck! Where’s your room?” You had to speak directly into his ear to make yourself understood; Osamu leaned in close to respond to you.

You hadn’t had that much to drink, but the atmosphere of the party was wearing you down. The insanely loud music and the crush of so many sweaty bodies were starting to give you a headache, and you were in desperate need of a quiet place to recharge. Most of the people were crowded into the living areas of the house, so you decided to escape to your friend’s upstairs bedroom to catch your breath.

You shut his door behind you, muffling the sounds of the party downstairs, and laid down on the bed, closing your eyes. Even here, you could feel the bass pounding in your head.

The door opened then, but when you lifted your head to look, it wasn’t Osamu standing in the room. You groaned; you definitely were not in the mood to deal with a random guy.

“Can I help you?” you asked in a hard voice, sitting up to look at him better.

“Can I help you?” he replied, utterly deadpan. He walked over to the desk in the corner and plugged his phone into a charger, his back facing you. “You’re in my room.”

“What? This is Osamu’s room.”

“’Samu’s room is the last door on the left. This is the last one on the right.” He turned around to look at you, his expression indifferent.

Your eyes widened as you realized your mistake, quickly hopping off his bed. “I’m so sorry! I must have misheard him. I just needed to get away from there,” you explained, gesturing towards the door.

He smirked at you. “Too much to drink?”

“No, there are just too many people down there, felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

His expression softened at your words. “Yeah, that’s why I came up here, too.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” you said, moving towards the door.

“You’re Osamu and Atsumu’s friend, right?” he said, stopping you. “They said one of their old friends was gonna come over tonight.”

Your hand dropped from the doorknob as you nodded, telling him your name.

“I’m Suna,” he said.

“Oh! You went to high school with them, right? They’ve told me about you.”

“Nothing good, I bet,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a grin.

“Almost all good things,” you responded truthfully.

“’Almost’”, he repeated, a low laugh escaping him. Suna watched you for a moment, looking as if he was thinking about something. “You can hang out here, if you want,” he said, motioning for you to sit back on the bed as he pulled out his desk chair. “As long as you don’t puke on anything.”

“I told you, I didn’t drink that much!” you huffed, but you sat down all the same. You had wanted to get away from all the noisy people downstairs, but this guy seemed laidback enough that he wouldn’t make your headache worse; besides, you were interested in talking to someone who had known the twins in high school.

Suna put on a playlist from his phone, setting the volume just loud enough to block out the house music blasting from downstairs. “You’ve known them a while, yeah?”

You nodded. “Since we were kids, but I didn’t go to Inarizaki with them.”

“Good call.”

“They’re not that bad!” you laughed. “Don’t tell them this, but I actually missed seeing them every day, so it’s nice that we ended up going to the same university.”

“Maybe I will tell them that, then they’ll spend more time harassing you instead of me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You both laughed then, before falling into an easy silence. You shifted to get more comfortable on his bed, crossing your legs underneath you.

“Do you not like parties?” you asked.

“They’re alright,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m not too crazy about having ten thousand strangers in my house, though.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head. “Yeah, what’s fun about having random drunk people sweating all over you? I’d rather just hang out with a few friends, ya know?”

He snorted. “Hopefully it’ll be more like that in the future, but Atsumu really wanted to throw a big party for the start of the semester.”

You couldn’t help rolling your eyes. “He just wanted to introduce himself to as many girls as possible.”

“Yeah, that was his not-so-secret motive.”

There was another pause. Suna scrolled through his phone, searching for something.

“You wanna see some embarrassing photos of the twins?”

“Yes, absolutely I do.”

He grinned, unplugging his phone to come sit next to you on the bed. He leaned in close, tilting his screen so you could see it. “Oh, here’s a good one,” he said, trying to suppress a smile as he showed you a picture of Osamu lying face down on the ground. “He tripped when we were jogging, completely ate shit.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the image, especially with Atsumu in the foreground holding up a peace sign over his brother’s body.

Most of the photos were of the two of them fighting; having grown up with the twins, it was a little comforting to see that they acted the same around their new friends as they always had with you. You felt somewhat nostalgic at the thought.

Suna paused on a closeup photo of Atsumu, his eyes red and puffy as he tried to swat the camera away. “Ah, this was after he got rejected by a girl and he swore he wasn’t crying.”

“Oh my god, I totally remember that day!” you said, laughing hard. “’Samu called me, begging me to talk some sense into ’Tsumu because he kept whining about being turned down.”

“Seriously? God, knowing that makes this so much better,” Suna said, a crooked grin on his face.

“Please don’t tell him I told you that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

He showed you nearly three years’ worth of pictures, pausing at the memorable ones to tell you the stories behind them. It was easy talking to him; you felt able to laugh naturally and relax around him despite being strangers, something that you weren’t able to do with most people you just met.

You didn’t realize how long you and Suna had been talking until you felt your phone buzzing in your pocket; seeing that it was a call from Osamu, you answered it.

“Y/n, did you leave?”

You were surprised by the panicky note in his voice. “No, I told you I was going upstairs.”

“Yeah? Well where the fuck are ya, ’cause I’m standing in my room and you’re not in here.”

“I’m in Suna’s room—”

Before you could finish your sentence, you heard footsteps stomp across the hall and the door flew open.

“What the hell are ya doing in here?” Osamu asked, still holding his phone up to his cheek.

“We’re fucking, obviously,” Suna deadpanned. You giggled, but Osamu didn’t look amused.

“I got the rooms mixed up, ’Samu,” you explained, getting up off the bed. “Suna’s just been telling me about your time in high school.”

“Oh, great,” Osamu said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s late, you want me to walk ya back to your dorm?”

“Can you even walk, or are you too drunk?”

“It’s Atsumu you should be worried about. He fell asleep on the couch downstairs.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you laughed. You made your way over to Osamu, turning at the door to address Suna. “It was nice talking to you, I guess I’ll see you around.”

He was scrolling through his phone again, only giving you a brief disinterested glance. “Yeah, see you.”

You poked your head into Osamu’s room, only to find that it was empty. It was a little disappointing; you had been hoping to hang out with him for a bit, since you hadn’t had time to see much of him that week, but if he wasn’t around there was nothing to be done about it. The book you had borrowed from him a few weeks ago was already in your hand, so you placed it on his desk and turned to leave.

Stepping back into the hallway, you noticed that the door across from Osamu’s was open. You casually glanced inside as you walked past, catching Suna’s eye from where he sat in front of his laptop.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he parroted as he took his headphones off his ears.

“I came by to return a book that Osamu lent me, but I guess he’s not around.”

“I think he’s meeting with a professor.”

“Ah.” You fell silent, and Suna turned his attention back to his laptop. “What are you reading?” you asked.

He looked up again, his expression a little sheepish. “You’re gonna think it’s boring.”

“Try me.”

He sighed. “It’s an article analyzing the influence of Shakespeare’s histories on English nationalism.”

Your face brightened as you spoke. “That was published last week, right? I bookmarked that so I could read it when I got the chance.”

Suna looked surprised at your response, his eyes widening slightly. “It’s pretty interesting so far.”

“I have to say, though, you didn’t strike me as the type to be into that kind of stuff,” you said, just a hint of a teasing tone in your voice.

His expression was blank again as he responded, “Well, I am a literature major.”

“So am I!” you said, smiling at him as you walked into his room and leaned against his desk. “I don’t think we have any classes together, though.”

“It’s a big school.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You paused, thinking of a way to keep the conversation going. “What’s your favorite Shakespeare play?”

Suna glanced up at the ceiling, bottom lip rolling between his teeth as he thought. “I guess I’d say Hamlet. There’s just so much shit going on.”

“Ah, so you love the drama of it all,” you laughed. “I think it’s a tie between Hamlet and Macbeth for me. The twist at the end is just—” you cut yourself off to do a chef’s kiss, prompting Suna to laugh a little.

“‘Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped’, such a raw line.”

“Yes, exactly!” You were beaming at him, happy to learn that you shared a common interest. Over the course of the last few weeks since you first met Suna, you hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know him, despite him being your best friends’ roommate. He usually kept to himself, and on the few occasions when he joined you and the twins to play video games or get dinner together, he didn’t talk much. He seemed like a naturally reserved person, and as you remembered this, you felt a small pang of guilt for disturbing him.

“Well, I’ll let you finish that article,” you said, getting off his desk and making for the door.

His voice stopped you before you could leave. “You can hang out here until Osamu gets back, if you want.” You turned to face him, a little surprised.

“You sure? I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he said. “I can finish this whenever.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling like this was a rare invitation coming from him. Your heart beat a little faster at the thought.

“Have you ever seen ‘Scotland, PA’?” you asked.

“Nope.”

“It’s an adaptation of Macbeth that takes place in a fast food restaurant.”

“Yeah?” he snorted, a grin appearing on his face. “You wanna watch it?” Before you could answer, he was unplugging his headphones and bringing his laptop over to you.

“Sure, if you want to,” you told him, feeling like you were really lucking out.

Suna sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, patting the spot at his side as he started searching for the movie. You sat down next to him, careful to leave a space between you.

When you watched movies with Atsumu and Osamu, their incessant talking usually got on your nerves pretty quickly, but you found that you didn’t mind listening to Suna’s comments. Watching the film together seemed to make any lingering awkwardness between you two disappear, and before long you were laughing and leaning into each other.

“Oh, I hate this part!” you groaned when you reached a certain scene, turning to press your face into Suna’s shoulder.

“Jesus, that’s fucked up,” he chuckled, grimacing as Duncan’s character fell face-first into a deep fryer.

“Then why are you laughing!” you said, lifting your head, but you couldn’t keep your own laughter from bubbling up in your chest. Suna gave you a crooked grin, your reaction only making him laugh harder.

“Oi, Sunarin! You got a girl in there or something?” Osamu’s voice floated in through the open door, his head appearing a moment later. His eyes widened when he spotted you. “What the hell are ya doin’ here?”

“Hello to you, too, ’Samu,” you said dryly. “I came here to return your book, but you were too busy to see me, I guess.”

“Took ya long enough,” he grumbled, but he grinned at you all the same. “I’m starving, you wanna grab something to eat?”

“Yeah, later,” you said, turning to look at Suna. “There’s still a bit left in this movie, you wanna finish it now?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a little surprised that you’d postpone hanging out with your friend to finish the movie with him.

“Ugh, fiiiine,” Osamu groaned, rolling his eyes at you, “guess I’ll go shower, then. But don’t take too long, I’m so fuckin’ hungry.”

“Maaaan, I can’t wait until this semester’s over,” Atsumu sighed. “I feel like it’s draggin’ by.”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to go home for break.”

The two of you were standing on a patch of grass outside the gym, passing a volleyball back and forth. It was chilly, your breath coming out in silvery puffs, but after spending most of your time inside studying for the past week, you had both wanted to get some fresh air.

“I just know I’m gonna fail my bio final.”

“You’ll be fine, ’Tsumu,” you chuckled as you bumped the ball back to him. “You’ve been studying more in the last few days than I’ve seen you do in your entire life.”

“Hey, I studied in high school!” he huffed, his face contorting in mock annoyance as he set the ball. “Just ask Suna!”

The mention of his roommate’s name made your stomach flutter, causing you to mess up the course of the ball.

Atsumu quickly stepped to the side to get under it, giving you a nice, high set in return. “Jeez, you’ve really let your skills slip, huh?” he teased, grinning at you.

“Shut up, piss head.” Your cheeks were already pink from the cold, but you felt them heating up.

“Why don’t you play anymore anyway? I’m pretty sure there’s a women’s club on campus.”

You shrugged as you responded. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m good enough to play for a college team.”

“Bullshit.”

You heaved a sigh. “Fine. I just think it’d be weird to play on a new team. I liked my old team, ya know? All my good memories are of them, I don’t think it would be fun to have to learn a whole new dynamic with new people. I’d feel like I was… I don’t know, like I was cheating on them or something.”

Atsumu looked at you like you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “That’s still bullshit.”

“Well I don’t expect you to understand, you freak. You wouldn’t care who your teammates are, as long as you get to play volleyball.” You gave him a smile as you passed him the ball. “I still have fun playing with you and ’Samu, though.”

“You better. If that ever changed, I’d have to rethink this whole friendship.”

You both laughed, but a part of you wondered how serious he really was.

“Fuck, okay my fingers are actually starting to go numb. Can we go inside now?” you asked, shoving your bright red hands into your jacket pockets.

“Yeah, you wanna grab some dinner?”

“Definitely.”

The two of you set off for the campus dining hall, huddled close together for warmth. The sun was just beginning to set, making the bare trees cast long, spindly shadows on the path in front of you. You quickened your pace, shivering a little.

The dining hall was just beginning to fill up; you and Atsumu managed to grab a table near the back of the room before all the spots were taken. You wrapped your freezing hands around your bowl of soup, savoring the warmth. Atsumu wasted no time digging into his own meal.

“You might wanna wipe that rice off your face, ’Tsumu,” you told him in a low voice, “that girl over there is checking you out.”

“Huh?” he asked, his mouth full. His eyes glanced over to the direction where you were tilting your head. “Eh, whatever.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile on your face. “You still hooking up with that girl from your stats class?”

“Yeah, I actually really like her,” he said, swallowing a massive bite of food. “She’s sweet, and funny. And she’s really good at—”

“Stop,” you said, holding up a hand. “I really don’t wanna know.”

He smirked at you. “I was gonna say helping me study. Jeez, what were you thinking about?”

You bit your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you smile.

“What about you? You been seeing anyone?”

“You know damn well the only guys I hang out with are you and ’Samu.”

“And Suna,” he added. You took a big gulp of your soup so you wouldn’t have to say anything in response. He was right, though; lately you had been spending more time with Suna, even without the twins around. “I’m kinda surprised at Suna, actually,” Atsumu continued.

“What, that he’s hanging out with me?”

“No, that he’s not hanging out with any other girls.”

Your brow furrowed a little. You had assumed that Suna got around; he was handsome, after all, and he had that mysterious, reticent personality that most girls went crazy for.

“I mean, back in high school he was kinda known for just having a ton of hookups. I figured he’d keep that up in college. I don’t know, maybe he’s too busy now,” Atsumu mused.

You mulled it over in your head. It seemed to you like Suna had more free time now than he would have had in high school; almost every time you stopped by their house, he was either in his room reading or listening to music, or else playing games with the twins. You were pretty sure he could have fit in a hookup or two if he wanted.

“Maybe he just wants to focus on his classes,” you offered, but it didn’t sound realistic even as you said it.

Atsumu snorted. “Yeah, like he’s gonna trade pussy for his GPA.”

“Charming, ’Tsumu,” you sighed. “It’s not really any of our business what Suna gets up to, though.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a little weird for him.” Atsumu’s arm stretched out to steal some food from your tray. “Maybe he’s met someone he really likes.”

His words made your stomach turn over, but you weren’t entirely sure why.

A few days into the spring semester, both Atsumu and Osamu came down with nasty colds. By the time the weekend rolled around, they were completely incapacitated, unable to do anything but huddle up together on the couch, sniffling sadly.

You had taken pity on your friends, so on Saturday night (after receiving several dramatic texts from Atsumu that he was dying), you decided to go over to their house to cook them dinner. The twins were curled up on the couch watching a movie, wrapped in thick blankets with used tissues scattered around the coffee table in front of them. From where you stood in the kitchen prepping ingredients, you had a clear view of them over the counter; the sight of them looking so sorry for themselves reminded you of all the times you had gone over their house to keep them company when they got sick as kids. You smiled to yourself, thinking of those fond memories.

“Y/n,” Atsumu whined from the living room, his blanket pulled up over the top of his head. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know, baby. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw him tighten the blanket around himself, a dopey grin on his face. “Y/n called me ‘baby’,” he said happily.

“Simp,” Osamu muttered under his breath.

Atsumu stuck a leg out from under his blanket to kick his brother. “Don’t be jealous, you scrub!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at them; their usual bickering sounded especially cute when their voices were so congested.

“Even when you’re sick you guys can’t shut up.” Suna had come downstairs, rubbing his eyes as he walked into the kitchen.

“Sunarin! Are you finally gonna hang out with us?” Atsumu asked excitedly.

“Absolutely not. I don’t wanna catch whatever weird disease you guys have—”

“You make us sound so disgusting,” Osamu grumbled.

“I just came down to get food,” Suna continued, grabbing a Cup Noodle from the cupboard.

“Oh no you’re not,” you said, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m making dinner for you guys.”

Suna’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but he didn’t object. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, watching as you dried the vegetables.

“Suna, could you chop up the mushrooms for me?” you asked. “Oh, but wash your hands first, please!”

Without saying a word, he did as you asked. You could hear Atsumu snickering from the couch.

“Talk about a simp. Y/n actually got Sunarin to help out in the kitchen,” he said, smirking. Suna balled up the paper towel he was using to dry his hands and chucked it at Atsumu’s head.

“You’ve got snot dripping down your face, dude.”

“Shut up!” Atsumu cried, sniffling as he burrowed deeper into his blanket.

With Suna’s help, prepping the ingredients went twice as fast. You expected him to leave the kitchen once it was done, but to your surprise he stayed, leaning against the counter again to watch you as you cooked. Occasionally he asked you a question about what you were doing.

“The chicken takes a little longer to cook than the veggies, so I’m adding that to the broth first,” you explained. “The order you add things affects the flavor, too.”

“How many times have I offered to teach ya to cook, Sunarin?” Osamu called from the other room. “Guess ya only wanna learn when Y/n’s doin’ the teaching.”

Suna glared at him over his shoulder before turning his attention back to what you were doing. “I didn’t really have to know how before.”

“It’s never too late to learn,” you reassured him.

“Nothin’ sexier than a man who knows how to cook!” Osamu yelled, grinning. Suna ignored him, but you noticed the tips of his ears turning pink.

When the food was nearly done, you asked Osamu to clear a space on the coffee table. With Suna’s help, you carried over the meal you had cooked together, setting down the steaming bowls of soup, rice, and vegetables in front of the twins.

“My nose is all stuffed up, but this still smells so good,” Atsumu said, eyes closed as he sniffed the air.

“Yeah, your cooking’s always the best, Y/n,” Osamu agreed as he reached out with both hands for a bowl of soup.

“Oh, I picked up your favorite tea on the way over here, too,” you said, going back to the kitchen.

“What?! You really are the best!” Atsumu wailed. You walked back into the living room, carrying two mugs in each hand. “What did we ever do to deserve you?”

“It’s a mystery to me,” you replied, but the smile on your face was gentle as you handed the twins their tea. You passed the third mug to Suna, and the look he gave you was nothing short of tender as you sat next to him on the floor. The sight of it made your heart pound in your chest.

When you had all finished eating, you and Suna carried the dishes back to the kitchen while the twins dozed on the couch. After packing up the leftovers, you started washing the dishes and cooking pots, with Suna drying and putting them away.

“Thanks for making dinner for us,” he said quietly, not making eye contact with you.

“Of course,” you said, offering him a smile. “I don’t mind doing it.”

“You must really like those two idiots, if you’re willing to do so much for them.”

You looked over the counter into the living room where the twins were passed out on the couch. Osamu was curled up on his side, his head leaning against the armrest and blanket tucked up tight around him; Atsumu had his head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he snored softly. The sight of them sleeping so peacefully made a feeling of warmth spread throughout your chest.

“I’ve known them since we were three,” you told Suna, gaze still pointed towards the twins. “They’re like brothers to me.” You paused for a moment, thinking, before turning your attention back to the dishes in the sink. “I think it’s normal to want to do things for the people you care about.”

You caught Suna’s eye as you looked up to pass him a freshly-washed plate. He was staring at you intently, brows slightly furrowed, but you couldn’t quite name the expression on his face.

It came as no surprise when, a few days after taking care of the twins, you came down with a bad cold of your own. You managed to suffer through your classes and had just returned to your room to sleep for the rest of the day when, less than five minutes after changing into your pajamas and climbing into bed, there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open,” you called out, thinking it was one of the girls from your floor coming to check on you.

When Suna stepped into your room, you nearly fell in your haste to jump out of bed.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to come in?” he asked as you disentangled yourself from the blankets.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting it to be you,” you told him. You grabbed a hoodie from your closet and quickly pulled it on over your tank top, attempting to hide the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Oh,” was all he said. The two of you stood there staring at each other awkwardly for a moment, before you noticed the bag he was holding in his hand.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at it.

Suna blinked as if he had suddenly remembered why he was there. “The guys told me you weren’t feeling well,” he said, setting the bag down on your desk and pulling a container out of it, “so I thought I’d bring you some soup.” His voice got softer at the end, and you noticed a slight blush on his cheeks as he held it out to you.

He must have made it and immediately brought it over to your dorm, because the container was still hot to the touch. You struggled to keep your lower lip from shaking at the sheer thoughtfulness of it. “That’s really sweet, Suna. Thank you.”

“It’s probably not nearly as good as yours, but…” his voice trailed off. He scratched at the back of his head, the blush deepening on his face. “I tried to do what you showed me the other night.”

“Do you wanna have some with me?” you asked, but you were already taking down two bowls from the shelf above your desk and pouring out a serving for each of you, before putting the rest in your mini fridge. You ate a spoonful, eyes closing as you savored the taste. “Mmm, this is really good, Sunarin!” you smiled at him.

“It’s not bad,” he said, grinning a little bit.

“It’s really good for your first try!” you pressed on. “You know, if you want more practice, you can cook for me anytime.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that’d be a pretty sweet deal for you. But what would I get out of it?”

“Duh, you’d get to spend more time with me.”

“Oh, then pass.”

“Suna!” You pretended to pout, earning a genuine laugh from him. It felt good to joke around with him again, after not being in contact with him at all over the winter break.

“Do you wanna hang out for a bit?” he asked when you had finished eating, setting his empty bowl on your desk. “Or were you just planning on sleeping for the rest of the day?”

You were a little taken aback at his question, since he had gone out of his way to avoid Atsumu and Osamu when they were sick. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch whatever I have?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “If I was gonna catch it, I would have caught it from Thing 1 and Thing 2 already.” His expression faltered a little. “We don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“No, I do!” you said, a little too quickly in your eagerness to not let this chance slip through your fingers. “I just don’t want to get you sick, that’s all.”

“I’ll be fine.” Suna rolled his eyes, smiling. “You wanna watch a movie? I’ll let you choose, since you’re sick.”

“Oh, how magnanimous of you,” you teased as you carried your laptop over to your bed. You sat down, propped up against the pillows, and shifted to the side so Suna could sit next to you. “Can we watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’?”

“Sure.”

“I feel like you’d kin Miranda Priestly.”

“I will leave this room, right now,” he threatened, beginning to stand up.

“No, no! I was only joking!” you laughed, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down. He rubbed at his face, but you could see his slight smile hidden behind his hand.

The movie was almost over before Suna realized that you had fallen asleep on his shoulder. When he first felt your head lean against him, the pounding of his heart had prevented him from daring to look at your face, but after several of his comments had gone ignored, he finally peered down at you, surprised to see your eyes closed. When the credits rolled, he had intended to get up and let you rest, but when he tried to move, your body shifted to turn towards him, an arm reaching out to wrap around his torso.

“Rin,” you murmured in your sleep, and the sound of your voice saying his name caused all of his resolve to disappear.

With you sleeping so peacefully, your warm body pressed up against his, Suna couldn’t bring himself to risk accidentally waking you up. The sun had already set, making your room dark and cozy, and so he figured he could wait there for a little bit until you woke up from your nap. Lifting one of his arms to put it around your shoulders, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, sunlight was streaming in through the window. He blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His movements prompted you to wake up, your gaze slowly focusing to find yourself leaning on his chest like a pillow.

“Guess we were both more tired than we thought,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Mmph,” you mumbled, noticing a damp spot on his shirt from where you had drooled on him. God, how embarrassing.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, shifting to look down at you.

“A little better,” you said. Sitting up properly, you rubbed at your face, attempting to hide your blush from him. “Sorry that I fell asleep on you.”

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling a little before his face shifted into a more teasing expression. “Did you know that you mumble in your sleep?”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands even more. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“It’s kinda cute.”

“Please don’t make fun of me this early in the morning.”

Suna pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Ugh… I’ve got class at 9:45. I gotta go home to shower and get ready before then.” He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. You lowered your hands from your face just in time to catch a glimpse of his toned stomach as his shirt lifted up; the sight of it made your cheeks burn anew, your head turning quickly so he wouldn’t notice you staring.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Y/n,” he said, putting on his coat.

“Thanks again for coming over,” you said, forcing yourself to look him in the eye.

He grinned a little sheepishly as he made his way to the door. “Well, ya know… you gotta do things for the people you care about.”

Stepping out into the brisk early springtime air, you spotted a familiar head of dark hair a few yards in front of you.

“Hey, Sunarin!” you called out, waving at him when he turned around. He stopped walking to allow you to catch up with him. “Are you done with class for the day?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got practice.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

He didn’t respond, but the slight shrug of his shoulders as he took off again told you that he wasn’t bothered by your company. You walked side by side, your hands brushing against each other’s occasionally, each brief contact setting off butterflies in your stomach. If it had any effect on Suna, he didn’t let it show.

“Have you thought about what classes you’re gonna take next semester?” you asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Why, you gonna start stalking me?” he added, lips quirking up into a grin.

“Just making conversation,” you grumbled, turning your face so he wouldn’t see your blush.

“Y/n!”

You looked up in the direction the voice came from to see a guy from one of your classes making his way over to you. You greeted him politely, and he launched into a conversation about the latest paper you had been assigned, falling into step beside you.

“Are you doing anything now? You wanna go get dinner with me?” he asked eventually.

“Oh, I can’t, actually,” you told him. “I have plans with a friend tonight.”

His face fell a little, but he quickly bounced back. “That’s alright, some other time maybe.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what you’re doing for spring break yet?”

“I’m not really sure, I’ll probably just stay on campus,” you said.

“Oh, me too!” he said, grinning at you. “Maybe we could get together then.”

You had reached a branch in the path, and he turned right to continue towards the dining hall.

“See ya around!” he said with a wave.

You waved back, noticing that Suna’s eyes lingered on the other guy’s back as he walked away.

“That dude likes you,” he said in a deadpan voice.

“Huh?”

“He was trying to ask you out, dumbass.”

“What? No he wasn’t. I don’t think he’d do that in front of you.”

“Well, if he asks you again you should say yes.” Suna was smirking at you, but his voice was devoid of any emotion.

His words pricked at your heart, making your chest feel tight. The idea of him encouraging you to go out with someone else was a little upsetting. You turned your head away from him.

“Yeah, maybe,” you said absentmindedly. In truth, you had no interest in going out with that other guy, but Suna’s comment had left you unsure of what to say.

His brows creased a bit. Turning back to look at him, you saw that his gaze was significantly colder than it had been before. You opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong, but he cut you off before you could.

“I’m gonna be late for practice,” he said flatly, walking off quickly and leaving you to stand alone on the path.

After that day, things between you and Suna were different. He was suddenly making himself even more scarce than usual, and during the few times when you managed to see him, he was quieter than before. You couldn’t think of what would make him act so coldly towards you, and the possible explanations you came up with in your mind only made you feel worse.

You were waiting outside the gym one evening for Atsumu and Suna to get out of practice. When you saw them walking out the door you went over to greet them, handing over the bag of pork buns you had picked up at the convenience store.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Atsumu said, gratefully accepting the food you offered him; Suna, however, stepped away before you could pass it to him.

“Sorry, I’ve got stuff to do,” he said cryptically before turning from you.

“We were planning on playing Smash later, are you gonna be around?” you asked.

“Probably not,” was all he said, waving one hand over his shoulder as he walked away.

Stung, you turned to Atsumu. “Suna’s been avoiding me, right? I haven’t been imagining that?”

Mouth full of pork bun, he shook his head. Swallowing thickly, he said, “Nope, he’s definitely been MIA lately. I don’t know why, though.” Seeing the way you bit your lower lip in worry, he was quick to speak again. “I’m sure it’s got nothin’ to do with you! Sunarin’s probably just busy.”

“Do you think he’s seeing someone?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“Nah, if he was I’d know about it. He’s never brought anyone back to the house.” He crammed half a pork bun into his mouth, struggling to chew it. “Honestly, he might just be a little homesick.”

“What?” It was hard to imagine someone like Suna being homesick; considering he spent so much time on his own, you didn’t think of him as the type of person to miss anyone.

“I mean, he told me he’s goin’ home for spring break to spend time with his sister,” Atsumu explained. “He must really miss her.”

You couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the news. A part of you had hoped that Suna’s avoidance of you actually was due to his busy schedule, and you had been looking forward to your spring break as the perfect opportunity to get some quality time with him. The fact that he wasn’t going to be there confirmed your doubts, proving, in your mind at least, that he really didn’t want to be around you anymore.

“You got any more of these?” Atsumu’s voice brought you out of your own thoughts.

“Yeah, here,” you said, giving him the bag of pork buns intended for Suna.

He continued chattering the whole walk back to the house, but you hardly processed a word. You were too busy wondering about what you could have possibly done to make Suna no longer want to be your friend.

It had been several weeks since you had spent any time with Suna, aside from the brief moments when you saw each other at the house when you were visiting the twins, but he always gave an excuse as to why he couldn’t hang around. You knew he was a private person, but his sudden avoidance of you hurt twice as much after he had seemed to be getting more comfortable around you. Several times you had texted him to ask if he wanted to get food with you or watch a movie together, but he either claimed he was too busy with classes, or ignored you altogether. Eventually, you gave up trying to contact him.

But that didn’t stop your heart from fluttering when you did see him in person. You found yourself living for the moments when you would be sitting in the living room with Osamu or Atsumu, and Suna would come downstairs, giving you a quick nod before rushing out the door; or when you would be hanging out in Osamu’s room and Suna would walk down the hallway, locking eyes with you for half a second before going into his own room and shutting the door behind him. Each time you hoped he would stop and actually say something to you, and each time you were left disappointed.

So it came as a surprise when, one day when you and Osamu were in his kitchen making onigiri together, Suna came downstairs and actually lingered for a bit, even after spotting you. Not wanting to scare him off, you bit your tongue as he sat on the counter, watching you form the rice balls with your hands.

“Those look good,” he said; you weren’t sure if he was addressing you or Osamu.

“Here,” Osamu said, putting some on a plate and passing it to his friend. “You headin’ out soon?”

Suna nodded, his mouth full of rice. “Yeah, I’ve gotta meet with my advisor.”

“We’re going out to eat later, you should come. You haven’t hung out with us in a while.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been kinda flakey lately,” he said, his tone apologetic.

You couldn’t help yourself. Looking him in the eye, you spoke. “We’ve missed you, Rintarou. It’s not as fun without you around.”

“Gee, thanks,” Osamu muttered, but you hardly heard him. For the first time in weeks, Suna was looking directly at you, his gaze almost soft.

“Can’t imagine how rough it must be for you to have to spend time with these two goons,” he said, grinning.

“I’m standing right here, man,” Osamu said, his voice sounding only slightly annoyed.

You laughed, and to your amazement Suna returned it. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, hopeful that this awkward tension between you two was finally over.

“Text me when you guys are leaving, okay?” he said, hopping down off the counter and making for the front door. “I’ll meet you there.”

You couldn’t keep the giddy smile off your face even after he left. The thought of spending time with him again was almost too much for you.

“I wish you guys would just fuckin’ kiss already,” Osamu griped, his hands still deftly forming perfectly-shaped onigiri.

“Huh?!” you spluttered, nearly choking as his words sank in. “Who?”

“You and Sunarin, you clown. Do ya have any idea how painful it’s been watchin’ you two idiots for the past few months? Jesus, even ’Tsumu noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“That you guys like each other!”

“I don’t—wha—,” you fumbled over your words, not entirely sure what to say. “Suna doesn’t like me!”

“Uh huh, yeah, okay. Y/n, the man made you a whole-ass pot of soup when you were sick. I’ve known him for years and he won’t even let me borrow his phone charger.”

“If he likes me, then why has he spent the last two months completely ignoring me?”

“Because Rintarou has the emotional intelligence of a fuckin’ cantaloupe.” Osamu finally turned to look at you, his hands resting on his hips. “Look, he’s never actually liked someone before—not for real, anyway—so I don’t think he knows what to do about you. He’s never gonna fess up and tell you how he feels, so his next best option is to just avoid you entirely. But he’s been missing you, real bad. I can tell.”

“So I’m supposed to be the one to tell him?”

Osamu smirked at you. “So you actually like him?”

You paused for a moment, sucking in a breath. “Yeah, I like him.”

It was the first time you had admitted it even to yourself. A wave of relief immediately washed over you, as if you had been holding onto a secret that you no longer had to hide.

Ignoring the blush you felt creeping onto your face, you forced yourself to look at your friend.

“But isn’t that weird for you? I mean, we’re your best friends, would you really be okay with it if we started dating?”

Osamu glanced up as he thought about it, taking in a deep breath and exhaling loudly. “It’d be a little weird at first, but I’d get used to it. But it doesn’t matter how I feel about it.” He looked back down at you. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

“’Samu,” you wailed, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

“So, you gonna tell him or what?”

“I don’t know… what if he doesn’t feel that way about me?”

“He definitely does.”

“Well, maybe it’s just not a good idea for us to date… I mean, neither of us has ever been in a real relationship before, what if we just crash and burn?”

Osamu took in another deep breath, looking as if he was preparing himself for something unpleasant. “Look, you know I’m not a sappy guy, and I feel gross even saying this, but honestly, you and Rintarou are two of the most compatible people I’ve ever met. Even I can see how cute you guys are together. You’d be stupid not to date him.”

“Seriously, ’Samu, you’re actually gonna make me cry.”

“Whatever,” he said, turning back to make more onigiri. “Just hurry up and confess already, I miss hangin’ out with my friends.”

You waited until Atsumu and Osamu were out of the house; that way, if things didn’t go well, you could quietly slip away to collect your dignity without having to answer any questions from them first.

You stood in Suna’s doorway, heart pounding furiously in your chest as you steeled yourself for what you were about to do. He was sitting on his bed with his headphones on, looking at something on his laptop, but when you knocked on the door frame he glanced up, noticing you for the first time.

“Hey, Rintarou,” you said, your voice a little shaky. “Can we talk?”

He took his headphones off and shut his laptop, setting it to the side and scooting forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you stepped into his room and sat down next to him. He was looking at you intently, a small crease between his brows. You glanced down at your lap, fingers twisting nervously, before looking at his face again. If you weren’t honest with him now, you never would be.

“I like you,” you said bluntly, “more than just a friend.” Suna’s lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” you continued, really struggling now to hold his gaze. “I just… I had to tell you. And I’m sorry if that makes things weird between us, that’s not what I want. Your friendship means a lot to me and I don’t want to lose that, so even if you don’t—”

“Y/n.”

Your words caught in your throat, afraid of what he was about to say.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was impossibly soft, the question sounding so delicate as it fell past his lips.

You could have sworn your heart stopped beating for a moment. You nodded your head. “Yes.”

Suna’s hand reached up to cup your cheek before he leaned in, agonizingly slowly, to press his mouth to yours. His lips were so soft, his touch incredibly gentle. Placing both hands on the back of his neck, you melted into him, sighing as his other arm wrapped around your waist to pull you in closer. You could feel him grinning against your lips just before he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

“I like you, too,” he said softly.

Returning his smile, you leaned in to fit your mouth to his again, relishing the way it felt to be held by him, to have him kiss you so tenderly. It took all of your willpower to pull away from him.

“Rin, I have to go,” you whispered against his lips.

“What?” His expression was puzzled as you abruptly stood up.

“I have class in ten minutes,” you explained, making your way to the door.

“So you’re just gonna drop that on me and then dip?”

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, grinning. “Yup.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, but the smile was still on his face even as you left.

The first few weeks after you and Suna started dating passed by in a blur. The heartache you had felt when he kept his distance from you had been replaced by a constant feeling of joy at the knowledge that you were together now. You still got butterflies every time you saw him, your heart melting each time you pressed a kiss into his cheek and saw a blush creep onto his face.

The only complaint you had was that after three weeks, you and Suna still hadn’t slept together. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried, but there was always something that prevented you from actually succeeding: he was too exhausted after finishing volleyball practice; you both had term papers to work on; someone on your floor burnt popcorn in the microwave, setting off the fire alarm. The closest you two came to doing anything was one night when you thought you had the house to yourselves. You and Suna were making out on his bed, and he was just about to take off your shirt when Atsumu suddenly burst into the room to ask if they were all out of laundry detergent. He had quickly left, smirking, after realizing what he was interrupting, but you were too embarrassed to continue after he closed the door.

At this point, it had been over a year since you last had sex, and you were starting to go a little crazy. You were pretty sure Suna knew it, too, based on the smirks he gave you when he happened to catch the way you would stare at him periodically. After the length of time it took for you two to finally admit your feelings for each other, it was incredibly frustrating that the universe seemed to be keeping you apart again.

The end of the semester rolled around, and the twins decided to throw another big party before finals week. You managed to convince Suna to not hide in his room the entire time, and to your amazement he seemed to be having a good time, laughing in the corner with some friends from the volleyball team.

You were sitting on the couch next to Osamu, slowly sipping the beer in your hand. He was talking to you about your plans for the summer, but you couldn’t stop your attention from drifting over to your boyfriend every once in a while, grinning at him each time you happened to catch his eye.

“Our parents are renting that beach house for two weeks in July, you wanna come with us again?” Osamu asked, drawing your gaze back to his face.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that sounds fun,” you said, a little distracted.

“Your boyfriend can come, too, of course,” he smirked.

“Shut up,” you groaned, trying to hide your blushing face by downing the rest of your drink.

“Bet you’re gonna miss him, yeah? Three months is a long time to be apart from your lover.”

“I swear to god, ’Samu, if you don’t shut the fuck up…” you grumbled, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face at your friend’s teasing.

Osamu’s attention was stolen then by someone asking him to go do shots, so you got up and walked to the kitchen by yourself to throw out your empty beer bottle. After you tossed it in the bin, you felt warm hands encircle your waist and a familiar voice whispered into your ear.

“It’s getting kinda crowded down here, you wanna go upstairs?” Suna’s warm breath tickled your ear, making you shiver in his arms. Turning around to face him, you gave him a quick kiss before taking him by the hand and leading the way to the stairs.

Closing his bedroom door muffled the sounds of the party, and you were able to breathe easier now that you were alone with him. Suna scrolled through his phone briefly before finding the playlist he was searching for, setting his phone down once the music started playing.

“Hey,” you said, grinning as you recognized the song, “this is the same playlist that you put on the night we met.”

He took a few steps towards you, arms snaking around your waist to pull you in close. “I know,” he said simply before leaning down to kiss you. You allowed him to deepen it, lips parting for his tongue, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt.

Without breaking away, Suna guided you to his bed, gently laying you down and crawling on top of you, his knee coming up to press between your legs. You moaned into his mouth, feeling him grin against you. Breathing hard, you pulled his shirt over his head, leaning back so that you could look at him. You had known he was fit from all the times your body had been pressed against his, but seeing his muscular form with your own eyes was different. You squirmed under him, feeling your arousal growing between your thighs.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Y/n,” he whispered, leaning down to press kisses into your neck.

“I know,” you murmured.

“Yeah?” He pulled your shirt off of you, warm hands burning into your skin. “Do you know what I’m gonna do next?” he teased in a low voice, mouth moving down over your collarbones as his hands came up to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples through your bra.

“Rin,” you whined when he pulled down the fabric to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, his other hand coming to rest between your thighs, groaning against your skin when he felt the wetness seeping through your shorts.

“Yeah, baby?” He was kissing a line down your stomach, goosebumps rising in his wake. He tugged off your shorts and panties together as you sat up to unhook your bra, tossing it onto the floor without taking your eyes off his face. Your hands immediately moved to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning them as you planted sloppy kisses across his chest. He wriggled out of them and threw them to the side, before wrapping a hand around each of your legs and spreading them apart. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, lips gliding over the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me, baby. I know how badly you want this.”

You whimpered, fingers running through his hair and gripping tightly. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, making you shiver again. A loud moan escaped you when he finally pressed his tongue against your pussy, running slowly over your folds and circling around your clit before moving back down. He repeated the motion, making your breath come out in short pants as your fingers tangled themselves further in his hair.

“God, you taste so sweet,” he moaned against you. His hands pressed down on your hipbones, pinning you in place as you started trembling around him, small whimpers leaving your mouth the closer you came to your release. You drew your legs up, the heel of one of your feet resting on his back as your spine arched, pressing into his mouth.

“Fuck, Rin, I’m so close,” you gasped out. He hummed, hands reaching up to trace his fingertips along your sides. You started moving your hips and he stilled, holding his tongue out for you to grind against. Within seconds you were cumming, legs shaking and nails digging almost painfully into his scalp. He kept his mouth open to allow you to ride out your high, gaze trained on your face.

“You’re so cute, baby,” he murmured, moving to plant a row of kisses up your throat and over your jaw. “So fucking cute.” His lips fitted against yours as he grinded into you, the friction against your clit making you gasp.

“Rin,” you whispered, pulling away to look in his eyes, “lie down.”

He rolled off of you, reaching out with both hands to pull you on top of him. You kissed him once, teasingly, before sitting up and gazing down at him. With one finger, you traced a line from his throat down over his chest and stomach, coming to rest where the skin dipped down between his hipbones, smiling to yourself at the way he shivered from your touch. Hooking your fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers, you gently tugged them off of him, watching the way his thick cock sprang out to slap against his abs. Heart pounding excitedly, you dragged your nails over the top of his thigh, pleased when his muscles tensed beneath you.

“Don’t tease me, baby,” he groaned, fingers digging into your arm. “I’ve had to wait so long for this.”

You would have been content to make him wait even longer, wanting to hear him begging you to touch him, but the pleading look in his eyes softened your resolve. “I know,” you purred, leaning down to run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, grinning to yourself when you heard his sharp inhale. You swirled your tongue around the tip, letting your spit run down his length, before wrapping your lips around his cock.

Soft moans and pants reached your ears as you slowly took all of him into your mouth. When the head of his cock hit the back of your throat you paused, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from the stretch of your jaw. You slid your tongue along his cock as you hummed lightly, eliciting a loud groan from him. Your hand came to grip his cock as you started bobbing your head up and down, moving in tandem with your mouth. Suna tilted his head to watch you, his chest rising and falling heavily. Keeping your eyes on his face, your mouth left his cock with a wet pop and moved down to suck on his balls, your hand continuing to jerk him off.

“F-fuck,” he moaned, throwing his head back against the pillow. His fingers entwined themselves in your hair, gripping firmly, but you had reached the limit of your patience. You crawled back on top of him, thighs planted on either side of his hips, and used your hand to drag his cock along the folds of your cunt.

“I wanna feel you, Rin,” you said breathlessly as his hands gripped your hips. “Wanna feel you inside me.”

Pressing his tip into you, you slowly sank down onto him, loving the way his mouth fell open as you took him completely inside you. The stretch made you gasp, head falling forward to rest against the crook of his neck. You kissed the skin just below his ear as you started grinding your hips against him, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. The sensation on your clit made you moan into his skin.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he whispered.

“Feels good,” you whimpered, your pace quickening. “S-so good.”

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight…”

The knot in your stomach was rapidly tightening. A few more motions were all it took for you to be cumming again; you pressed your lips against Suna’s, tongue reaching into his mouth as your orgasm washed over you.

When your hips stilled, he lifted you off of him and flipped you over onto your back, nipping at the skin of your neck as he repositioned himself between your legs. With a groan, he sank into you again, hips snapping against you urgently. Your body already felt worn out, but the sensation of him fucking you so deeply had you clawing at his back, desperately trying to pull him closer to you. He lifted your trembling legs onto his shoulders, the new angle of his cock thrusting into you making you cry out.

“Is that your spot, baby?” he crooned, repeatedly hitting the place that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Yes, yes, yes, right there, Rin, p-please don’t stop!” you babbled. One of your hands reached out to grab his and bring it to your neck, eyes pleading with him.

His fingers tightened around your throat. “Fuck, you look so cute taking my cock like that. You gonna cum again, pretty girl? Gonna cum all over my cock for me?”

His grip on your throat was making you lightheaded, the friction against your clit sending pleasant vibrations throughout your entire body. The spot his cock was hitting inside your pussy had you hurtling towards the edge again, eyes rolling back as you incoherently begged him not to stop.

“Rin, I-I’m cumming—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you practically sobbed as your pussy clenched around him again. He released his hold on your throat, moving his hand up to lift your jaw and kiss you deeply, relishing when you moaned into his mouth. Your lips parted and he rested his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes, continuing to pound into you as you came. His breath stuttered as his thrusts grew more erratic, his face flushed as his cock throbbed inside you, hot cum filling your cunt.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you again, slower than before. He pulled out and laid down beside you, breathing hard. You reached up to brush the loose strands of hair out of his face, fingers running over his cheekbones.

“Why did we wait so long to do this,” you asked, making him laugh.

“We’re so fucking stupid,” he said with a grin.

You exhaled happily, moving closer to him and nestling your head against his chest. His arm reached out to wrap around you and press his palm into your spine to pull you closer. He was warm, but your uncovered body shivered against the chill in the air, goosebumps rising along your skin.

“Here, cutie,” he said, shifting so that he could pull the comforter over you. “Comfy?”

“Hmm,” you hummed, closing your eyes and pressing a kiss into his collarbone.

With Rin’s arm around you and his steady heartbeat in your ear, you fell asleep almost instantly, feeling more content than you had in a long time.

You woke up before Suna. He had moved in his sleep, now lying on his back with one arm outstretched underneath your head. You watched him for a moment, smiling at the calm expression on his face, before climbing out of bed slowly, careful not to disturb him. Putting on your panties and one of Suna’s oversized t-shirts, you slipped out the door to walk to the bathroom down the hall.

Osamu and Atsumu’s doors were still closed, a fact that you were grateful for when you reached the bathroom and saw your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a tangled mess, your neck littered with little love bites, damning indicators of what you had been up to the night before. Splashing your face with water, you tried to scrub off the smeared remnants of yesterday’s makeup. Satisfied when you no longer looked like you spent the night in a club, you crept back into your boyfriend’s room.

“Hey,” Suna mumbled when you stepped back through the doorway, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his eyes with the other hand.

“Hey.” You smiled at him as you shut the door.

“Take those clothes off and come back to bed.”

You giggled, shrugging out of your clothes and stepping towards his outstretched arms. He pulled you into a tight embrace, peppering your face with kisses. He settled you down on your side next to him, pulling your thigh up to rest on his hip.

“Rin!” you squealed when you felt the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance.

“I just wanna be inside you, baby,” he murmured. His touch had already made you wet, allowing his cock to slide into you easily. You sighed as his hips pressed up against yours.

His lips met with yours, his kiss achingly sweet. “I don’t ever want you to leave this bed,” he breathed out. You smiled against his lips, fingers running through his soft hair. He shifted his hips then, and the sensation was too much for you.

“O-oh,” you whimpered as your pussy tightened around him.

“Are you cumming?” he asked, the corner of his lips quirking up into a grin.

“Sh-shut up.”

He didn’t say anything else, simply tightening his arms around you and kissing you again. The two of you lay like that for a while, slipping into a peaceful state of half-sleep, until the sound of a distant door being flung open pulled you back.

“Fuck,” Suna mumbled under his breath. Not a second later, a loud knock sounded from the other side of his door.

“Sunariiiiin,” Atsumu’s voiced whined from the hallway. “Are you guys up yet?”

“Is that door locked?” Suna whispered to you. Commending yourself for your earlier foresight, you nodded. “Good.”

“Suna! Y/n!” He pounded on the door. “I know you guys can hear me, come on!”

“I gotta get my own place,” Suna grumbled, his eyes still closed. You giggled, and when the knocking on the door stopped you snuggled in closer to him, ready to go back to sleep.

Until your phone started ringing.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, reaching out to grab it from the nightstand. “What do you want, Atsumu?”

“Aha! I knew you were awake!” He sounded very pleased with himself for succeeding in getting you to talk to him. “Can you make me pancakes?”

There was a pause as his question sank in. Holding your phone to your head and staring at Suna, you pulled away from him and sat up, eliciting a low groan from him. “You want me to make you pancakes?” you repeated in an incredulous voice. Suna cracked open his eyes, his face scrunching up as he heard Atsumu’s request.

“Yeah!”

“Get Osamu to do it.”

“He doesn’t make them as good as you!”

You could practically hear him pouting on the other end of the line. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you heaved a sigh. “Give me a minute.”

“Thankyouthankyouthanky—” You ended the call before he finished. Climbing out of bed, you pulled on your clothes again.

“Are you actually gonna do it?” Suna asked.

“He’s just gonna keep harassing us until I do it anyway,” you said. “Besides, it’s almost ten o’clock, we might as well get up.”

Suna rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, groaning loudly. Grinning, you tossed a clean pair of boxers and a shirt at him.

Atsumu looked way too happy when you finally appeared downstairs. He and Osamu were sitting at the kitchen counter together; they nudged a steaming mug towards you when you walked in.

“We made you coffee,” he said, his grin wide across his face.

“Uh huh,” you grumbled.

“Where’s mine?” Suna asked as he trailed in behind you.

“Make your own, dick,” Osamu told him, smirking as he sipped his own drink.

Suna rolled his eyes, going to pour himself a cup from the coffeemaker.

Trying to hide your laughter from him, you gathered up the ingredients and set to work. When all the pancakes were done cooking you passed half of them across the counter to the twins.

“Mmm,” Atsumu hummed, closing his eyes as he took a bite. “So good.”

“I gotta teach you how to make these yourself, ’Tsumu,” you said, taking a bite of your own breakfast.

“Yeah, that way you clowns can let us sleep in for once,” Suna added.

“Don’t pretend, Y/n,” Atsumu said, “you know you love seeing my cute little face first thing in the morning.”

“I prefer seeing ’Samu’s, actually,” you teased. Osamu stuck his tongue out at his twin, laughing at his crumpled expression.

When you all finished eating, Atsumu and Osamu jumped up to wash the dishes for you. Holding your mug of coffee with both hands, you leaned into Suna’s side.

Looking over his shoulder at you two, Osamu grinned. “So, how was your night?”

“Fine,” you said in a casual tone.

“And that’s all you’re gonna get out of us,” Suna finished.

Osamu rolled his eyes, turning back to the dishes in the sink. “As if I’d want any details.”

“My night was great, thanks for asking,” Atsumu chimed in.

“Yeah? Was that before or after you puked in the backyard?”

“’Samu!”

You couldn’t help the relaxed smile that found its way onto your face, happy to get to listen to them teasing each other like always. With one hand resting on the counter, Suna’s other reached around your waist to tug you closer, fitting your body against his. Standing there laughing with your friends, with his arm around you, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

➣epilogue

➣masterlist

#i loooooove making rintarou feel emotions #that's my main kink #this is pretty long but it's only because i have so many thoughts okay!!!!!!#suna #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #suna fluff #suna rintarou fluff #haikyuu fluff #suna angst #suna rintarou angst #haikyuu angst #niakasi writing

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hansoulo · 5 years ago

Text

toccare

Pairing: The Mandalorian/f!Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, mando’s kind of an ass but he’s old and his back hurts so we’ll cut him some slack, Touching, Tension, Drama, Spicy Stuff (not anything too spicy tho)

Rating: T for the aforementioned spiciness

Word Count: 2.5k

Gift Credit: gif by @/doortotomorrow

A/N: here it is!!! my mando massage fic. if enough people yell at me i’ll entertain the idea of a part 2. for science. also this probably isn’t even his bed but whatever!!! canon has no consequence in this household!!

“Mando,” you called out to him, “Are you alright?”

A grunt, barely audible from beneath his helmet. You pushed away from the console, standing in the cockpit and turning towards where he sat in the pilot seat. Mando didn’t turn his head away from the front viewport but he stiffened slightly at your proximity, his shoulders tense and his hands tight around the ship controls. He was always so… wound up. Some might call it vigilance, but you preferred telling him he had a stick up his ass. Right now, he had a whole forest.

You reached to rest your hand on the pauldron of his beskar, fingertips only barely grazing steel before a firm grip was locked around your arm. Soft leather pressed against the underside of your wrist, his hold unrelenting and silent. He still hadn’t looked back at you. Stubborn. Quiet and stubborn.

You pulled away - although you knew you were only able to because he let go. Heaving a dramatic sigh, you shook your head and flopped back down into the chair. So the walking tin can didn’t want to talk. Fine. Maker knows he barely spoke anyways. Still, he could at least tell you what was wrong. Not that- not that you cared. About him. No. It’s just that when he was in a bad way, like he’d been for the past few days - he didn’t exactly lend himself to good company. It just made for an unpleasant time, is all. You didn’t care.

——-

Another groan, deep and heavy as the Mandalorian stood up from the pilot’s seat. His movements were slow and strangely stiff, a far cry from his usual posture. You imagined a rusty droid, unoiled and worn from years of use, and the image prompted a laugh to bubble up in your throat before you silenced it with a hand over your mouth. Apparently it wasn’t quick enough, though, because a gravelly “what?” accompanied the slight cock of his helmet.

“Nothing, nothing,” you shook your head, the smile slow to fade from your lips. “It’s just- are you sure you’re not hurt or anything?” Shifting around in your chair to rest your feet on the center console, you narrowed your eyes with a teasing smirk. “Or are you just getting old?”

You knew he really was in a bad way when he didn’t bother to answer, only sighing as he - finally - managed to reach his full height. “I’m going to take a look at the engine,” the Mandalorian said gruffly, stepping towards the main hangar. You hummed in acknowledgement, examining the beds of your nails with an air probably too casual for someone who was sharing oxygen with a known killer. You could hold your own, though. He knew that. Maker, that was half the reason why you were here. The other half had to do with a very small, very strange baby who was now napping in its pod behind you. “Get your feet off my ship.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to look back as your hand came up to form a less than lady-like gesture. So much for class and decorum.

——–

You were going to kill him. You were going to rip the beskar off his stupidly toned chest and use it to beat him into the damn ground. He was being such a… such an… an ass!

The Mandalorian had always been terse, you were used to that, but this was something else. He’d nearly driven you to tears the other day and barely apologized, only stalking off to his quarters like a petulant child with nothing other than a “m’sorry.” Yeah, sorry your ass. If he was sorry he would tell you what was going on. It wasn’t the bounties, which were plenty and easily found. It wasn’t the child. It wasn’t you- at least you hoped it wasn’t. So what was it?

It took Mando snipping at you one night for no particular reason, his tone patronizing and clipped, for you to finally confront him. Jamming an angry finger into the metal of his chest plate, you raised your head to meet the slit of his visor. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Mando?”

Your voice was harsh but whispered, not wanting to wake the child sleeping in the cockpit. He moved to push your hand away but you shoved it back, fingers splaying against leather and beskar as your gaze stiffened. “No, stop it. What’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”

“It’s nothing.” He ducked his head down, the chin of his helmet meeting his chest. Scoffing, you stepped back and shifted your weight to one leg, your eyes on him unrelenting. For someone whose job description included lying, he wasn’t very good at it. At least, not with you.

“Obviously it’s something,” you said a little softer. He let you touch him this time, your hands coming up to the dips of his shoulder that lay uncovered by armor. Another groan escaped him, barely audible but slightly pained when you pressed the stiff muscles. You furrowed your brows at the sound. “Are you hurt?”

The Mandalorian shook his head at this, but you remained unconvinced. Realizing something, you resisted the urge to laugh as you pushed your hands down against his shoulders again. It wasn’t very hard and you doubt he could feel much through the thick fabric of his shirt, but it was enough for a deep gasp to be clear through the modulator. He wasn’t injured. He was sore.

You dug your thumbs into the cords of muscle, your tone lighter than it had been in weeks. “You really are getting old, aren’t you?”

“I’m-” he hissed when you flattened your palms, “fine.”

“Mando…”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hands reaching to pull you away. Fingertips ghosted across your arms, hesitant. You sighed, shaking your head as if to rid the air of perceived ill intentions. “I don’t know if you noticed, but you haven’t exactly been pleasant to work with lately.”

You imagined a smile beneath the helmet when he huffed at your words, but maybe that was wishful thinking.

“Yeah, I know. M’sorry.” Ah, there it was again. This time, though, you could tell he meant it. You let your hands fall to your side.

“Y’know…” Oh, this was a bad idea. You were definitely overstepping. Completely off your rocker. “I could help you.”

“What?” Were you dreaming, or did his voice really just drop an octave?

“I could um-” you swallowed, steeling yourself for the rejection you were almost certain of. “I could help. You. If you wanted me to. I mean I wouldn’t- kriff I don’t know! I don’t know why I-”

“Stop talking.”

You swallowed again, lips parted in shock and your voice wavering slightly. “Okay.”

“Help me how?” He stepped closer in the darkness of the hall, his feet coming near enough that you widened your own to compensate.

“You’ve got to have like, a thousand knots in your back, Mando. I’ve seen your bed.” You laughed to cover the rising flush in your cheeks. “Not much of a bed, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

Funny. He was funny. It was a joke, right? Even after so long, you could barely tell. Hazards of the helmet, you supposed. It made things, at least for you, very, very awkward.

“Look, just-” you screwed your eyes shut, fingers rubbing circles into your temples. “If not for your sake then for mine and the kid’s, alright? If that’s all that’s making you act like an ass, then it’s something that I- that we can fix.”

Armor shook slightly with another deep breath, his sigh bone-deep and echoing slightly through the ship. “Fine.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

———

He was just… standing there. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous. Maybe he was. “You’ll have to take off all your armor, you goof.”

“I know.” The words were tight, stretched over with something you couldn’t place.

“Hey, it’s fine,” you assured him, your voice kinder. “Relax, tin can. I’ve seen a lot worse.” You winked when he reached to undo his pauldron. “Need some help?”

Sighing, the Mandalorian sat on the edge of his bed, although calling it that was a bit generous. It was a pad probably six inches thick laid on a slab of metal. No wonder he was in such a foul mood lately. Your own cot, shoved in a too-small storage closet with an old cape (his old cape, actually) as a blanket, seemed much more appealing. Maybe he was just a masochist or something. Maybe this was some sort of weird Mandalorian penance. Or maybe he just didn’t have anywhere else to sleep.

A cough you drew your mind out of your thoughts and back on the man behind you, his armor now a careful pile on the floor. Shedding anything else was apparently a bridge too far, but it was still the most exposed you’d ever seen him. “It’d probably be easier if you um… laid down. On your stomach.” The Mandalorian nodded slowly, pushing himself up on the bed and letting his head fall. Stifling a laugh at his movements, you stepped closer. Oh. Oh no.

“Mando?” He grunted in acknowledgement, his arms straightening besides him. “I- I won’t really be able to reach standing. Is it okay if I-” you winced at your words, hoping he wouldn’t be able to notice the way your face burned. “Sit? On the bed?”

The Mandalorian sat up slightly, his elbows knocking against metal. “You mean on me?”

You nodded, tongue heavy and dry on the roof of your mouth. “It’s fine, really. If you don’t want me to I can just-”

“You can. If you want to.”

Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Okay. That was good, right? He trusted you. You trusted him. You could give your co-worker/associate/bounty hunter-you-flirted-with-when-you-got-drunk a back rub without it being weird, right? Right.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You climbed onto the bed, careful not to ram your head into anything. This was the nearest you’ve been since- since never, actually. You can’t remember, in all your years of hunts and missions and times aboard the Crest, ever being this close to him. Every rise of his chest, every jostle of his hips and micro-movement that had never been afforded to you before was on display now, inches away and undeniably human. His shirt had ridden up slightly when you moved to straddle his legs and you could see skin, tan and strong and battle-wearied. Not a tin can, after all.

You’d rested your hands on the Mandalorian’s shoulders for balance, not realizing it until his own curled into themselves, gripping the hems of his shirtsleeves until his knuckles stretched pale. Frowning, you coaxed his palms open until they rested at his sides. There. Much better.

The metal against your knees was cold, uncomfortably so, but he was warm underneath you, solid and impossibly still. You moved to the juncture of his neck, the skin there drawn tight with the weight of armor and expectations, and strings of hurried apologies followed every knead of your hands. He called your name, the sound rumbling through his chest, and you bit your lip.

“Yeah?”

“Stop apologizing.”

You grew quiet. Exactly why you listened to the Mandalorian so easily you didn’t want to think about. You blamed the water. He was probably slowly poisoning you until you went mad for his own amusement.

Everything was dampened in recycled air and hazy blue light, pulsing something that had always been present but now was coming to a head and growing a face that you refused to look in the eye. Now was not the time. There would never be a time. You would sooner step out of the limits of space itself until you were stretched thin, enveloped and spun dizzy in the quiet horror of a supernova, than admit there could ever be a time.

Catching a swollen cord of muscle along his back, you pushed down with the heel of your palm and something big shot out to grip at the side of your thigh, its touch unrelenting and so sudden that a gasp was caught in the back of your throat. It was his hand. It was just his hand. So why the fuck could it cover half your leg and then some? Why the fuck was he pressing enough to probably leave bruises?

His hand retracted as quickly as it came, accompanied only with a low noise you could’ve sworn was a whimper. You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you were disappointed, only returning your attention to the task at hand. Maybe you should treat this as a mission. Keep yourself sane and from doing something irredeemably stupid. Great, yeah. Mission to get the knots out of Mando’s back so he would stop being a prick. An awesome game plan, really. Infallible.

Squeezing slightly at the flesh between his shoulder blades, you let your fingernails scrape against the bare skin of his neck until the fabric of his collar gaped. The smallest hint of curls peeked through the underside of the helmet. Brown. Huh. You thought they’d be darker.

Every drag of your knuckles brought a sound, whether it was a huff of air or a downright moan, but you tried not to think about it. You just blocked everything out, warbling your senses until you felt submerged in imagined water and not-imagined skin and words better left unsaid. You mapped every curve of stiff muscle, down the deep slope of his back and over fabric that wasn’t thick enough to conceal the ridges, the landscapes and jagged reminders of enemy encounters. You found yourself liking them, though. The scars.

You’d pushed the shirt up eventually, whispering “is this okay?” before the Mandalorian nodded quickly, dark cloth gathering around his shoulders and bunching up where it lay against his neck. His skin was hot now, burning and lighting fuses on every frayed nerve on the tips of your fingers until you swore you’d grown numb, drunk on contact and the twilight fog of shared lifetimes. It really had been lifetimes. Since you’d met him. Since you’d touched someone like him. Like this.

You were too caught up in it, lost in your own thoughts and so focused on trying not to cross a line or hurt him that you didn’t notice he’d turned onto his back, his hands coming up rest at the swell of your hips.

He pushed up onto his elbows until your forehead fell against the helmet, the beskar against your skin like ice on a desert morning. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands coming to brace themselves on his covered chest. Everything was slow, like syrup was poured into your head and down your throat until it settled into something biting at the base of your spine, a crawling smoke of ungloved fingers and parted lips. He lifted the hem of your shirt and the edge of his helmet dipped to the curve of your neck. The words were shaky through his modulator, hoarse and dulcet. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, reaching to grip at his biceps. “Yeah that’s okay.”

——-——-

part two

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

Note

So, I had this idea for a harry imagine where they met during the 1D days and they took a trip for the summer alone and Harry wrote 'Summer love' for the reader. Then the reader got famous with a solo album and they never saw each other after that summer besides award shows and stuff. But then the reader puts out a song 'Summer by Kesha' which is a response to Summer love and Harry approaches the reader after the Brits (where she preformed) and wants to reconnect. You can end it yourself ❤️.

A/N: First Imagine after having covid. I’ve been trying to write this for weeks and my head was stuffy half the time, so I hope this turned out okay. Sorry it took so long. <3

Word Count: 4,378

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---------------------------------------

Summer Love

It was always there; that weird underlying tension that fizzled in the air after releasing a particularly personal song. It was easy to write about, and even to perform in front of thousands of strangers, but when it came to interviews it seemed more difficult. Doubts started to settle in and you’d start to kick yourself about releasing something so obvious.

Y/N should be used to the feeling by now. She’s been doing this, professionally, for nearly six years now, and although she quickly and easily built thick skin, always pulling herself out of potentially awkward questions without getting too in-depth about personal meanings of songs and whom they might be about, always handling it with the right amount of grit and edge, to be performing at an award show in front of hundreds of fellow musicians whom she’s looked up to for years was a terrifying prospect. Especially considering he would be watching from the audience as she performed a song written about him.

She didn’t intend for this to happen. She didn’t even want to perform that song. But when she tried to fight against it, they almost pulled her out of performing and it wasn’t worth being cut. It was her first year performing at the Brits and her third year attending. She was still fairly new on the scene despite the amount of time she had been recording, and this was her biggest year in her career so far since the release of her new single. It was mostly due to the rumors behind the song, though the rumors did hold some truth.

She wrote it in response to a song He released about her years ago, but she’d been thinking of the right words to say and the perfect song to write for so long that she was sure people had forgotten by now. Back then, Y/N was too afraid to sing in front of people. But her stage fright didn’t affect her ability to make new friends. She was a wild child at heart and could make friends anywhere she went. She just happened to meet all the right friends in all the right places and it worked out in her favor. It’s how she met him in the first place. Y/N was lucky, and she knew it.

It was about ten years ago, now, when One Direction was dominating the scene. They had just finished their first tour and were on a short break for the summer when some of the boys attended a little party of a mutual friend of Y/N’s. She remembered the first time she saw him. His curly hair unruly and his dimples dreamy. It was at that party that she and Harry exchanged numbers. That was the start of it all.

They had spent nearly every day that summer together. Their differences in behavior would have a huge impact on each other and would set a tone in their own personalities for years to come. Y/N’s wild spirit and carefree energy was something Harry tried to implement in his life as often as he could. It was because of Y/N that he took more risks and started living increasingly by his own rules where he could. And Harry showed her peace. His calm and acceptance taught her how to take a step back and relax. They were yin and yang.

That summer was one they’d never forget and would find themselves randomly thinking about for years after, Getting high, drunk, hanging with friends, kissing until their lips hurt, sex whenever they could get an ounce of privacy, laughing until they cried. Two stupid teenagers having the time of their lives.

The thing about spending so much intimate time with someone for nearly two months was that you’d start to actually fall for them. Harry was the first to say the words ‘I love you’. Their friends would joke and make fun of them for thinking it would be anything more than a summer fling. How could it? They were having too much fun together. All of Harry’s friends loved Y/N, and Harry was the first person outside of her immediate family to hear her sing and encourage her to pursue music. Neither of them wanted it to end. But as August turned to September they both knew. They were young and naive to think it could last.

Y/N remembered the last time they saw each other. She found herself often thinking about it when she was sad and alone. They were at a private beach and the water was too rough to swim in so they stayed on the sand and talked. Harry was about to leave for London the next day and Y/N would be starting back at school soon. They whined about how they didn’t want summer to end. Y/N started getting emotional and Harry began to cry, too. They kissed and cuddled, crying to each other. They told each other that they’d try to keep in touch, but they both knew this was goodbye.

Pictures of them together leaked of that day and rumors began to spread like wildfire. It got even crazier when their next album came out and they released a song called ‘Summer Love’. Fans immediately linked it to the leaked pictures of her and Harry at the beach and her social media blew up with people in her DMs asking for details and stories that she never entertained.

She got angry. How could he write a song about her but not keep in contact? She started pouring herself into her music. It was barely two years later that one of her friends introduced her to a producer and she began to make music. No one expected her career to gain momentum so quickly. Her, least of all. She had no clue what it took to be famous and the first year was the hardest. Especially the interviews.

It was difficult, at first, figuring out how to navigate her ‘girl next door’ image when she couldn’t seem to break free from the narrative of being one of Harry Styles's ex-girlfriends. It would be brought up in nearly every interview and it got tiring. That’s when Y/N made the decision to stop caring about her ‘image’ and to be true to herself. She started shutting down questions related to her personal relationships and showed more of her goofy and real side. Eventually, it became less about Harry and more about how people connected with her as a person. Y/N was refreshing to see amongst all the same talent that’s been on the scene for a while.

There were times where Y/N and Harry would attend the same events and cross paths. He definitely remembered her and they’d share a quick nod or wave in passing, but they’d always be whistles in different directions, unable to speak. Until one event, in particular, last year.

Nothing crazy happened. It was just a fundraiser dinner and a lot of celebrities were in attendance. There were theatrical performances and a few bands playing while they ate, along with intermittent speeches and auctions. Photographers and videographers circled the hundreds in attendance, getting some behind the scene shots, but for the most part, everyone just mingled.

Y/N brought her manager and boyfriend at the time, and she sat at a table with James Corden, his wife, and manager, as well as a few other lesser-known celebs that were more into the business aspect of things. Everyone was talking. She found out that James’s wife was a big fan of hers and they were all laughing at something Y/N said, making promises to be on his show again soon, when a figure loomed behind them, tapping James on the shoulder but getting everyone’s attention, turning to see Harry.

“Oh, Harry! Hello mate! How are you doing?” James asked, attempting to hug him from his seat.

“Alright, man, how are you?” Harry asked, grinning coyly and awkwardly, waving at the rest of the table, “Hello!” and then he looked at Y/N, eyes glistening and nodding, “Hi.”

“Hey,” she grinned back nicely, tight-lipped, as her boyfriend’s arms snaked around her waist, pulling her just a little closer to him.

Her boyfriend, well-known for having a famous dad, had no clue of the history between Y/N and Harry but was a fairly jealous guy. He didn’t trust anyone around Y/N and it was something she resented in their relationship.

Harry turned his attention back to James after eyeing the couple, “I was just checking to see if you’d be performing tonight, too?” Harry joked, “Maybe a little number from Into The Woods?” he smirked, earning a laugh from the table and roars from James.

“No, no. They can’t afford me,” James played along.

“It’s a charity, James,” Harry shot back, “Or maybe they were worried people would walk out.”

“Excuse you! That musical had eleven nominations and three awards, thank you very much!” James laughed, pointing out the empty seat across from him and Y/N, “Would you like to join us?”

Harry agreed, taking the seat, and he stayed there for the rest of the night. He talked with everyone at the table, watched the speeches, and listened to bands play. Eventually, he got enough courage to start conversing more with Y/N, shocked to find that, although she’s grown in the last several years and had a pretty shitty boyfriend, she was still relatively the same carefree, wild spirit he met at that party.

They talked about the release of his first solo album and his time on his first solo tour. They talked about how she was working on a new album herself and the recent interview she had with James that seemed to be a contender for most-viewed. Harry had seen it, as well. He was enjoying being in her company again but could do without her boyfriend that seemed to butt-in at every chance he could. And from the looks of it, Y/N was annoyed about it, as well.

By the end of the night, Harry was kicking himself for not getting her number. As he lay alone in bed, those memories of that summer began flooding back as it did every few months since, and speaking with her today struck him. He felt nostalgic, missing their sandy kisses and midnight strolls. How they used to stay up all night talking on the phone just to see each other again when the sun rose. He contemplated reaching out via Instagram or Twitter but ultimately decided that she had long since gotten over him and that there was no point considering she had a boyfriend.

Except that wasn’t true. The whole car journey back to her hotel, Y/N sat in silence recalling every moment of the night and longing for that old connection for Harry back. The second she and her boyfriend got back to her room, she grabbed her notebook, ignoring her boyfriend’s beckons to join him in bed, and went to work. It was the fastest song she had ever written, taking a total of two hours. And she broke things off with her boyfriend not two weeks later. The news broke in less than twenty-four hours and it was the top story for weeks.

She almost didn’t include the song in her album, but at the last minute, she decided to add it. She figured enough time had passed where people wouldn’t know who it was about. She was wrong. Big time.

Her impending performance at the Brits was all anyone could talk about, and now that the day was here, Y/N’s nerves were reeling. The thought of singing this song and knowing Harry was here watching was enough to make her want to throw up. Every time the camera panned to Harry during the awards with his face plastered on a large screen off to the side, Y/N was certain she’d pass out. Luckily they were on separate ends of the stage and she couldn’t really see him from where she sat, so she just avoided the screen. Her normal ‘don’t care’ attitude was gone.

Soon, she was taken backstage to get wired and ready for her performance. She bounced up and down in her heels trying to summon some energy and shake the nerves, messing with the dangling strands of hair that framed her face and wiping her sweaty palms on her sleek, satin red dress with one off-the-shoulder draping sleeve and a long side-slit.

She was led out to a pitch dark stage and was positioned in the center, hands gripping tightly on her mic as a presenter on another stage finished a short speech and introduced the next act. Y/N looked down at her feet, listening, waiting for her queue, afraid to look up amongst the crowd of very talented, very famous peers.

“The incredible Y/F/N Y/L/N, with her new single, SUMMER!”

The lights shone brightly on Y/N and she began to sing, followed by the sounds of piano.

“I haven’t seen you since the summer

But you feel just like I remember…..”

Her heart pounded as she walked towards the edge of the stage, finally getting the courage to look up and into their faces, everyone smiling, bobbing their heads, and most even singing along. She scanned the audience, her mind racing, terrified and shocked that she had even found the courage to go through with singing this song here. And then she saw him. He sat towards the left of the stage at a circular table, close to the front, looking up at her, listening intently, with a lopsided smile, and their eyes locked.

That’s when something weird happened. The anxiety she felt just seconds before had washed away. For weeks, this had been her worst nightmare; having to sing this song to his face. She had given herself countless pep talks and dozens of plans to avoid eye contact with anyone in the audience while she sang just in case she ended up looking at Harry. But now that it’s happened, a sense of relief has washed over her. There were so many things she wanted to say to him over the past few years, but for some reason, singing this song at him seemed like enough for the time being. It summed it all up.

He could feel eyes on him, not just from Y/N, but from his table and those around him, as well. Everyone knew of the rumors about this song. Everyone assumed it was about him. Honestly, he figured it was about him, too. Some of the lyrics seemed to point to that summer. But assuming he meant enough to her, especially enough to write a song after all this time, seemed extremely arrogant of him, so he avoided vocalizing his thoughts on the topic and always pushed it aside when it was brought to his attention.

When he heard that she would be performing the song at the Brits, a part of him was scared. He didn’t know how he should react. Should he play it cool? Should he sing along? Should he ignore her performance? But when he saw her on the stage in front of him, he couldn’t take his eyes away. A smile formed on his face and all he could feel was pride. He was proud that he got to know her before all of the fame and got to see the talent before she blew up. He was proud that she worked so hard to get to where she was.

And then they locked eyes.

He was speechless. It wasn’t a particularly heart-wrenching song in its own right, but he could feel the meaning behind the lyrics deep in his chest. Harry could see the tension fading from Y/N’s eyes, something that would barely be noticed unless you were looking for it. And he laughed as she bounced and skipped around the stage. She kicked her heels off which earned an outrageous amount of screams and claps and he laughed as she spun around the stage, barefoot. There she was; that beautiful, carefree girl he’d known when they were just teenagers. And as the song ended and she began to slow down, they caught eyes once more and they smiled before the lights began to dim and everyone in the audience stood, clapping. Harry among them.

“Wow. That was incredible,” his sister, Gemma, awed beside him.

They shared a look; one of both knowing and apprehension. He never told Gemma about Y/N. Sure, she knew of the rumors and saw the pictures, but they never went into detail about their love lives with each other. She didn’t want to push anything out of her brother, but she was a fan of Y/N’s and didn’t want to make her brother feel uncomfortable if she was supporting an artist whom he had any sort of resentment about. But by the look of his smile and nod of agreeance, she knew that it was no trouble.

He found himself often peaking over the heads of the crowd in an attempt to steal a glance at her. And whenever he stood to clap, or collect an award, no matter how hard he tried to conceal his curiosity, he would always end up locking eyes. When she won the first award of her career, he clapped louder and longer than anyone else, and he knew that he was giving himself away. Everyone who had come with him had realized that he was increasingly becoming more interested in her as the night progressed.

When the award show was finally over, he attempted to shuffle amongst the crowd, hoping to catch her before she left, but that proved difficult as he kept getting stopped by other friends and celebrities wanting to congratulate him on his winnings and aiming to have a conversation with him. By the time he had reached her table, she had already gone.

The afterparty was brimming with people, with both celebrities who had gone to the awards, and some who hadn’t. The music was so loud in areas that you could hardly hear others speak. Servers were weaving in and out of people with trays of food and drinks while people talked, danced, and consorted. He was always surprised by the mix of people he saw at afterparties and the friendships he had never expected.

He was in the middle of a conversation with his sister, Alexa Chung, and a few others, when a reflection of glistening light just beyond their group caught his eye, and he looked past his friends to see Y/N standing towards the other end of the room laughing with James Corden, just like she had been the last time he saw her. He had made up his mind in an instant and politely excused himself, making his way over.

“Hello,” he dragged, cautiously edging up towards the two.

They both looked up and he noticed the surprise in Y/N’s eyes before James exclaimed, “Harry! How’s it going, mate?”

“I’m alright, James. And you?” He asked, and before James could respond he turned towards Y/N and muttered, “Hey.”

“Jesus Christ, Harold, you’re not very subtle, are you?” he joked.

It was only a joke, but both Y/N and Harry began to blush. James, too, knew of the rumors and even pressed his friend, off the record, about his brief encounter with Y/N. He knew that there were some reserved emotions between the two old lovers, but by the look of their reaction, it seemed to be a bit greater than he had anticipated and he knew he might have just inadvertently created a bit of tension between the two.

“Well, it was nice to see you both, but I’ve got to go look for my wife before she leaves me for Shawn Mendes,” James lied, giving both of them a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek, “Have a good night.”

They watched as James snuck off and stood there in a moment of silence as the room around them only got louder. Y/N smirked, waiting for Harry to say something. Years, she had pictured this moment. Years she had imagined having a conversation as more than just a passing node or group discussion. Still, if he didn’t get a move on, someone could interrupt them and it’d be just another fleeting moment in their years worth of run-ins.

“You look lovely,” he finally noted, motioning towards her dress.

Y/N snorted, raising an eyebrow, “Come on, Harry, what’d you really want to say?”

Harry grinned nervously, shaking his head, she could see right through him, “Could never get anything past you, could I?”

“Never,” she smiled, crossing her arms.

He looked at her a moment, scanning her eyes before his face turned more serious, “...I missed you.”

“Oh? Did you?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, teasingly jutting his head forward matter-of-factly, “I did.”

“I guess I missed you, too. If you couldn’t tell by the song,” she added, giggling.

“Oh, was that about me?” he asked sarcastically.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Nah, couldn’t be. Some other bloke, some other summer.”

Harry laughed, astounded. So much time had passed and Y/N was seldom not on his mind. Sure, he had seen her in passing at the many award shows and alongside him on the internet, but he always wondered what time had done to her. He, himself, had learned and evolved with time and with knowledge. He hadn’t considered himself a ‘changed’ man, like so many that had gained money and an ounce of power, but rather he considered himself just grown. He wondered if she would be the same and often worried that the lifestyle would have sucked her dry. He sees it time and time again, lively people turning into shells of their past while trying to keep up with the scene.

But seeing her here, now, he knew that not to be true. She seemed every bit herself, just….grown. More confident, smarter, but just as playful and beautiful as ever. The nerves he was feeling before had gone, replaced with the silliness that he remembered always feeling when he was around her.

“So, we’ve established that I missed you and you missed me. What should we do about that?” he asked, rather flirtatiously.

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side and as if it was the simplest answer said, “Well, I suppose that means you should ask me out to dinner.”

Harry smiled wider, “So no boyfriend, then?”

She shook her head, a playful smirk forming on her face, “Not unless you’re asking.”

His mouth fell open slightly. Her forwardness was always something he fawned over, and before he could speak, a dark-haired girl slunk up to the two of them and they turned to see Gemma. Y/N had never met Gemma before and only knew of her from the stories Harry told her when they were younger. Of course, she’s seen pictures of his older sister, but seeing them side-by-side she could see the similarities between the two siblings.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt…” Gemma started.

Y/N shook her head, “No, you’re not. It’s Gemma, right? I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Harry watched as his sister attempted to stop ogling and accepted Y/N’s offer for a hug and polite kiss on either cheek. He knew Gemma must be internally freaking out as she admitted, “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

“Thank you. You look gorgeous, by the way. I can tell who got the good genes,” Y/N smiled, poking fun at Harry.

He feigned hurt and elongated, “Heeeeyyyyy.”

“Hush, now. The girls are talking,” Y/N winked.

The three spent most of the night together, conversing with dozens of other celebrities who approached them, but they hadn’t strayed from each other all night. Their conversation seemed endless and never ran out of things to say. They even started getting a little childish and would sneak off and explore the hotel in which the party was held. Harry was happy to see that his sister and Y/N had quickly become friends, even if it was at the expense of his ego. But as the night continued and the three fought to hide their exhaustion, it had gotten too late and Y/N’s manager had finally found them.

“Come on, Y/N, we should get going,” the blonde tugged at Y/N’s arm.

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, alright.”

They all stood up and gave each other hugs goodbye, “It was nice to see you again,” Y/N whispered into Harry’s ear, lingering in his embrace just a second longer before pulling away, smiling, and following her manager towards the exit.

Harry watched after her, sad to see her walking away again. Why was sleep even a thing? He could spend hours more talking to her about utter nonsense, filling in the gaps of all of their missed time together. He felt a nudge to the left of him from Gemma and he turned to see her urging eyes. He knew what she meant. And he didn’t need another nudge. In seconds, he bolted up and jogged ahead, catching up with them. Y/N must have heard his footsteps, because she turned, amused to see Harry yielding, out of breath.

“Forget something?” she joked, crossing her arms with a smile.

He grinned, nodding, “Your number.”

She smiled wider, holding her hand out for his phone and when he passed it to her, she quickly inputted her number and saved it, handing it back. “Please pass my number along to your sister, too.”

“Are you just using me to get to Gemma?” Harry joked.

“Of course I am,” Y/N laughed. There was a moment of silence before Y/N leaned in, kissing him softly on the cheek before stepping back towards her manager, “Don’t lose my number this time, yeah?”

Harry shook his head, lips twitching, “Never. I won’t make that mistake again.”

------------------------------------

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans

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restingdomface · 5 years ago

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Lan Wangji makes extremely deadpan videos of his daily life with Wei Wuxian and their kids and nephews (and nieces if JC and JYL had more). This would include:

*shows a video of LWJ staring out the window for a solid thirty seconds, face entirely unchanged and somewhat disappointed, turns camera around to show Wei Wuxian and the kiddos putting mentos in soda bottles and trying to chuck them at each other, camera pans back to his face, still entirely devoid of emotion*

That one time Jin Ling got stuck up a tree and Wei Wuxian tried to get him down and also got stuck up there and now the other kids are looking for a ladder while LWJ just watches them from the patio, drinking tea. The kids finally give up and shamefully come to LWJ and ask him for help, he gets his husband and nephew down without a word.

The one where he buried 5yo A-Yuan in a pile of bunnies and got scolded by Lan Xichen for it because they might bite him if they get annoyed with him.

There is an entire compilation of rabbits that won’t leave him alone. Climb into his lap. Follow him with every step. Get excited when he comes outside. Hear a guqin and start looking for him. Just. He’s the rabbit whisperer. One of the black ones is just about always with him.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian interacting in any capacity is going to involve a lot of hitting each other and pushing each other over. Only-child kids think they hate each other, but people with siblings are all ‘no no, siblings are just Like That’. People think Yanli is all innocent till they realize she def only tells them to stop when she thinks they might actually get on each other’s nerves. She’s in the ‘boys will rough house and probably only have one collective braincell’ category.

People won’t stop asking him if he speaks so he vaguely makes mentions of having extremely low verbility. They ask if he does sign and he’s not really sure how (lol cause words hard) to explain to them that sign doesn’t really help when the issue is more of him not having much to say tbh. This is apparently the wrong thing to say because then people start being all ‘yeah I get you, I’m pretty dumb too, at least you’re pretty’ and he’s just sorta sitting there with this smacked fish look on his face while WWX can’t stop laughing next to him at the very idea of someone calling his husband slow. Wow. LWJ just sorta finally gets out that he has like two degrees and teaches giqun lessons and it’s amazing. The kids find out about it and can’t stop laughing for hours.

“Hey, why did you name your son ‘sorrow and longing’?” *commense 10 minute video of that time Wei Wuxian got arrested for something to do with a satanic ritual and that’s when LWJ ended up with custody of his adopted son for the next three years and he was in a really angsty mood tbh so it just kinda happened* not a single commenter expected that, even less so when he mentions that they weren’t even together at that point

Films what the viewers think is a prank at first, where he pours a dangerous amount of chili powder into a mug of hot chocolate (with a completely straight face) and then brings it to WWX who takes a drink and makes a dreamy little sigh and goes ‘you always know how to make it just like I want it’ and no one is sure how to react to this video. It’s like watching someone peel and eat a lemon.

You know that video of the girl with the deadpan voice saying she went downstairs to take a shower and there was something brown in the bottom of the tub but it turned out to be potatoes and she’s all ‘not a problem I was expecting, but a problem I can handle’? Okay so that’s how he talks in every video. WWX hands him a baby and he talks to them exactly like that. People ask if he’s good with kids and WWX is all ‘yeah, he’s not just a rabbit whisperer, he’s a baby whisperer too, he’s super great with kids’ *shows LWJ talking to a baby in That Voice while the baby looks at him in utter adoration*

“What’s it like growing up gay? Do you ever get shit for it?” LWJ.exe has stopped working, he has only met one straight couple the same age as him and they’re his sister in law. His brother has three boyfriends, one of which is his brother-in-law. He doesn’t know what a het-er-o-sexual is and he doesn’t want to. Pretty sure his uncle is acearo and hasn’t seen his parents in like 20 years.

LWJ: ‘I apologize for being so emotional in my last video.’ *viewers scrambled to find what video he meant because they ain’t ever seen that man emotional before but end up finding a video where Sizhui told him he loved him and called him papa and gave him a hug while WWX filmed, you can barely see LWJ’s left eye twitching and he pets Sizhui’s head for a moment* viewers are very confused on how this constitutes emotionalism.

Viewers ask to see his brother ‘you know, the one who apparently has three boyfriends’ and LWJ posts a video of LXC passed out on a couch with like three fully grown men all in various states of sliding off onto the floor while the teens play a game of ‘who can stack the most random objects on uncle’s bodies without them waking’ because apparently LWJ and WWX were gone for a weekend and the uncles were supposed to watch the kids (like, all ten of them probably, there’s probably a lot of kids) and it’s Sizhui filming the whole thing cause he’s the ‘good one’ and never does bad things. But he’s also like Auntie Yanli and is totally gonna egg them on from the sidelines.

WWX hands LWJ literally any food and LWJ will eat it all with a completely straight face but as soon as WWX is turned around LWJ is chugging a glass of milk with a look of death on his face. The kiddos straight up can’t stomach his cooking.

😭 someone asks why their hair is all so long and LWJ puts up a video of chatty adorable Sizhui braiding WWX’s hair while he tells him about his day at school. It’s. Too. Cute.

The never ending debate on if LWJ’s deadpan personality/speech is acting or not. No matter how much everyone assures them he’s really just Like That people just aren’t convinced.

Someone points out several times that in their house they have a room with a satanic symbol on the door. That’s just WWX’s home office it’s all good. This is treated as ‘lol WWX is so dramatic’ for like four whole weeks before LWJ posts a video of Sizhui standing outside the office looking nervous. ‘What’s wrong?’ He says. ‘Dad called me into his office.’ Sizhui replies. ‘WWX must be a very strict father,’ the viewers think. That’s not it. That’s not it at all tbh. That video got flagged on like four different platforms and kept getting removed for graphic images and half their viewers don’t. Want. To know. What happened. In that office. (WWX doesn’t even see what the big deal was, that goat was dead when he bought it shut up.)

The others do videos sometimes too lol. Videos include

Jin Ling’s compilation of ‘Mom, what’s for dinner’ and the answer is Always Lotus root and pork rib soup. Someone asks ‘lol she must make that often’ and JL is all ‘lol often, fairly sure she got same-food syndrome, it’s always soup’.

Lan Sizhui at like 17 years old: The one true secret I’ve never told my dads? My most shameful lie? Rabbits aren’t my favorite. My favorite is butterflies. *proceeds to cuddle a bun* I’m sorry Mister Bun, but you just aren’t nearly as pretty as butterflies.

Shaky video of someone sitting on the couch, pointed at NMJ: Brother, while you’re away on vacation with your boyfriends, I don’t plan on leaving this spot for even a minute. NMJ: Oh yeah? What’ll you do when you have to use the bathroom? NHS: Listen, I found a guy on Craig’s List who’s exact fetish is lazy young men who refuse to move and also diapers exist and he’ll be my slave for the week if I let him change me. NMJ: ...I’m taking you with me on vacation. NHS: Yay! NMJ: I’m also taking your phone away. NHS: -wait, no- NMJ: Too late.

Jin Ling: JiuJiu, I spilt soda on your Valentino white belt. Jiang Cheng: *incomprehensible sputtering* -soda on my Valentino white belt-!

Sizhui: *brings Jingyi a bowl of food* Here. Jingyi: Thank you! *takes a bite, face falls in terror, gives Sizhui a betrayed look* Sizhui: Dad’s worried I’m getting sick, he said this would clear my chest cold up. He didn’t consider what horrible things it would do to my bowels instead. Please eat it, he gets sad when I don’t finish what he makes. Jingyi: *glaring* Just dump it down the garbage disposal! Sizhui: *def has a fever if he didn’t think of that* Oh. Good idea.

LWJ: *swaying in place* WWX: This bitch drunk as hell. LWJ: I’m. Gonna comit. A crime. WWX: *crying a little* I love drunk hubby times. A full shot of vodka and he’s not gonna remember any of this. Hey kids, I’m taking Papa on a walk! Sizhui’s in charge!

Zizhen: *sitting quietly on the couch while LSZ, LJY and JL all argue behind him somewhere, covering his mouth with a slightly horrified look* Jingyi: I mean, that’s not fair at all! Who HASNT made out with their cousin at one point or another? Ling: ... Sizhui: You said you’d never bring that up again please shut up. Ling: ...!!!!!! Zizhen: Amazing.

That one time the kiddos hypnotized Jin Ling into thinking he was a kitten. The adults all thought it was really weird that he was finally going through the whole ‘pretending to be an animal’ phase at like ten, but then the kiddos fessed up to learning how to hypnotize and they aren’t sure how to fix it. WWX instigated a rule that no brainwashing is allowed outside his office from now on.

People ask how WWX and LWJ met and it’s told from the POV of Lan Qiren who progressively getting drunker as he tells the story of the terrible high school romance that he had to watch between bad boy WWX and his precious baby angel nephew that made him consider quitting and how no one believed them when they insisted they didn’t get together till after WWX got out of jail for the cow incident.

#the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the untamed #mdzs #incorrect untamed quotes #incorrect mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #jiang cheng #lan sizhui #juniors #lan jingyi #lan juniors #jin ling #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #nie brothers #ouyang zizhen #lan qiren

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alyssaallyrion · 4 years ago

Text

Solution (Iruka x Kakashi)

Rating: T

Summary: In which Konoha's laws are the problem, and Kakashi and Iruka just might be each other's solution.

A/N: Written for KakaIru Month ( @kakairu-fest ) Day 24 Prompt: Fake Dating (although this fic is more of a pretend relationship/marraige of convenience flavor)

ao3 link

Iruka downs his cup of sake in one gulp and winces, feeling the sweet, sticky liquid burn his throat. When he asks for another cup, the bartender gives him a concerned look but doesn’t say anything, and a bitter smile curls Iruka’s lips. He knows he must be a pitiful sight – it’s way too early on a Friday afternoon to be this drunk – yet, he can hardly find it in him to care.

It was supposed to be a great day – how did everything go so wrong?

Earlier that day, Iruka had a meeting with Hokage, during which he was going to tell Hiruzen that he wanted to adopt Naruto. If someone had told him just a year ago that he, a new Academy teacher who has just turned eighteen, would be adopting a child, Iruka would have laughed at them, but life has a way of surprising people.

When he first saw how lonely Naruto is, despite his friendly nature and his sun-bright smile, Iruka’s heart clenched, and he had to reach out to the boy. Becoming friends with Naruto was surprisingly easy and, before Iruka even noticed, their friendship blossomed into an almost familial bond.

He vividly remembered the evening Naruto fell asleep on his couch while watching a movie. Iruka couldn’t help but smile as he picked him up to carry him to a futon that he’d set up in a spare room. In recent weeks, Naruto stayed at his apartment quite frequently, and Iruka suspected it was because he hated living alone. As Iruka carried him down the corridor, Naruto mumbled something sleepily.

“What are you saying, Naruto?” Iruka asked softly.

“So warm and safe,” Naruto murmured, “I wonder if that’s what it feels like when a father holds you?”

Iruka felt a lump in his throat as he looked down at the boy. He, at least, had memories of his parents to hold on to, but Naruto had been an orphan since birth. How must it be for him, never to have felt familiar love?

Iruka couldn’t sleep all night, haunted by the thought. While there was nothing he could do to bring Naruto’s parents back, there still was something he could do for him. When the morning came, and he and Naruto settled at the kitchen table for breakfast, Iruka asked, “Naruto, would you like me to adopt you?”

The next thing Iruka knew, Naruto flung himself at him, squeezing Iruka in a tight hug.

“Of course, I would, Iruka-sensei,” he said, smiling brightly, “You better believe it!”

And so, the decision was made.

Iruka had no doubt that all will go well, and he’ll get custody of Naruto – until he had the meeting with Hiruzen.

They were having tea on the balcony of the Hokage tower – as they often did during their meetings - when Iruka said, “I want to adopt Naruto.”

“Oh?” Hiruzen tilted his head to the side, looking at Iruka with a curious expression, “I suppose congratulations are in order then. Though I must say, I’m a little surprised – you never mentioned you were…involved with anyone.”

“Involved?” Iruka repeated, confused.

“Yes,” Hiruzen nodded, taking a sip of his tea, “As you know, only married couples can adopt children in Konoha – after all, it’s much better for children to grow up in full families. So tell me, who is it you are marrying?”

Iruka felt color drain from his face – he has never heard of such a requirement. Before he could say anything, however, an ANBU flickered in front of them.

“Hokage-sama, your presence is required urgently…”

Iruka had never been more grateful for an interruption of his meeting with Hiruzen.

Now, sitting at the bar, Iruka cannot help but feel angry and bitter. The adoption rule is arbitrary and utterly ridiculous - and isn’t it better for the orphans to have at least some family than no family at all? Iruka has no idea how he will tell Naruto the truth, and the image of Naruto’s distraught face breaks his heart. Before he starts crying, Iruka downs another cup of sake.

“Rough day, Iruka-sensei?” says a familiar voice.

Startled, Iruka glances to his right to see none other than Kakashi Hatake, sitting on a barstool next to him. If Iruka was a little more sober, he would have felt guilty about not greeting Kakashi earlier – and about the number of empty cups before him - but he’s drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he somehow missed Kakashi’s arrival.

“Like you wouldn’t believe it,” he mutters.

The bartender arrives, placing three shot glasses in front of Kakashi. Iruka stares, mesmerized, as Kakashi empties all three glasses so quick that it seems he never takes off his mask.

“It looks like you had a rough day too,” Iruka remarks then, “Tough mission.”

“I’ll tell you my grievances if you tell me yours,” Kakashi says wryly.

They aren’t close, not at all – Kakashi had given him advice on approaching Naruto once, and, outside of that, they’ve only spoken briefly during Iruka’s shifts at the mission desk. Kakashi is not the person Iruka normally shares his problems with, but alcohol does a wondrous job at loosening people’s tongues.

“Did you know that to adopt a child in this village, you need to be married?” he says, with a sigh, “Well, I didn’t, but apparently that’s the rule. Which, I think is very stupid – there are so many orphans here, wouldn’t it be better for them to have at least one loving parent rather than no parents at all?”

Kakashi stares at him intently but remains quiet, so Iruka continues.

“But no, apparently only “full families” count, so now I have to go tell Naruto that I cannot adopt him because I’m not married. And, mind you, I care for the boy so much, I would have gotten married if I was seeing someone – but between the work at the Academy, shifts at the Mission desk, and missions, what time do I have to date? If only…” realizing that he’s rambling, Iruka stops abruptly.

Even though his drunken haze, he feels a little embarrassed. Kakashi is lending him a sympathetic ear, and instead of talking about his real problem – the fact that he could not adopt Naruto – he started rambling about his lack of a dating life.

Kakashi remains quiet, looking at Iruka pensively. As silence stretches, Iruka shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“So,” Iruka smiles awkwardly, “I’ve told you my troubles – now it’s your turn.”

“I… don’t really believe in fate, sensei, but I must say, this is quite the coincidence,” Kakashi finally says.

“What do you mean?” Iruka frowns.

“You see, the reason that I’m here, drowning my sorrows, is because I’ve had the exact same conversation with the Hokage earlier today,” Kakashi explains, “Only, I was speaking to him about Sasuke Uchiha.”

Iruka feels a lump in his throat at Kakashi’s words. Sasuke… He still hasn’t been released from the hospital after what happened to his family. As his homeroom teacher, Iruka went to visit Sasuke a few times and could hardly bear the empty, dejected look on the boy’s face.

Still, Kakashi’s revelation surprises Iruka.

“I didn’t know you were close to his family,” Iruka says, meeting Kakashi’s gaze.

“I wasn’t,” Kakashi admits, “Or, at least, not with his parents. But I think I owe it to him – if I had only noticed that Itachi…”

Kakashi stops himself, but Iruka can guess the rest. Though officially, the identities of the ANBU operatives were a secret, in reality, it wasn’t difficult to put two and two together. There was hardly a shinobi in the village who didn’t know that Kakashi and Itachi were both in the ANBU. Perhaps, they were on the same team…

Before Iruka can say anything, the bartender comes by again, placing two cups of sake before Kakashi. Next thing he knows, Kakashi’s sliding one cup towards him. Liquid sloshes over the edge of the cup as Iruka catches it, and, when he absent-mindedly lifts his fingers to his lips to lick sake from them, he notices something shift in Kakashi’s gaze and feels shivers run up his spine.

“I think we can help each other,” Kakashi says, his voice a little hoarse.

“How so?” Iruka asks.

“We could get married,” Kakashi shrugs nonchalantly.

Iruka nearly chokes on his drink.

“What?” is all he could manage.

“It’s only logical,” Kakashi continues, “You want to adopt Naruto, I want to adopt Sasuke, the only thing standing in the way is the marriage requirement. If we get married, that problem will be solved.”

Iruka stares at Kakashi, utterly dumbfounded, uncertain where to start. Sure, when Kakashi puts it like that, in theory, it might make sense for them to get married, but in reality…

“Kakashi-san,” Iruka says slowly, “With all due respect – we barely know each other. Do you think it would be wise for us to get married?”

“You said you wouldn’t mind getting married if that meant you could adopt Naruto,” Kakashi replies, leaning his elbows on the bar and resting his chin on his palm.

“I said I wouldn’t mind getting married if I was seeing someone,” Iruka says pointedly.

“But you aren’t,” Kakashi’s eye curves, and Iruka can tell that he’s smiling under the mask, “So, it seems, this is the next best thing.”

Iruka wasn’t much of a romantic – shinobi life quickly disabuses anyone of such delusions – and still, he couldn’t fathom getting married to a man he hardly knew. But, in his drunken haze, Kakashi’s arguments almost made sense. If this lets him adopt Naruto, maybe it’s worth it…

“Perhaps, you are right,” Iruka laughs, then shakes his head, “I have heard that you, the jounin, are crazy, but you must be the craziest of all. What normal person would propose to a man he barely knows?”

“I know you are a Konoha shinobi through and through, responsible and good with children,” Kakashi shrugs, emptying his drink in one swift motion, “And that’s enough for me.”

Iruka can hardly stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“I’d also think someone like you would have other options,” he adds.

“What do you mean?” Kakashi frowns.

Iruka sighs. He cannot possibly be that oblivious.

“Well, Kakashi-san,” Iruka says in a tone in which he usually explains things to his youngest students, “You are the famous copy-ninja. I’d expect there to be a line all the way to the village’s gate if you were to say that you were looking for someone to marry.”

Kakashi laughs then – and it’s the first time Iruka hears the sound and, somehow, he cannot help but smile.

“Sorry to disappoint, Iruka-sensei, but the reality hardly matches your expectations,” Kakashi murmurs, then shifts a little closer and adds, “So, do you accept my proposal?”

Iruka looks at Kakashi for a moment, wondering what he’s getting himself into, then, emboldened by the liquid courage running through his veins, says, “Fine.”

“See, I knew you’d come around,” Kakashi smiles.

A million thoughts run through Iruka’s mind – there are so many things they need to discuss. Where will they live? His apartment certainly isn’t big enough for four people, and he has no idea about Kakashi’s own living arrangements. How will they tell Naruto and Sasuke, and when should they tell them? What does Kakashi expect out of this marriage?

But, before Iruka can say a single word, Kakashi glances at the clock and gets up from his seat.

“Time to go,” he says.

“Go where?” Iruka asks, confused.

“To the civil registrar’s office, of course,” Kakashi replies, “It’s half past four, so we have about half an hour, which should be enough time to get married. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait till Monday, and I have a bad feeling that I’ll get sent on a mission before then. So, both the marriage and the adoption will need to happen today.”

“Shouldn’t we tell Naruto and Sasuke first?” Iruka protests but still gets up from his seat.

“No time for that now,” Kakashi shakes his head, “Besides, what’s the issue? You did agree.” “I didn’t think we were going to do this today,” Iruka says weakly.

His head is spinning from all the sake, so he grasps at the bar to steady himself.

“A shinobi must always be prepared for the unexpected,” Kakashi sounds amused as he cites the rules at him, “And what better time than now?”

Before Iruka could protest, Kakashi wraps his arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

“What are you doing?” Iruka almost hisses, embarrassed at the warmth that floods his body on the contact.

“There is no time to walk, so I’m going to flicker us,” Kakashi says, quickly forming a seal with one hand, “Now hold on.”

“You want to get married now?” the chunin at the registration office seems equal parts annoyed and unimpressed.

Iruka knows the look all too well – it’s the look of someone who’s been hoping to leave the office ten minutes early all day and now has a sudden influx of work, right at the close.

“Well, you know how it is,” Kakashi says, unaffected, “True love can’t wait. Right, Iruka?”

The sudden familiarity of his tone, combined with the way Kakashi reaches out and pulls Iruka against his side, makes heat rise in Iruka’s cheeks.

“Right…Kakashi,” Iruka replies. The name without the honorific feels strange on his tongue, but Iruka knows he’ll have to get used to it.

The chunin stares at them for a moment, then sighs and walks over to her desk to fill out the necessary forms. To Iruka’s surprise, Kakashi doesn’t let go of him while she works.

“Sign here,” the chunin says after a few minutes as she turns the form she’d been filling out towards them.

It’s as if in a haze that Iruka walks over to the desk, takes the pen, and signs his name right next to Kakashi’s.

“Congratulations,” the chunin tells them, “You are now married.”

As Iruka looks at the marriage license in front of him, the reality of the situation slowly begins to sink in. He just married Kakashi of all people.

What has he gotten himself into?

“Is that all?” the chunin’s adds in a voice that makes it clear that the last thing she wants to do is to fill out more documents.

“Actually,” Iruka knows Kakashi’s smiling under his mask as he says it, “We are going to need adoption paperwork…”

#kakairu #kakairu month 2021 #kakashi hakate #iruka umino #kkir

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lilbabychilton · 4 years ago

Text

Two Weeks- Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x Reader

Tags: Angst

Notes: The Reader, who lost her husband previously, comforts Spencer after he loses Maeve. (This’ll probably be part of a nearly canon universe, sooo we’ll see.)

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since you watched helplessly as Spencer Reid got his heart broken and his entire life shattered.

You’d been at the BAU for a little over a year now, keeping your distance and never really allowing anyone to get close. You transferred there from Brooklyn SVU after your husband died. The gaping hole in your heart had never really mended instead of healing, you built walls.

Watching Spencer lose the one he loved most brought up all of your unresolved trauma. Despite your best efforts to stay away from others, you’d grown a soft spot for Spence. He never asked questions, never pushed; but whenever he could tell something was wrong, he’d show up at your desk with a coffee.

One night, after a particularly triggering case, everyone had gone home; but you remained. Staring absently at the wedding picture on your desk, ghosting your fingers over the metal frame, you began feeling the all too familiar pangs of grief tugging at your heart strings. It was as if wind was howling through the emptiness of your heart.

“Still here?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Still here.” You replied solemnly, letting out a deep sigh and prying your eyes away from the frame.

“You okay?” He asked timidly, always careful never to cross your clear boundaries.

“No.” You replied bluntly, shoving down the need to cry so far down into your gut you could feel it. The heaviness settling there like a block of concrete in the ocean.

“You want to go get pizza?” A small, sympathetic smile crept onto Spencers face. Trying to cheer you up while effectively knowing nothing about you was no easy feat. “I know a place that’s open, it’s pretty good.”

You graciously accepted, and found yourself sitting across from each other in the nearly empty restaurant. Spencer rambled on and on for hours about anything under the sun, and you didn’t stop him. His voice helped fill the emptiness, and to tell you the truth, it brought you joy. Watching him wax poetic about his interests was like watching a little ray of sunshine dance in front of you and warm the cockles of your soul.

But now that ray of light was gone; and your heart ached all the more, wondering when it would come back.

You made your way up the stairs to Spencer’s, apartment bag in hand. The hall was dimly lit and looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 70’s. Somehow it wasn’t where you pictured him living, but you pressed on.

“Hey Spence, it’s me” you called gently, knocking on the door and waiting for a response. There was no answer.

“Can you just let me know you’re alive in there?” you asked, with a sigh not at all expecting an answer. But a minute later there was a hard slap against the door and you felt your heart sink.

He clearly wasn’t going to let you in, probably in no mood for company. But you couldn’t in good conscience leave him there to be alone another day. You’d been there, you did exactly this when your husband died, and to be honest isolating just made you feel worse, numb almost.

So instead of leaving you did something you hadn’t done since you were a teenager; you picked the lock. Laughing to yourself as you pulled out the lock picking kit you bought on amazon a month ago in a wine drunk haze.

“Who knew it’d come in handy.” You thought darkly as you heard the lock click open.

You opened the door and were hit with a wave of humidity. The air was thick, the curtains were drawn, and there were books thrown all over the floor. Your mind flashed back to your house, a year ago, it looked exactly like this. And you looked exactly like Spencer, laying on the floor, greasy unkempt hair, and pajamas that probably hadn’t been changed since he ambled home that night.

“Hey Spence” you greeted gently, sitting on the floor near his head.

“How did you get in?” He asked, completely unfazed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him.

You held the lock picking kit over his eyes and shook it a little. Spencer exhaled harshly, might have been a laugh, might have been frustration.

“I’ve never told you about my husband.” You said, playing with the shoelaces on your beat up tennis shoes. Spencer turned his head, not willing to speak but interested in what you had to say.

You never talked about your personal life. The only one that had known was Rossi, and you assumed he told the others not to ask, and you were grateful.

“He died in a fire almost two years ago,” you started, “arson to be specific.”

“I’m sorry” Spencer breathed, tears rimming his hazel eyes.

“I know,” you replied, “me too.”

“I was a Brooklyn SVU Detective and he was a firefighter. I was working a child trafficking case and I hadn’t slept in three days.” You anxiously picked at your nail, you’d never told this story to anyone but your therapist and even then it’d been a struggle. But you swallowed the lump in your throat and continued on.

“The unsub was burning location’s to cover his tracks. The last location still had kids in it. Both my husband and I were called to respond. I couldn’t do anything with a burning building, so I waited outside, watching the crowd.”

“Fuck” you muttered taking a breather and putting your head in your hands, by now Spencer had sat up and was listening to you intently with his legs crossed and his chin in his hands.

“All the kids were out, they were doing a final sweep. I watched three firefighters go in,” you took a deep breath and felt the tears welling in your eyes threatening to fall and your voice shook.

“And I watched two come out. I don’t think I’ve ever run harder in my life. By the time I got there two men were dragging my husband out of the building. He died holding my hand in the ambulance.”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks when you finished your tragic tale.

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Spencer asked getting up off the floor and moving to the couch, he was crying too.

“No,” you scoffed, wiping the tears off your face and following him. “What I’m saying is, I get it. And it fucking sucks.”

Spence paused for a long moment then looked at you, “it does fucking suck.”

That was probably the most inarticulate thing you’d ever heard him say, and you grabbed his hand to comfort him, “but it sucks more to do it alone, trust me.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” you asked and Spencer just shrugged.

“You have to eat.” You said catching his sad gaze.

“Not hungry.” He mumbled and you shrugged.

You stood up and walked over to your bag, pulling out a carton of lactose free ice cream and some plastic spoons.

“I survived on this after John died.” You said, walking over to Spencer and handing him the container.

“How do you know I’m lactose intolerant?” he asked with a near microscopic smirk threatening his lips.

“I mean, other than the fact that statistically it’s super likely,” you began, “I pay attention, I’m distant not dumb.”

Then you pulled out your laptop, and a set of dvd’s and set them on the coffee table. Spencer leaned forward to inspect them.

“The first season of the Doctor Who reboot?” He asked, turning the case over in his hands and scanning the images.

“I’ve got all the other seasons in this bag. Sometimes you’ve got to distract yourself.” You said, laughing inwardly at your next thought.

“When John died I binged all of the show Dexter, it was awful.” you paused, taking in your surroundings “but it was better than sitting in the dark and crying til I made myself sick.”

“How?” Spencer asked, his face scrunching up in thought, like for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words. “How do I stop myself from doing that.”

You sighed and he began to cry, you pulled him into you and stroked his hair as the sobs wracked his tiny frame.

“Force” you said simply, “you force yourself to do it. The person you love wouldn’t want you to wither away in the dark.”

“It’s so hard” he cried and you cried too, no one knew better than you did exactly how hard it was. That’s why you were here.

“Do you blame yourself?” You asked. Spencer said nothing, he only sobbed harder, clinging onto you so hard you were sure he’d leave marks.

“I did too” you said, easing yourself back and taking Spencer with you. “Rossi consulted on a case for us before my husband died. Said I had talent and should come help out at the BAU.”

You paused and thought about that moment bitterly, as you were sure you always would. It was one stupid, simple decision what would have changed your entire life for the better.

“I said no” you continued, absently playing with Spencer's hair in an attempt to sooth him. Your partner used to do that for you after John died, she’d come over every day and just play with your hair until you fell asleep.

“I liked my life in New York. John was willing to go but I was scared.” You scoffed, and Spencer turned to you.

“Do you still blame yourself?” he asked his eyes swollen from crying and sunken from lack of sleep.

“Sometimes.” You replied simply, “less often now.”

“Listen Spence, this is going to suck, and it’s going to suck for a long time. But I promise that eventually it’s bearable.”

“That’s hard to believe” he said, no tone, no emotion. You knew exactly what was happening. Sometimes in grief your body gets so tired of feeling you just stop. That’s almost worse than the sadness.

“Oh I know.” you said, “But you find people who make it easier. I’ve got my old partner in New York, she checks in on me all the time, we spend a weekend together every month. And there’s you too.”

“Me?” Reid questioned, his brows furrowed.

“Remember that night we got pizza?” you asked, and he nodded. “That was John’s birthday, we got back from a case where a woman lost her husband and fuck, Spence, I was in a rough spot.”

“I assumed as much.” Spencer said, his memory rolling back to the deeply pained look he saw on your face as he packed up his things.

“You were there, you didn’t ask any questions, didn’t try to comfort me, you were just there. And that meant a lot.” You said cracking a half smile.

“I’m sorry I broke in,” you said moving some stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “But I couldn’t stand knowing you were going through this alone. Especially not after you helped me through one of my toughest days since I started here.”

“I appreciate it,” Spencer said, sitting up.

“The ice cream is going to melt.” You said, your eyes flicking over to the poor container sweating in the heat of the apartment.

“You should probably eat it.” You said picking it up and putting it into his hands.

“Only if you eat it with me.” He replied grabbing a second plastic spoon out of the box. You smiled and accepted it.

“Only if we can watch Doctor Who, and only if you point out everything that isn’t scientifically sound.” You said and you watched a smile grow on Spencer’s face.

“Okay.” He replied and you got everything set up.

Wading through grief is heavy, it falls over you all at once and it’ll suffocate you if you let it. Sometimes you need a reprieve from it all. Something to help you feel joy again, remind you that the world is still turning. A ray of sunshine in the oppressive darkness. Spencer was one that for you, and now it was your turn to be that for him.

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x Reader #criminal minds #Crimincal Minds Fan Fiction #Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid Fan Fiction

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daydreamingintheimpalax · 4 years ago

Text

Secrets

Summary: After a particularly rough hunt, Dean shares a secret with you that changes everything.

Prompt: I have loved you since we were 18.

Warnings: Probably just swearing TBH; Maybe slight douchbaggy ex.

As soon as you and the Winchesters had walked through the bunker doors, you let out a relieved sigh. It had been a rough week, you all had been hunting a werewolf that just couldn't stop moving, making it impossible to track until it finally slowed down somewhere in timbucktoo. Well, it was more like Colorado somewhere, but you know, you were never known for your georgraphy skills.

What had made it worse, was that despite this wolf practically throwing the three of you around like rag dolls, which was getting way harder now that you weren't the spunky crisp 20 year old you once were, was the fact that you had happened to run into Randy.

Randy had been your high school boyfriend for two years, his family were also hunters and having a boyfriend who understood your life, it was nice back then.

You had known the Winchesters all your life, your families running in the same hunting circles, you had worked cases with them multiple times over the years until finally settling down with them now that they were the only family you had left. You had broken up with Randy when he got increasingly possesive and jealous when you turned 19 and you'd decided to move in with Dean once Sammy had gone off to college.

Dean was alone and his dad was constantly going on hunts and leaving him behind, he was very upset when Sammy had left, so he chose to hunt on his own. Your father had left years ago, leaving you with a buddy who he called your uncle bobby, even though he wasn’t really, but choosing to live with Dean so he wouldn't be alone made it easier for him, then when you were 23, he'd been mauled on a hunt and died. Hunting with Dean after that, became a normal routine, but Randy hated Dean, and Dean, well, he wasn't fond of Randy either.

The mutual distaste for each other only increased the more jealous and controlling Randy got, nearly fighting with you every night when you chose to go back to the apartment you shared with Dean instead of staying with him. Eventually, when he became physical, Dean had enough and knocked him out one night after you'd come home with a bruised eye, threatening to shoot him if he ever came near you again. That was the end of that and you hadn't seen Randy since.

Until tonight, when he happened to be tracking the same werewolf you guys had been. It became worse when he realized you were still hunting with Dean, and the memories of all those arguments and black eyes and bruises came flashing back. You managed to finish the case, but not without some bumps and bruises and having Randy there made it worse, with Dean and Randy glaring daggers at each other every time they researced. Randy still being the asshole he was despite the years you two had been broken up.

You were just glad to be home, glad to be away from that tension. You showered, cleaned off all the muck, and settled down on the little blanket you still had on the floor in the back yard area behind the bunker, you'd sit there on the warm nights, enjoying the stars while you sipped on a beer, winding down after a hunt. Tonight was no different, and you definitely needed it tonight more than ever.

After a few minutes, you heard the familiar sound of Deans boots, planting himself next to you, his own beer in hand.

“You okay, peanut?” His voice soft but husky, the tell sign he was exhausted. The nickname made you smile, it became his favorite thing to call you ever since you'd lived with him all those years ago, your obsession for peanut butter never understandable to him. Didn't help that your short stature against his giant frame basically made you peanut sized to him. You'd accepted it a long time ago, you were short, and Dean took great pleasure in teasing you about it.

You let out a big sigh, “Yeah, I'm good now.” You smiled, sipping from your beer bottle as you looked and examined the stars. Dean shuffled next to you, crossing his bowed legs as best he could, before sipping from his own bottle.

“Can’t believe we ran into Randy of all the douchebags, never thought I'd see that assholes face ever again, he's still missing that tooth.” Dean chuckled, the comment making you burst out laughing so hard you nearly chocked on your beer.

The memory brought you back to the night Dean had punched him for hitting you, knocking one of his front teeth out. The satisfaction and the look on Randys face bringing you joy. He had been frightened of Dean ever since, seeing the ghost white look on his face when he'd seen Dean tonight made you smirk, glad he'd learned his lesson back then. It was still funny, seeing him years later, he'd gained a lot of weight, his hair line had receded a lot and his tooth still missing. The image no longer matching the cocky football star from highschool.

Your laughter slowed, Dean sighing next to you as you both stared up at the sky.

“i gotta say, I am glad he fucked off after that night, don't think I could've stopped myself from doing worse if he'd tried to bother you again.” Dean spoke, a hint of something in his voice that you couldn't quite place.

He went quiet again, you looked over at him, watching him softly as he stared at the sky, sipping from his bottle. You'd known Dean Winchester all your life, and somehow, things about him still managed to surprise you. He was a complicated person to figure out, he didn’t let many people in on his feelings or thoughts, and although you knew he trusted you with his life, you were sure there were still plenty of secrets you didn’t known about your best friend.

You hummed out, taking another sip of your beer before you spoke, “Hey Dee?” you spoke softly, his eyes meeting yours.

“Hmm?” His reply a soft hum, acknowledging he’d heard you.

“Tell me something?” you asked, wanting to know something new, something he hadn't told you yet. Something that could surprise you.

“Tell you what?” he chuckled, wondering how much beer you'd had before he'd come out here.

“A secret, something I don't know.” you looked a him, wondering how much he held in, in fear no one would care, he'd always looked after everyone all his life, you, his mother, sammy, even his dad those rare nights he came back from a hunt completely shittered.

“You know all my secrets, y/n/n, you know that.” he stated matter of factly, you shook your head, not accepting his answer.

“No, there has to be something, something you haven't told me, or anyone, something special or secret, personal, a funny story, anything, I just need something to make this night a little better.” you looked at him, eyes big and hopeful, he bit the inside of his cheek, concentrating and thinking of a secret he'd yet to tell you, there was one, one he never planned to tell you in fear it would ruin everything you'd both built, the bond, friendship, the trust. Tonight was better than never he supposed, he knew it would come up one day, it might as well be tonight.

You watched him concentrate, thinking of something he hadn't told you, something you didn't know, after a few minutes, he sighed.

“I guess I have a secret I was always too scared to tell you,” he shrugged, licking his lips softly before he spoke again, “I have loved you since we were 18.“ He stated simply. No other words following.

You stared at him for what felt like forever, he seemed slightly nervous, seemingly avoiding eye contact. He finally got the courage to look at you again, you still stared at him, shocked at his admission.

“When you say loved....” you began, but he cut you off, “I mean full blown told everyone I would marry you one day, head over heels crazy about you, I still am y/n. It's the main reason my other relationships never worked, they were never you, never could be.” He shrugged.

To say you were shocked would be an understaement. “Wh-, why didn't you ever say anything? We've been friends for forever, we've shared a bed, and apartment, Jesus Christ Dee, you've stripped my drunk ass down to nothing and got in a cold shower with me to sober me up and you never thought to mention that little deatil?” You ranted, slightly upset he never thought to tell you something this big, it had been years, YEARS, that he’d been dragging around these feelings in secret.

He sighed, “The timing was never right, you were with Randy for a while, then when we moved in together, I didn't want to ruin it by being an idiot, I didn’t know if you felt the same about me and I was scared of losing you, of scaring you away and destroying everything we'd built, our trust, friendhship, I chickened out and figured I'd rather have you in my life and keep that part a secret than to lose you completely.” He finished, watching your face for your reaction, worried he'd ruined everything, he couldn't lose you now, not after all these years.

“Dee...” You shifted closer, he cut you off once more, “Don’t....don’t say you feel the same okay? Don't pretend or lie to make me feel better, I'm a grown man, I can handle rejection, I just figured it was time you knew, that's my secret, it's the only one I've ever carried with me and kept from you, besides the fact that I always resented that a guy like Randy was ever lucky enough to have you and threw his shot away, he was stupid enough to hurt you and not appreciate you.” he frowned, turning back to look at the stars.

You watched him, you couldn't believe he'd been right in front of your face this whole time, all the losers like Randy, the one night stands hoping you'd find your perfect guy out there somewhere, yet, he’d been with you the entire time, right by your side your whole life, and suddenly you realized it, all the times he took care of you, when you were drunk, or crying, or someone hurt you, he'd always been there, not just because he'd been your best friend, it was also because you had been his love, he'd loved you for so long, you felt stupid you hadn't realized it after all these years. Dean Winchester was your perfect guy, your soulmate. Your mother had always been right, You didn't find love, it found you, when you least expected it, and sometimes, you found it hiding in plain sight.

you gently reached out, placing a hand on his face and pulling him back to face you, his eyes met yours and you leaned in, placing a small but deep kiss on his lips. You pulled away slightly, meeting his eyes.

“It was always you, Dean, the guy I've been searching for all my life, the one who always made me feel special, and loved, and just, loved me, It was always you. I'm sorry it took me this long to realize he was always right beside me.” You smiled softly, his eyes lingered on yours before he smiled, leaning in to capture you in a deep kiss once again.

“S’okay, luckily we still got some time left on this earth, we got plenty of time to make up for it.” He smiled, the moonlight enhancing the twinkle in his gorgeous Hazel green eyes. You loved this man, and now, you could finally freely admit that, and spend whatever would be left of your life as a hunter being in his arms, this time, not as his best friend, but as something more.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader

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honeyyvee · 5 years ago

Text

Where it hurts

Rating; Explicit (+18)

Genre; hurt&comfort, fluff, smut.

Pairing; Taehyung x Reader ft. Hoseok.

Words; 6.2 k

Summary; Roommates AU. You come home late night to your shared apartment with a broken heart. The hurt, and touch-starvation, spark in you a terrible idea.

“Tell me where it hurts, so I can kiss it better”.

Content Warnings; explicit descriptions of sex, (vaginal) fingering, grinding, consumption of alcohol, oral sex (fem receiving), references to depression&self-depreciation if u squint. angsty porn with (kinda) plot and lots of feelings.

Notes; this was supposed to be a quick, sad, pwp but turned out to be surprisingly fluffy porn with plot, with an actual happy ending for once.

It's 2 a.m. and your trembling hands fumble with clicking the key into place. You are drunk, but painfully aware, nearly full sober. Consequence of the cold shower fallen upon you when walking back home from a nearby bar. A light drizzle became a downpour in a matter of seconds; and so you find yourself drenching wet at the doorstep of your shared apartment.

Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin; your hair's a tangled mess. The keys slip from your fingers and fall onto the welcome mat with a thud; tears prick at the corner of your eyes. You contemplate going back to the bar, lest you crumble into ugly, desperate sobbing right now. A thunder strikes, somewhere close enough for you to flinch at the sharp, rambunctious sound.

It's pretty late and the bar has closed, but you figure you can always look for another. You stand in the pouring rain, the heavy drops tapping your skin like small pebbles, lost in thought considering your options. You don't know how much time has passed when the door opens with a creak. It registers in your foggy brain a couple of seconds later, when the person on the other side of the door gasps.

"Y/N!"

You meet your roommate's eyes with as much stoicism as you can muster.

"Come, hurry inside" Taehyung ushers you, and your body actually responds to do as he says.

You're hit with a wave of warmth radiating from the heater placed in the small living room. Taehyung sprints back for the keys, repeating to you assurances that he'll be back. You watch him lock the door and rush to the bathroom to get some towels.

Your head's dizzy, and everything's slowed down. It feels like ages before Taehyung's with you again, wrapping you in towels like a poorly made burrito. His eyes frantically shoot from one side of your body to the other, looking for any sign of damage. Your roommate helps you get out of your shoes as he keeps asking the same things over and over again. What happened? Are you alright? Why didn't you call for me to pick you up?

Your throat is dry, and your lips have difficulty responding to your orders, but still you manage to appease him. Somewhat.

"I'm alright."

Taehyung's frown deepens. The brunette takes a step forward, crouching at your eye level. His large hands wrap the towel around your body tighter.

"I've been waiting for you all night, why have you been ignoring my calls?" There's a pout, more than a reprimanding tone to his deep voice. Taehyung's eyes stare into yours, a worried expression on his handsome features. Your gaze diverts from its intensity.

"I wasn't ignoring you, I just needed some time alone."

Taehyung's nose crinkles.

"What is this? You reek of alcohol..."

You shrink under his scrutinous gaze.

"I just went for a couple drinks with a friend and lost track of time. That's all." It's a half truth, but you think it convincing.

Taehyung doesn't buy it.

"Still… for you to drink… "

It was true you disliked it, as much as it was false. It was good to get shit out of your mind, and God knew you needed just that after tonight. But Taehyung knew that when you drank, something was wrong; lying was of no use at this point. You drew in a deep, shaky breath.

"I saw him, Tae, at the bar. Hoseok... he was with someone."

The name hasn't left your lips in a long time, it feels foreign in your ears even if its commonly present in your mind. Hoseok, your best friend... Ex-best friend, who you are still madly in love with. Even if he has stopped talking to you, and pretends like you don't exist; never existed. Even if the memory of him is that of the sting, of a relationship turned sour.

For a moment, the meaning of your words seems lost in Taehyung as his eyes lazily blink the remaining sleep away.

"Oh… Hoseok?" He mumbles, more to himself than to you. Taehyung's frown deepens. He knows the story, from what you've told him.

Taehyung's been your roommate for almost 3 years. You don't spend much time together tough. Due to differences in schedule, you never see him but on weekends, when he's not out with his friends. He's a good friend, but he has never seen you cry over Hoseok. You are very private about your feelings. If you ever felt like crying, you locked yourself in your room, or cried at late hours of the night. Tonight however, it might be the first time you open up to someone that's not Hoseok. There's a knot in your throat weighing like a rock, but you manage to rasp out your confirmation to the man without bursting into tears.

You had gone to that bar after receiving a text from a girl friend. It had been an uneventful Saturday evening until then, cramped in your small bedroom watching Netflix on your laptop and eating chips from the bag. You were on your second bag of chips when the notification popped up in your screen, an image attachment from your college friend. It was an image of Hoseok, spotted at a nearby bar with a girl clinging onto his arm, both of them laughing in close proximity. It stung your heart like a javelin speared through it. Your breakup was still fresh in your heart, even if it had been a little more than a year already.

In an instant of impulsiveness, you jumped out of bed, showered, sprayed perfume, and put some heels on. All the way to the bar you couldn't help but think… If only you hadn't confessed one year ago, you wouldn't have ruined over a precious friendship of years. You wouldn't find yourself in this situation. Walking three blocks to a bar in high heels to spy on your best friend and his new date.

Was it really your fault though? The timing just wasn't right. At that time... Hoseok was going through family problems, couldn't see you as much; shut you out so you wouldn't worry, which in turn made you worry the double. And you worried SO much it just complicated things. August, after summer break, you ended it. Hoseok shutting you out when you wanted to help, hurt you to no end. You thought it better to stay as friends, you thought you could still be friends.

But even if Hoseok's words, his promise, told you so, his actions spoke differently. Day by day, the fracture between you two grew larger, until one day you were standing before a bottomless abyss. There was no turning back from that abyss… Because so much time had passed you started to feel like strangers to each other. Because none of you would budge, or take the step to close the distance. Because when you did budge to take the first step, you were met with awkward interactions, and empty eyes. And you knew nothing would ever be the same. You were left with nothing but memories and a name attached to them. The emotional anguish, and heartbreak that comes with one-sided love. Hurt, that fills all the spaces empty of him.

The image that greeted you when you entered the bar burns your mind, Hoseok and the girl kissing in a corner. Your eyes tear with the memory of it, and how when your eyes met his, Hoseok showed no emotion.

Taehyung notices your wandering thoughts, coughs into his fist.

"But you knew... didn't you? I thought you knew he was seeing someone." His large hand reaches to place a strand of tangled hair behind your ear. A single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp.

"I know… Still. It hurts." You tug at the towel covering your body.

It's impossible to see Taehyung's expression with your chin tipped down and all the mess of tangled hair falling over your face. You can imagine the sympathy and tenderness in his eyes however, as his warm hands grasp yours, caressing soothing circles.

"Our eyes met," you croak out. "I looked him in the eye, and he ignored me anyways. It was like… like he was a stranger and not my best friend of forever." Your voice cracks, as you try to hold the tears at bay, to keep Taehyung from seeing such a pitiful show. But the heavy teardrops at the corner of your eyes well up and fall without a care.

Taehyung's warm fingertips are there to catch all of them. He guides you to the sofa, as you try to control your breathing. The tall man takes the seat next to you with a solemn expression.

"Maybe you are strangers..." Taehyung deadpans, with a sigh. "It's been almost a year and a half. A lot can happen in that time. Maybe he really isn't the person you remember him being anymore." Taehyung's features are schooled into kind, sympathetic honesty. But his words still stab at your heart the same.

Your clothes are disgustingly wet and glued to your skin. You feel small, open, vulnerable, in front of someone who doesn't even know you that well. It's frightening. You bury your face in your hands.

"I wish I could go back…" Your heart crumbles, voicing the words out loud. Care is thrown out of the window as your body shakes into unstoppable sobs. It's a horrible feeling; hopelessness. Like a gaping void that hurts, consuming all the love out of you from the inside.

For months now all you've known is dancing around the line of opposite extremes. From sleepless nights to sleeping the days away, from eating too much chocolate and ramen, to not eating anything at all. You're tired of the swinging and the constant back and forth of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Sometimes there's nothing and others everything. Right now there's nothing...

And then there's Taehyung. His arms envelope you in a hug, engulfing you in his warmth, in his scent, in everything that makes Taehyung, Taehyung . A big heart and unconditional support.

"It's okay." He assures you over and over, and over in his velvet-like voice. His hands tracing the column of your spine in soothing up and down motions.

You hang for dear life onto the fabric of his sweater. Sob in his chest until you're left with a headache. Taehyung pulls you onto his lap so he is holding you closer; you do not protest. It's a well-known fact, your roommate is a little more on the affectionate, touchy-feely side. Nevertheless there are respectful lines he has drawn for himself when it comes to you. He crosses the line to comfort you better, and the newfound closeness feels natural. Your legs rest on each side of his hips, his arms encircling your waist, your own embracing his broad back too. You bury your head in the crook of his shoulder, like a baby being rocked to sleep, and melt into the embrace.

The lines keeping you respectfully apart, blurry. You realize it as you inhale the scent of his woody perfume close to his neck. Your nose brushes the sensitive skin there, for a moment. Taehyung stiffens, but continues caressing your back in silence. You think you catch the moment his heart jumps in it's ribcage, against your own. Maybe it's yours.

It's difficult to tell when you are pressed so closely together, and your breathing has evened out to match his. Your skin feels feverish underneath the wet clothes and that's how you know you got a cold coming. Your decision making process must be impaired by the terrible headache pounding at the front of your head... Or so you tell yourself as you move in Taehyung's lap, bringing your hips a little closer to his. Intoxicated on his boyish aroma, you dive into his neck for more, this time tentatively brushing your lips against the sensitive spot of skin you discovered earlier. There's a grunt at the back of Taehyung's throat, his hands grasp at your back for a moment, before he brushes it aside with a laugh, saying something about your nose being cold.

Your insides catch fire at the sound. Burning with desire to hear it again. It feels good. Taehyung's warm like a furnace and smells delicious, his back is firm beneath your fingertips, and your body feels secure with his arms around you. Like a shield of love and warmth, protecting you from the outer world. Taehyung feels good. You could do with good… You craved "good" like an affection-starved person right now.

Next time, you make sure he knows what you're doing is not an accident, by brushing your lips in the dip of his clavicles, and all the way to the column of his throat. Taehyung's breath hitches, his hands drop from your back to rest lightly on your hips. And that's when you start spreading kisses near his jaw, that grow clearer in intent. First a peck, and then a nibble, that has Taehyung shuddering under you.

"What are you doing?" Taehyung rasps, a poorly concealed whine behind it.

Your hands slide from the expanse of his back, around the curve of his waist, and up the firm planes of his abdomen.

"Please…"

Taehyung's eyes go wide at the boldness of your actions. But the feverish headache pounding at the back of your eyes tells you to keep going. You have to ride the wave of confidence while it lasts, otherwise you'll crumble again. You close your eyes shut.

"Kiss me." You're so close you can feel Taehyung's breath mixing with yours. You half expect for your lips to meet, but instead are met with cold disappointment.

Taehyung stops you, gently putting some distance by holding you by the shoulders.

"What? Y/n, are you still drunk?"

You don't want to open your eyes to see the disgust in Taehyung's expression. You want to melt into the cracks of the sofa never to be seen again. You shake your head no. Your head's dizzy and your body's swaying a bit, most likely caught a cold, but you're not drunk.

"Just heartbroken," you croak. The tears pool at your eyes again.

It's the truth. You're just a terrible human being, putting on a pity show. Because Taehyung here is being a good friend, and you are taking advantage of it to feel a little better. It's a shameful, ugly, feeling, but it's sincere; it's still you. It makes you want to bury your face in your hands, because you can never look at Taehyung in the eyes again after tonight. Not after he's seen you as you really are. A weak, pitiful, shameless thing.

"It hurts, Tae… it hurts so much. I want it to go. It hurts so much. I just want it to go..." the confession spills out of your lips, as you break into ugly tears again. You can't help it, you really can't.

But Taehyung remains patient, stays by your side. You half expected him to flee at this point, but he doesn't. He stays. Taehyung shushes you, his large hands caress you back. You bury your face in the warmth of his neck one more time, soothing yourself with the faint aroma of his expensive perfume. You try to compose yourself again for what feels like minutes but in reality are a couple of seconds of tense silence. After a while Taehyung shifts, putting some distance between you two. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, but refuse to look up from your fumbling hands. He grabs you by the shoulders with a gentle, shy grasp.

"Where?" His voice comes out in a rasp. The gravelly tone of it makes your insides tingle.

Your gaze lifts up to his, confused, and is met with the smoldering intensity of his determined expression. Your breath gets caught in your throat.

"Where do you want me to kiss you?" Taehyung queries, face impassive.

Your lips part to answer him, though your mind's blank with shock. You asked for it, yeah, but it still comes as a shock he's actually giving in to your request... You scan his features for some clue as to what's actually going through his head, what he truly feels about it. But find nothing. Any emotion is shut out, concealed. Taehyung's always been good at poker face, and you resent it now more than ever. You want to know, need to know , if it bothers him. If he's okay with it. Because even if you half expected him to brush it off… that's just not Taehyung. He has such a big, giving heart, he would do anything to make you feel better.

Even lying.

"I need you to be clear. So there's no misunderstandings." Taehyung's thumbs rub at your shoulders.

The motion, his large hands on your wet skin, the scorching heat that radiates off his body... it's all too tempting. Taehyung is presenting himself to you, willing to fulfill your desires. Like an Oasis of rest in the middle of an unforgiving desert of pain, to you, an affection-starved wanderer.

Taehyung stares at you expectant, with an intensity that could burn holes through you, but instead ignites the one inside you, claiming his name. Some other time, under other circumstances, maybe you would've been strong enough to say no... Tonight, you say yes.

"Everywhere. Anywhere. Just make it stop hurting."

Even if it's fake, you bite your tongue. Taehyung leans in to cup your cheek, but you still refuse to look him in the eye. You just can't. Not when you are open and vulnerable like this. Not when he could destroy you at will, because you have given him such power.

"Is this okay?" Taehyung tips your chin upwards to meet him, his breath fans over your mouth. His lips a breath away.

Your eyes catch his, intently staring at your mouth, waiting for you to give the okay.

"Yes," you whisper, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. Even if we'll both regret it tomorrow, you hold back.

Taehyung nods, as if silently aware of this unspoken warning between you two. His tongue darts out to moist his lips, your eyes following the motion. He finally closes the distance as both your eyes close.

It's soft. Such a soft, shy kiss, it breaks your heart. Because Taehyung is giving you love, as best as he can, even if he doesn't feel it. It's nearly too convincing, but you should know better.

The kiss breaks with a sigh, and he dives again, bolder. Taehyung takes your lower lip, pokes his tongue, tentatively probing the entrance. You let him in without much resistance, following his shy dance with a much more desperate of your own. Taehyung's tongue feels good in your mouth, makes you crave more and more.

You writhe in his lap, your hands reach for his firm chest, sliding over it's planes. Taehyung whines in your mouth and you swallow the sound with a moan of your own. Things are escalating fast as you grow more desperate the longer he kisses you, and the otherwise quiet room starts filling with sounds of your wet, wanton kisses. Taehyung's hands pull you closer, until you're flush with his body. You shiver in his embrace, soaking in as much warmth as you can. Taehyung's fingers play with the hem of your wet blouse, his fingertips brush the naked skin beneath.

"You're so cold," Taehyung breathes against your lips, a delicious huskiness to his tone of voice. His long fingers lift more of the material, caressing the skin it hides. "Can I...?"

"Yes, keep going." You capture his lips in a searing kiss, bite on his lower lip, hoping to convey your urgency.

There's sight of a slight curve to Taehyung's mouth, before the fabric of your blouse covers your vision and is thrown across the room. Taehyung's right, your skin is cold despite the terrible headache and feverish hotness clouding your judgement. His hands rest on the curve of your waist, the warmth permeating into your touch-starved skin. A shiver runs through your spine, your body trembles under his firm grasp; his undecipherable stare. You hold it, utterly hypnotized by his deep brown eyes. The beauty of his perfectly sculpted features, defined by the streetlight seeping through the curtains. Outside, it's still raining, the faint snap of a thunder is heard in the distance.

You're too busy gaping at the man before you to notice his hand snaking down, unbuttoning your uncomfortable jeans. The zipper slides down with a groan, your hips shift against Taehyung's in anticipation. The air is knocked out of your lungs as Taehyung pushes you to lay on your back on the couch, ripping your jeans off your skin. The material joins your blouse somewhere on the floor with a thud, as Taehyung pounces on you.

There's a curious look on his face you can't pinpoint, as his eyes devour your exposed body from head to toe. Both of you are panting, you realize. His gaping stops as his eyes meet yours; his frown deepens. There's a painful, conflicted expression on them. It pulls so tightly at your heartstrings, you think they might snap. You're nearly half-naked beneath Taehyung, shivering, aching to be touched, but he's not doing anything. If you two were to stop now, at this point, you think you would die .

"Do you really want this?" Taehyung rasps as he leans into your ear. His hips come flush with yours with a rock of his half hard erection, for emphasis.

You whine in response, unable to form a coherent answer, lest it be your own body talking. Your legs open for him to situate between them, enthusiastically lifting your hips to get some more needed friction. His hands pin your writhing hips to the couch in retaliation.

"I'm gonna need a yes or no answer, babygirl." Taehyung bites onto your earlobe, stealing a whine from your throat. You tug at the locks of soft, brown hair and voice your confirmation with poorly concealed eagerness. "Mmmh.. alright. I might give it to you, if you're good," Taehyung chuckles. A deep, dark, humorless sound that makes you shiver in anticipation.

Your pussy is drenching wet and clenching on nothing by this point. You just want some needed relief in the form of his fingers down there. But Taehyung's hands are too busy outlining the curve of your breasts; rubbing the pad of his thumbs over the lacey material concealing your hardening nipples.

"You just want me to make you feel better for a moment, right?" Taehyung growls, and rips the flimsy material of your bralette off your chest. "Everything will still be the same tomorrow morning… " Taehyung's busy leaving open mouthed kisses and bites all over your neck as he says this, but you think you catch a bitter tone in his words that have your heart stuttering.

"T-that's right." You gasp, when the warmth of the brunette's mouth envelopes your nipple. His tongue flicks it and circles it, sucks on it, making sure to make the lewdest of sounds in the process. His dark eyes never leaving yours.

"T-tae… !" you whine, as he pinches between his fingers your neglected nipple. You're so sensitive and so needy, you might cum from just him stimulating them and kissing your neck. There's something else you want though, and if you've already crossed the line, might as well fuck it.

"T-tae… I need…" you lift your hips in search of his, but meet thin air. You feel Taehyung stiffen, and he stops.

He removes himself from you, sits back on his calves and takes off his shirt. Painfully slow might you add, for show. When the piece of clothing is gone, there's a slight smugness to the curve of lips, and the way he bites his lips. It's immediately suffocated though, by the way his hands reach for yours, when he places a single, gentle kiss on one of them.

"Alright. Come." Taehyung's smiles, and your heart bursts at the sight into a million butterflies. It's the first time you've seen him sincerely smile tonight.

He guides you to his lap, and soon enough your legs are straddling his hips once again. Your mouth's drinking in his moans as you grind your soaking wet pussy into his rock-hard erection, sure to leave a stain on his sweats. It's a delicious feeling. Taehyung's so painfully hard (and expectedly big) you can't wait until all of him is buried inside you to the hilt... It's when you're busy entertaining this fantasies, when his fingers catch you by surprise.

Taehyung's fingers tease your labia through your panties, gently petting over the soaked material. You whine at the contact, wanting more, needing more . Taehyung groans in response.

"So wet…" Taehyung's middle fingers slide into your drenched pussy, pushing the lace aside. They slide all the way up to your clit, collecting your juices in his hand, and then down again probing at your entrance.

"That's it, good girl." Taehyung coos, satisfied with the lubrication. "So nice and wet for me. Such a nice cunt…"

You're clenching around nothing, expectant to the moment his fingers will finally fill you and give you your release. But Taehyung seems to want to take it slow. His thumb starts rubbing your clit through the material, in lazy, circle motions. His middle fingers tease your entrance in up and down strokes, with little to no penetration… it's frustrating, to say the least. Has you writhing in his hands. The teasing is too much, the rubbing of Taehyung's thumb too slow. Your mouth latches onto his, moaning half-hearted pleas, for him to go faster, for his fingers to dive deep. Taehyung enjoys taking his time collecting the slick seeping from your entrance, and dripping onto his shorts. His thumb and forefinger pinch your clit through the cloth, and the pressure, the texture… it's too much. Too much tease and no release.

"Please.." You grind your hips onto his hand. "Please fuck- ah!"

Without warning, his two long fingers are thrust into your pussy and coiled on the inside. It gives you whiplash, how fast the pace is changed. Taehyung's fingers pump furiously into your cunt, as his thumb rubs your swollen clit.

It's so much at once your eyes roll to the back of your head from the overwhelming sensations. Your orgasm is building and so close to snapping, the squelching sounds of filth that fill the room drive you to the highest pleasure.

"Cum, princess, cum for me." Taehyung's guttural command, beckons.

Your pussy snaps, releasing even more fluid on taehyung's eager fingers; his thumb presses onto your clit as your hips spasm and your whole body tenses. A wanton groan leaves your lips as you ride the powerful spasms on Taehyung's slowing fingers. The brunette's mouth leaves open, wet kisses on the expanse of your throat. All the way to your mouth, where his tongue takes its time to savour you with its languid caresses. He continues rubbing, and petting you until the oversensitivity becomes too much to bear, you whine in protest, but Taehyung merely chuckles.

"Still want my cock after that?"

You feel a fresh wave of blush flush your face at the bluntness of his words. Your mind's still reeling from your orgasm's high; no thoughts, head empty. It's uncomfortable enough that Taehyung's seen you so vulnerable, even more so that's he's asking if you want his cock so nonchalantly.

"Or would you like my tongue?" He growls, licking a stripe on a sensitive spot on your neck that has you trembling in his arms again.

Taehyung's hand reaches to cup your face, his thumb strokes your skin with the gentleness of a feather. It feels good, like it puts together all the broken pieces. You melt into the touch, ignoring the tears pricking at your eyes, silently promising not to cry anymore for tonight… It's the way he looks at you though, when he says the next words (with such a sad smile on his lips), that does it for you.

"Tell me where it hurts, so I can kiss it better."

Taehyung doesn't wait for an answer, before he's diving between your legs with a hungry mouth. His tongue pokes out to flick at your battered clit, and your body recoils and tenses from the oversensitivity. Taehyung chuckles as your thighs tremble under his grip, when his flattened tongue sweeps up and down your lips, teasing the hole of your entrance.

You're not sure you can live with the guilt of engaging in a second round, when it's so obviously clear to you, now that you've gotten what you wanted, that what you're doing is so very wrong… but the attention feels nice. Taehyung's tongue feels nice; wet and warm, lapping up the mess you made. His stare grounds you to the moment, pins you to the couch; your thoughts can't wander too far under the smoldering heat of his eyes.

Taehyung laps at your cunt until he's satisfied; parts from your lips with a kiss. When he lifts his face from between your legs, a boxy smile is plastered on his face. The brunette crawls over to reach for your face again.

"Y/N, I'll always be here for you. If you're happy, I'm happy." Taehyung's thumb brushes away the tears streaking your cheeks. Tears you didn't even notice you were shedding.

It's heartbreak all over again, but a different kind. You throw your arms around the boy's neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. There's the heavy taste of you on his tongue, but also him. Kim Taehyung. There's a lot of him in the way he kisses you back, and holds you so adoringly; you drown in it for the rest of the night. It feels so good to feel happy and content after so much repressed hurt, you break into tears again. Happy tears, guilty tears. The dam inside you just breaks.

As Taehyung whispers sweet nothings in your ear, thrusting in and out of you like you're making love with the love of your life, you wonder if you are deserving of such adoration. You're not a "good girl" , nor a "beautiful angel". But he still fucks you like you're the most precious being to grace the face of Earth. You melt like jelly into his arms when your second orgasm comes, and then carries you to his room, bridal style. Like you're an actual couple in love, and him fucking your brains out is a common occurrence.

Taehyung's pillow smells a lot like him, and you bury your face in it for comfort. There's still a broken piece inside you, a dull, faded ache you can't quite ignore. Taehyung seems to know, because as soon as it makes itself known, his arms envelope you in a warm embrace. Outside, rain is still lightly tapping at the window. You lay on the mattress next to him, covered in cold sweat, and he cuddles you until you're hot and bothered again and cumming on his fingers once more.

The rain stops sometime around early morning, and the sound of birds chirping outside the window, unsettles your stomach. Taehyung's holding onto you like a teddy bear; being held like that fills your chest with thousands of butterflies. But it feels wrong. The night's over, and as Taehyung said it, "Everything will still be the same tomorrow morning."

It's out of place for you to wake in his arms, when you're nothing more than friends, and not completely over Hoseok. It's too cruel, leading the fantasy on, for the sake of your own heart. You free yourself from Taehyung's hold without rousing him, silently scurrying away to your shared bathroom. You turn the knob for hot water until it can't turn anymore. Your mind wanders to Taehyung's mouth on yours, to his large hands holding you together through the night… It dawns on you that your feelings are more twisted and complicated than ever before, because what if you actually feel something for Taehyung now? You're hurt over Hoseok, but hooked on how good it felt to be with your brunette friend. Even if you said you just wanted to feel good for a night… you want more of it now.

But what if Taehyung has feelings for you? What if he has feelings for someone else? Repeating last night for the sake of you feeling better without considering his feelings would be selfish, and using him. Last night… you used him. Even if he consented, you pushed for it... it feels like you used him. You must make up for it, or outright disappear from his life to prevent hurting him anymore…

Out of guilt, you scrub your skin raw under the scorching hot water of the shower, hoping to get rid of any phantom traces of last night's happenings.

You come out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, with a towel tightly wrapped around your body, resolute on packing your bags and finding another place to live. Even if the location is close to your work, and a beautiful park, and the lease split into two makes it a ridiculous bargain. You're going over numbers and places in your head, when you bump into Taehyung in the hallway.

"Come have breakfast, I made us pancakes!" He smiles, a shy curve to his lips. His hand grasps yours before you can even refuse, and your cheeks blush at the warm contact.

Your heart's pounding so hard inside your ribcage, you think you might faint. At the pit of your stomach there's a brew of emotional turmoil awakened by your conflicting feelings towards Taehyung, and what happened between you. It's wrong, wrong, wrong , and you shouldn't touch him anymore. Because fucking Taehyung that night to forget about Hoseok was like scratching an itch. It brought momentary relief, yes... But it will eventually bleed .

"I made them with a touch of cinnamon and extra butter, just the way you like it." Taehyung ushers you to sit on a stool in front of the kitchen bar, where an abundant, fruity, pancake feast is waiting. Taehyung smiles in contentment at the way your eyes ogle the plate before you, before rushing to the fridge mumbling something about missing orange juice.

A syrupy, bleeding heart glares at you from the top of your pancake pile. Your stomach churns at the sight.

"T-Tae…" The brunette looks up from where he is rummaging through the fridge. "About last night-"

"I can wait." Taehyung interjects, busying himself with serving you a glass of juice.

You are stunned into confusion, gaping at your roommate on the other side of the bar like he's grown a second head. Taehyung smiles, a full, boxy smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes.

"I love you." Taehyung confesses, airily, like he's talking about the weather. "I can wait for you to figure your feelings out. I've been doing so for a while now." He hands you the glass of orange juice.

A light chuckle escapes his lips as he sits back and watches you go into silent panic. Your mouth gapes like a fish out of water, you briefly wonder if it's some sick joke, in retaliation for last night. But it can't be, Taehyung's not like that. It can't be when he's looking at you with such unfiltered adoration and mirth in his eyes. The brunette stabs a piece of his own pancakes with a fork, and busies himself enjoying his breakfast. You follow the piece going into his mouth, and he makes a show of how tasty and delicious it is: moans, and eye rolling to the back of his skull, and an annoying curve to his lips that have your mind reeling.

"I-I didn't know… " You stutter, averting your gaze to your own plate. You heart's at its maximum capacity, one more tease and it'll burst.

"Of course you didn't," Taehyung dismisses with a wave of his hand. "I only hinted at it a couple hundred times." There's no bitterness in his voice, but playful intention. He's still teasing you.

"Are you for real?" You choke on a piece of fruit. Flashbacks of every single "flirty" interaction between you two that you had dismisses as Taehyung being "friendly" rush to the front of your mind.

"Kidding. I never hinted at it consciously, not even once." Taehyung chuckles. Is that sarcasm? You can't understand sarcasm.

"Dummy." You glare at him, with a mouthful of strawberries.

"You are the dummy." Taehyung grins, reaching over the bar to flick at your forehead. "But you are my dummy." His lips lean to kiss your forehead, a brush so delicate it's barely there.

"I'll always be by your side. I realized it yesterday, when I saw you crying like that, that I always want to see you smile."

Ironically, Taehyung's words bring tears to your eyes. Your eyeballs feel like they're about to burst from so much crying, but you figure the unpleasantness is worth it. So long as the reason behind it is Taehyung.

#btsguild #bts smut #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung imagines #vee writes

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aniray · 4 years ago

Text

... How You Least Expect It

Set 3 months after Grace's visit in '...When You Least Expect It'.

~*~

Lizzie had been nervous after Grace’s visit.

Seeing the woman that Tommy had loved in the house that he had bought her- the house Lizzie now lived in- it had shaken her. Even with Ada and Esme and Arthur and Pol lined up in support of her. Even with Tommy’s eyes locked on her- only seeing her. Even knowing how much Tommy Shelby loved her, Lizzie couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. For weeks she held Ruby tighter. As if someone- as if Grace- would come and snatch her away. For weeks she fucked Tommy harder, faster, wilder- using tricks she remembered from boyfriends she wished she could forget.

But things had settled. Tommy had grabbed her hand one day, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. For no reason. ‘I fucking love you, Lizzie Stark. Hm? It’s like a fucking…I don’t know. You’re like air or water or a cigarette on a bad day. Can’t do without you, Liz. Don’t want to.’ And maybe he’d known she was worried. Maybe he’d seen the way her body tensed when a blond approached him in the street or in a restaurant. But it didn’t feel like it. It felt honest and spontaneous and true- the kind of true that was too deep for anything to tarnish.

So she’d relaxed. She’d learned to breathe easy again. She went shopping with Ada and Esme and left Ruby with the nanny instead of keeping her close. She fucked Tommy hard and fast and used her tricks until he was clinging to her and whispering her name the way she liked. But she made love to him again, too. Slow and gentle- letting the pleasure build and fade again and again until they were both blissfully destroyed at the end. She’d let herself get comfortable.

She should have known it wouldn’t last.

He’d been acting strangely lately. Taking more and more private calls. Staying out late at night when he was usually home in time for supper. His kisses were distracted little things more often than not. Unless they were fucking. She could still hold all his attention when she was wrapped tight around his cock. But she’d lived this life before. She knew the signs. And it was tearing her up inside because she’d let herself fall for it- fall for him.

She didn’t tell anyone her fears at first. She knew the Shelby crew. They loved her- they’d take her fucking side. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She couldn’t turn his family against him. Grace had done that well enough simply by marrying Tommy. Lizzie didn’t want to reopen a rift that had only recently mended. So she smiled- though it didn’t quite reach her eyes as often. And she laughed- forced though it was. And she enjoyed the weight of Tommy’s hand holding her and the warmth of his smile. Because it’d be gone soon.

She wanted the memories while she could get them.

~*~

It was Ada that she ended up telling.

They were sitting in Lizzie’s little study, when Ada’d asked, “Hey, Lizzie? Do you know who Tatiana Petrovna is?” Lizzie flinched. She didn’t- not really. But she knew the name. She hated the fucking name. But she schooled her expression into slight confusion and shook her head. “Huh. Thought you might. Tommy’s been meeting with her for lunch the last few weeks.” Lizzie swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms. “Won’t say shit, of course. Fucking secretive, always has been.”

But Lizzie was barely listening. She’d known he called her, the Tatiana woman. She’d been angry and stupid drunk and Tommy had left his phone when he and Ruby had gone for their Daddy/Daughter Date. So she’d gone through his contacts. There were two new ones that she could tell right off: Alfie Solomons and Tatiana Petrovna. And he’d called Tatiana every single day for three weeks straight.

Ada’s hand came to rest on her arm. The sudden touch jerked Lizzie out of her thoughts. “You went somewhere. Want to tell me about it?” Lizzie opened her mouth to say ‘no’, but Ada cut in. “And don’t bother saying ‘no’, because you’ve got tears in your eyes.” Despite how much she was hurting, Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. Ada never let her hide anything. She was as tough as her brothers- tougher, really- and it showed.

“It’s Tommy.” Ada raised a brow, but didn’t look surprised. “I think he’s fucking her. Tatiana Petrovna. Has been for weeks, probably.” Ada sat up straighter and she had that look about her. Lizzie avoided that look. Fuck, even Tommy avoided that look. “Don’t look like that. I could be wrong. No point in stirring up trouble before I’m sure there’s any to stir.” Ada relaxed a bit, her eyes turning sad instead of angry. It was almost worse in Lizzie’s opinion. “Promise you won’t tell anyone else?” She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing that look on the rest of the family’s faces.

“He’s stupid if he’s screwing around with some other girl. Me and Esme will hold him down while you take your heels to his balls. I swear, we will. Polly won’t even try and stop us.” The image made Lizzie smile. Then chuckle. Then she was laughing and Ada was too. And if her tears weren’t quite from laughing like Ada thought, that was no one’s business but Lizzie’s.

~*~

He was angry when he got home.

It would have bothered Lizzie more if he didn’t smell like some other woman’s perfume. Or maybe if his hair wasn’t mussed. Or maybe even if he’d just had the decency to fucking call instead of showing up at nearly eleven at night. But since he did smell like perfume and his hair was mussed and he hadn’t called, Lizzie didn’t give a shit that he was mad. She was fucking fuming, wasn’t she?

She was sat at the top of the stairs, silk robe- fucking strange still, her being in silk anything- tied loosely to cover the little slip of fabric she’d worn. For Tommy. Tommy who reeked of some slut’s perfume. Tommy, who’d probably just had his dick- the dick she’d fucked that morning- in some other girl’s cunt. And she couldn’t believe she’d got dressed up for him. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself think that maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t like the other men she’d been with. Maybe they’d fucking last.

“Lizzie.” It was like he was surprised to see her. Like he’d forgotten she lived there. Like he’d forgotten that he’d been the one to come find her. He reached for her hand. “It’s late, love. C’mon, let’s go to bed, eh?” She stared at his hand like it was covered in filth. Then her eyes found his and she watched him tense. She watched as his eyes narrowed in that way they did. “Liz? What’s wrong?”

She stood up, ignoring the hand still held out to her. “I’m going to sleep in one of the other rooms tonight. Whoever she is, I hope she’s a good fuck.” She turned and walked down the hall, fighting back tears with each step. She’d not let him see her break. He wouldn’t be another man she broke over. She couldn’t- there was Ruby to think about now.

She shrugged out of her robe once she reached the room she’d chosen for the night. She crawled under the covers and pulled the extra pillow closer, hugging it to her stomach. Then, behind the security of a locked door, she cried. She let the pain and the betrayal and the anger and the love- God, how much she loved that fucking man- pour out of her and soak into her pillow.

Her eyes were heavy and swollen. Her throat tight and raw from self-inflicted silence. And she knew she wouldn’t sleep. As tired as her body was from crying. As exhausted as her soul was from everything else. She wouldn’t sleep. So she took deep breaths until her lungs stopped shuddering on every inhale. Then she thought of Ruby and every wonderful thing that made her daughter so special.

It took a long time- the clock on the wall said at least two hours. But finally she was calm. Finally she had let out all the things she could for the moment. No doubt there’d be more tears later- especially when she left this place. But that was a tomorrow problem. So she let go of the pillow she’d held crushed in her grip. She got a dry pillow for under her head.

Just as she had gotten comfortable, the door opened.

Tommy stepped in and turned on the light. She could feel his eyes on her, taking in her puffy face and red-rimmed eyes. She wanted him to go. She wanted him to let her have this night- this one moment to be broken. But he didn’t leave and she couldn’t help but let her eyes go to him. He was in his night clothes. His hair was damp from a shower. And his face was a bit paler than usual- she might have called it a guilty conscience. But he still looked perfect.

The fucker.

“I’ve got a plan.” She nearly rolled her eyes out of her head. He ignored her. “I’ve got a plan, Lizzie Stark. For my future. And you-” he said, pointing at her, “are fucking it up.” She felt her heart break a little bit more. Hadn’t thought it was possible, that. Then he was walking to the bed, and climbing in. She sat up, a squeak of indignation leaving her as she searched for the best words to tell him to fuck right off. He didn’t give her the chance. “Now. I’m having to do this different because you’ve got some nonsense in your head.”

“Tommy if you don’t-“

He kissed her. Just a quick little thing. Just enough to startle her into silence. “Right. So tomorrow, we’re doing this again. And when we do, just know that this- tonight- is your own fault.” Then he was reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little box. She didn’t care. He wasn’t going to fix this with a bit of jewelry. She’d never been one for jewelry anyway. Instead she rolled over and ignored him. And the fucking prick laughed. “That’s alright,” he whispered, lips glancing along the shell of her ear.

“Lizzie, you make me laugh more than anyone. You don’t put up with my shit. Call me out more than Pol, and that’s saying something.” He let out a sigh and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her stiff body against his. “I thought I knew what love was once- with Grace. Thought I’d found the purest, most perfect kind of love. But I was wrong.” She tensed, waiting for him to say he’d found it with this new girl, this Tatiana. “You- us- that’s the purest. That’s the pinnacle. The most perfect. And I want this- us- for as long as I can keep it. So, Elizabeth Stark- my angry, perfect, Lizzie… Will you marry me?”

The little box was placed on her pillow, right in front of her nose. In it was a beautiful ring. At the center was a perfect, round cut ruby. It was surrounded on both sides by three diamonds. Two years ago, she wouldn’t have been able to tell it was a real diamond just by looking. Life was strange. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. She forced herself to ignore the rush of giddiness and excitement she felt at his words.

“Who’s Tatiana?”

The arm around her waist, didn’t tense. Tommy’s breathing didn’t change. Instead he pressed a kiss to her hair and Lizzie felt him smile. “Ah. That’s what’s got you so wound up.” She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him. She wanted his answer. She needed it. Rolling her to her back, Tommy brought a hand to her cheek and guided her so she was looking at him. His blue eyes were light, but she could see that whatever he was about to say- it was the truth. “Tatiana Petrovna is a Russian duchess. Her family are jewelers- top quality, fucking expensive shit. But it’s the best. Custom.” Lizzie nodded slowly, the pieces coming together. “You deserve the fucking best. And she’s… She’s fucking insane, but she makes beautiful jewelry.”

A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Her finger, of its own volition, traced a line down Tommy’s chest. It was almost coy. And she’d been ready to cut off his dick not even an hour ago. “It sounds like…Tommy Shelby was scared.” His expression deadpanned. Her smile broke through. Her joy poured out of her in bright laughter.

Tommy smiled then. He tugged her closer. “Lizzie,” he whispered, forehead dipping to rest against hers. She hummed, brushed his nose with hers. “Say ‘yes’. Please.” His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it lightly. She pulled back a bit so she could see him properly. He looked nervous. He looked like a kid asking a girl to the school dance. It made Lizzie smile. That- out of everything- made her let go of the fear and the hurt and the anger. That little bit of nerves- proof that this, she, meant something to him.

“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips against his.

“Yeah?”

She loved him. Fuck, she loved him. She kissed him again- let herself sink into it for a moment. “Of course I’ll marry you, Tom. Pick the day. Pick the place. I’ll be there.” He caught her smile with his lips. She wondered if he could taste her happiness. She thought maybe she could taste his. “I love you. I love you so much, Tommy Shelby.” He slid down a bit, pulled her in so his head was pressed to her chest. She let her fingers thread into his hair, tugging the strands a bit. This was good. And, now, she could only see it getting better.

“Can’t believe you thought I was fucking cheating on you.”

She shook her head and smiled.

“Shut up. You gonna put the ring on me, or what?”

#tommy shelby #lizzie stark #tommy x lizzie #peaky blinders fanfic

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ivegotbreadinmypants · 5 years ago

Text

you hover like a hummingbird, haunt me in my sleep

a little soul-baring never hurt anyone (2/3) Part 1

Find it here on AO3

Geralt/Jaskier - Soulmate AU

Word Count: 5622

I can see through you, we are the same

It’s perfectly strange, you run in my veins

How can I keep you in my lungs

I breathe what is yours, you breathe what is mine

“You should know you two are not very subtle,” duchess Emylya comments, sipping her wine with delicate hands, peering over the rim at Geralt.

Amber eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yes, denial. That always works.

The duchess laughs as she tips her head back. Geralt grits his teeth, peering into his goblet of ale that he wishes is full right about now.

“People can tell when two are soulmates. It’s prevalent in everything they do,” she says once the amusement has passed, idly picking apart the empty stem of grapes on her plate.

“For instance—” she starts, leaning over her armrest, nodding to the court, “you have looked over to your bard six times since the start of our conversation.”

Geralt resists the urge to prove her right, but even then, there is an itch to stare into those playful blue eyes.

“He needs protection from jealous husbands,” he says blankly, as if it excuses the fact he hasn’t taken his eyes off of the bard. Emylya adopts a knowing smile.

“I thought you said your bard has never been to Mellaburn,” she wonders out loud, an innocent sparkle in her eyes. “I hardly think he would know anyone here.”

Geralt grits his teeth, averting his gaze—not to look at Jaskier, mind you.

“And—” she swipes a finger over his sleeve, as if she’s wiping dust, “I’ve never seen a Witcher as relaxed as you when your bard merely brushed his hand against your back.”

“He’s not my bard,” he grounds out, almost too quick to retort. The duchess’ brows fly to her hairline.

“Not only are you insufferably unsubtle, I can hardly miss the fact the man is nearly two decades older than me and still looks like he just popped out of studying at Oxenfurt. Don’t take me for a fool.” She shakes her head, looking slightly indignant as she waves her cup of wine around. He wonders if she’s born royal or married into it. With the way she’s unashamed of acting regal at every moment, he’d bet it’s the latter.

“Also, not your bard? Twenty-three years of knowing each other and he’s not your bard?” she asks, a touch of mirthful confusion in her features. Geralt is silent, not unsure of what to say at all—considering he knows any word he says would be turned on its head.

“I was still a child when I heard of Dandelion’s first ballad of you.” At her snort of laughter, Geralt sighs, mindlessly wondering if he’d get hanged if he rolls his eyes at the duchess.

He hears the music come to a graceful end, the room echoing with applause. Geralt doesn’t need to look over to know they’re taking a break.

“What’s your point?”

If he gets drunk enough, he might be able to survive the rest of this conversation. He just hopes Jaskier’s next performance will have the room excited enough so that the duchess won’t be able to hear him over the deafening cheers.

“I am merely curious. Pray tell,” she leans back into her chair, looking far too amused for someone to be messing with a Witcher, “does the bard know you’re in love with him?”

Geralt chokes, ale dribbling from the side of his mouth. The duchess blinks, seemingly not surprised by his reaction at all. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sending a testy glare her way.

“Pray tell, My Grace, are all duchesses this nosy?” he grits out, grabbing a napkin to dry his ale-covered hands.

“No, Witcher, just this one. One who has a penchant for sad love stories,” she merely says, not at all sounding insulted by his sarcasm.

Geralt takes a risky and rolls his eyes for real this time, sighing once again. The evening feels much longer now that there’s the prospect of being meticulously studied by one annoying yet slightly endearing duchess.

“You two are going to grow old together for as long as you live. But…”

“Why waste time?” Geralt scrunches his nose, the old thought from years ago wringing buried emotions out in his chest.

“He may live long, longer than any regular human. But he’s still human.” The ale tastes like ash in his mouth and he glares into his cup.

“He’s vulnerable, Witcher. How much longer until he’s in mortal danger, real danger, and you realize that maybe… maybe you didn’t have enough time together at all.” Geralt’s fingers are taut around his goblet, dignity steadfast in not looking for those wide, blue skies.

“That may happen years, months or even days further down the road. You never know. That day might even be tomorrow.” The duchess’ voice is low, yet somehow it drowns out every other noise in the room.

“I’m not saying that this is a certainty.” Geralt fights the building urge to look at Jaskier, to quell his incessant clambering thoughts.

“But sometimes, it’s just better to be safe than sorry. Especially when it comes to the people we love.”

Geralt stares at her, gaze flat and distant. “You’re oddly wise for someone your age.”

“Not wise. Just perceptive. And I, for one, learn from my mistakes.” The duchess finished with a sip of her wine, the knowing glint in her eye never fading.

Geralt has thought about it before. How can he not? The life of a Witcher is not something to laugh at. They are mutants for a reason; no human can achieve the feats they do, they can’t learn the decades of training and rudimentary magic without wrecking their body along the way.

He made a promise to Jaskier years ago, to keep him safe from harm. And he’s yet to break it.

It’s why Geralt often tries his best not to bring Jaskier along to his dangerous contracts (which is most of them, much to the bard’s chagrin). Jaskier may be his soulmate, but he’s human and vulnerable and susceptible to things Witchers wouldn’t even blink an eye at.

It’s also why Geralt and the other Wolven Witchers decided to teach the bard the basics of combat. They don’t ever use their true strength on him—not even close—but even then, Geralt can see that that pushes Jaskier to his limits. He’s getting better with every training session but it’s still a far cry from being a master.

And that terrifies Geralt. If Jaskier can’t hold his own on an uneven match against a nearly defenseless Witcher, what would happen if Jaskier has to face something much worse than that? And that Geralt won’t be there to protect him?

It’s a string of thoughts he tries not to get tangled in.

Over the years, the fear only grew, especially when nowadays Geralt gets more heat from Nilfgaard because of Ciri. His daughter may be vulnerable, but she’s powerful enough to kill crowds of people with a scream. But Jaskier? The man may be able to jump into a tavern brawl and leave with barely a bruise, but what can he do against monsters? Swing his lute blindly and hope he wins?

Geralt shakes his head. It’s a funny image, but it’s a reality Geralt can never bring himself to laugh at.

But it does beg the question why he doesn’t reach out and bridge the gap between them, growing their friendship into something more—something he denies he wants. He just imagines it would hurt less if he lost Jaskier as a friend rather than as the love of his love, his everything.

He knows his reasoning is utter horseshit, though. He can’t quite fully fool himself into thinking that—because really, how can he? When Jaskier is already both of those things?

His eyes roam the room, looking for a mop of brown hair within the crowds.

He spots Jaskier, but his brows furrow when he sees another dark-haired man come to stand next to him, the mysterious man’s back towards Geralt.

Geralt exhales heavily, exasperated. Another jealous lover.

Considering the many times he’s saved Jaskier from this particular predicament, Geralt is actually curious how the bard has survived this long. Geralt wonders if he can talk his way out without him intervening.

He takes a sip of ale from his goblet, staring inconspicuously at the conversing pair. They seem to be in deep conversation, which has him leaning forward in his seat, curiosity piqued. He convinces himself he will step in if the man pulls out a knife or something that can maim his—the bard.

Amusement tugs at his lips when Jaskier looks more irritated than anything, his blue eyes rolling almost every time the other man opens his mouth.

Not a jealous lover then. They know each other.

Jaskier seems guarded but he doesn’t see the man as a threat; he’s not nervous like those other times Geralt pulled husbands (and sometimes wives) away from hurting the bard. Geralt snorts into his goblet when Jaskier grimaces like he’s grown tired of the conversation, picking up his speed to leave the man behind.

Only the man doesn’t let him go.

Geralt’s goblet stops half-way to his lips, following their movements with his eyes, the amusement dying away.

The man has his hand wrapped around Jaskier’s arm, his knuckles white. The bard snaps at something he says, drops his bread roll and jerks the man’s hand off him, looking furious.

Geralt slams his goblet down onto the table when the man snatches Jaskier back to him; leaning in too close for Geralt’s comfort.

He bolts from his chair, not answering the duchess’ startled inquiries.

The man is whispering something into Jaskier’s ear, and Geralt can feel a harsh tug in his chest—something hot and liquid sliding between his veins. It burns when he can see the man touch Jaskier’s face—who is wincing at it—like he belongs to him.

The court is big and crowded, Geralt doesn’t know if he can make it fast enough to get to his bard, who is—

Jaskier is—

Geralt can feel the twang of fear in his bones, their soul-bond trembling from the weight of Jaskier’s emotion spilling over to Geralt.

He’s ripping the man off the bard before he’s even thinking about it, placing himself as a barrier between the two as he shoves the man away.

“Ah—Geralt!” Jaskier breathes, relief rolling off him in waves, and—before Geralt can blink—slides up next to the Witcher, the bard’s arm winding around his waist. The tremor going through his arm (Geralt can even feel it through his doublet) betrays his self-assured smile. Geralt can hardly see through the fog of possessive fury creeping in.

“Darling, I was just about to tell you about my uh—my old friend,” Jaskier says, too bright and cheerful for that twinge of fear Geralt felt to be fake, the emotion having hit him like a wild wave against a cliff-side. Geralt’s sudden and aptly timed appearance flicked a switch in Jaskier, going from a shaking leaf to a dog happy to see its owner; not that Jaskier is happy—Geralt can sniff the anxiety on him—but the strong relief emanating from within Geralt’s soul is comparable to excitement.

The Witcher blinks, something crossing over his face when he hears Jaskier’s words in his head. Jaskier has many nicknames for Geralt, but darling is not one of them.

Geralt takes in his pale face, wide blinking eyes and quivering voice, and rumbles out softly, gentle words only for Jaskier to hear, “Are you alright? Did he touch you?”

Jaskier pauses, staring deeply into Geralt’s golden eyes for a moment, blue eyes impossibly shiny, but eventually nods. “I’m fine.”

Geralt waits for his next answer.

“Jaskier, did he touch you?”

Jaskier heart-stopping silence is drowned out by the roaring in Geralt’s ears. A deep, thunderous growl rattles in his chest, once golden eyes now looking like hot molten lava under his furrowed brows, his nose flaring as he snarls.

“I see you have your hound with you,” the man says, and Geralt whirls to face him. His tone deceptively light for the sharp look in his green eyes, still acting as if what he did won’t get him speared onto Geralt’s sword. He’s dusting his shoulders like the Witcher had dirtied him, and Geralt wonders if he’ll be able to see bloodstains on his red doublet.

Jaskier digs his fingers into Geralt’s side, the touch nearly sending Geralt keeling over, and the Witcher glances over to his bard. His smile is terse, but those cornflower eyes are seething.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier asks, tone dangerous.

The man looks between the two of them. “You’ve gotten your White Wolf to protect you again. How quaint. Really, I must congratulate you, flower, for picking a perfectly apt name for your pup.”

Geralt doesn’t remember the number of times Jaskier has stood up for him; he’s lost count. And every time, without fail, it stuns Geralt that a person like Jaskier—someone who loves everyone and everything, someone who feels so much—can have the seemingly infinite capacity to genuinely care for a white-haired Witcher and take the harsh words of narrow-minded people in Geralt’s stead, even throwing some biting ones back.

This time is no different.

“You should watch what you say, Valdo, ‘cause I won’t hesitate to cut that tongue out,” Jaskier hisses, the threat sounding sour with resentment in spite of the shivers running through him.

“Do you need your wolf with you all the time? It seems like you’ve only a spine when he comes to your rescue.”

Geralt glowers, stepping to the side to better shield Jaskier from—wait, Valdo? Why does that name sound familiar?

“Believe it or not, I’ve had to stop Jask from hurting people more than he had to me. Even then, I don’t think he’ll stop me this time,” Geralt grumbles, rolling his shoulders, fingers curling into fists.

Valdo tuts. “Careful, Witcher. Would you truly hurt me? In a room full of witnesses? I thought you smarter than the bard.” His tone is patronizing, inherently chafing Geralt’s temper to smithereens.

“It would be a shame, after all the little flower’s done for you. Singing about your… adventures and all that. Practically birthing your reputation.” He grins, a slimy thing. His voice is grating, talking about their life-threatening journeys around the Continent as if they were innocent little children’s trips to the town’s well.

Geralt casts an eye around. There isn’t a crowd circling them, but they’ve caused enough commotion to have the closest people glance over nervously.

“I don’t care,” the Witcher grits out, gold on green, ringing in his ears from how hard he’s clenching his jaw. “You touched him.”

All he sees is red—feels the echo of that twang of unbridled terror like a lute string tugged harshly—and it brightens to a rich golden fire, rage drumming through him as he thinks about how Valdo touched him, he touched Jaskier, he’ll kill that son of a whore—

Callused fingertips smooth their way into his sweating palm, ring-laden fingers lacing with his own, grounding him into earth. Jaskier’s hand squeezes around his, a tipped over boat finally having peace on choppy waters.

“Love, I don’t think the two-faced weasel is worth it.” The words are spoken to a riled-up dog, protective of its pup. He feels the words more than hears them, soft quivering breaths in half-whispers fanning across the side of his neck. It’s soothing, cooling against the red-hot cinders of his anger. But it also alights something dormant within Geralt, like a sparkling star in the darkest of nights.

Valdo’s face twists for merely a moment. Geralt tilts his head, curious. It’s the first sign of something other than cocky indifference.

It seems that Valdo has a weakness.

The bard seems to have picked up on it too and is quick to unmask it for what it is, because he’s now closing the distance between him and Geralt, pressing his front against the Witcher’s tensed side and back.

Valdo’s temples pulsate.

He doesn’t like how Jaskier isn’t his—isn’t an obedient pet.

Jaskier releases his right arm around Geralt and instead reaches up to slide it across and over his shoulder, hand coming to rest on his pec, practically draping himself over the Witcher—like a territorial cat. Jaskier noses the side of Geralt’s neck, goosebumps rising in the wake of Jaskier’s skin delicately running across his.

It’s a clear message.

Jaskier may not be Geralt’s

—but Geralt is Jaskier’s.

Geralt knows they must look ridiculous, what with Jaskier’s defensive posturing and Geralt’s cautious stormy gaze that would bring even the strongest man to his knees; but all he feels is the curl of satisfaction in the pit of his stomach, warming like a campfire when Jaskier’s cheekbone brushes against the scruff of Geralt’s jaw.

In spite of it, it seems to be working. Their staring contest has come down to Valdo’s withering glare, uncontrollable hostility clear in his green eyes. But then a smirk slides onto that whoreson’s face.

“Does he know about the times we spent in my bed chambers? After the times he would leave you?”

Jaskier goes stiff as a rock, his breath stuttering, clearly unsure of how to react to such callously thrown words, but Geralt doesn’t let the words phase him—

(—a quiet part of his mind rages, howls within its cage, desperate to claw the man’s throat out for making Jaskier feel this way—)

and only stands straighter, puffing his chest, broadening his shoulders.

(—that same part of him purrs at the way Jaskier’s fingers twitch and dig into his muscles, testing the Witcher’s strength like he’s dipping a toe into an angry ocean’s waters—)

He meets cornflower blue eyes, hardened amber sap melting into warm honey, and squeezes Jaskier’s hand. It’s his turn to settle the anxious bard back to the Continent.

His gaze snaps back to the toxic green, and the raging fire comes back.

“Do you know he’d once wished a djinn to kill you?” Valdo blinks, not expecting such a remark.

There’s a tiny puff of laughter behind him, tugging Geralt’s lips into a small smirk. “It’s a shame, really. I regret that they turned out to be my wishes. I’d much prefer it now if he’d had them.”

Geralt wants to crowd into the Valdo’s space, growling, prowling and intimidating him like the White Wolf he is, but because he’s held so gently and protectively by the bard, he won’t move a muscle as long as the bard keeps him pacified, like a docile dog kept on a leash. A small part of him withers from the lack of dignity in his thoughts, but he finds he mostly doesn’t care.

“Don’t underestimate my bard. It’s always a mistake to do so,” Geralt rumbles, the slight intonation of pride in his voice completely sincere. At the twitch of Jaskier’s fingers, he glances around and realizes they have a bigger audience now. They should leave since they’re attracting more attention. Only Valdo narrows his eyes, stepping closer, clearly not finished with them yet, opening his mouth to retort but Geralt beats him to it.

“I’d listen if he says he’ll cut your tongue out. You should just hope I’m around next time to stop him.”

Valdo turns his nose up at them.

“Geralt, do you think we get more pockets in all my doublets? I wished I had somewhere to keep the silver dagger on me this evening,” Jaskier says it so casually, so flippantly and Gods—Geralt wishes he can kiss the bard senseless at this moment.

He remembers that silver dagger, a gift for his fortieth birthday because Geralt knows he can’t always protect Jaskier from all types of monsters. He even remembers teaching him how to wield it. Another thrum of adorations rings through him as he recalls how Jaskier, with that particular silver blade, had saved his life more than once.

Jaskier had no problem with taking care of the bandits who threatened to kill Geralt, utterly ruthless with the blade. He doesn’t doubt that the bard would carry out his threat.

Valdo’s icy glare hardens. It’s disturbing to think how Jaskier used to love this person; but at the same, it isn’t because Jaskier falls in love with everybody, falls so freely with abandon, shares pieces of himself to people who don’t deserve it.

They should leave the scene. Despite his constant complaints of needing to rescue Jaskier, he would never willingly leave the bard in danger. He needs to get him out of here, away from the whoreson.

He’s never felt Jaskier’s fear so strongly over the soul-bond before. This was the first time it’s ever happened. Not even on the more dangerous contracts did Geralt feel such horror over their bond. It rattled him to his core when he was making his hurried way to them, discomforted by how easily Valdo set off the bard.

Geralt stares at Valdo for a moment longer, disgust twisting his face. The man only has beady eyes for Jaskier, somehow looking eerie as he contemplates something.

The Witcher turns around to face Jaskier, but keeps a cautious side-eye on the threat, not trusting the man to stay silent. Geralt’s grip moves to Jaskier’s wrist, unwinding from his embrace—despite the strong urge to stay put. He brushes his thumb over the bard’s pulse point,

(—and tries to calm the beast when he feels the indentations of crescent moons dug into the skin—)

pressing a thumb into that little rhythmic beat of Jaskier’s life. A small weight lifts off of Geralt.

“You alright?” Geralt mumbles, staring deeply into the blue, blue sky. Jaskier nods and opens his mouth—

“You’re proud of that little whore, are you not?”

Fire burns his heart inside out, lightning striking back with a vengeance and Geralt is then sliding away from Jaskier and closing the distance between him and the fucking whoreson, intending to snap his neck and be done with the pest—no one has a right to talk about Jaskier like that—

“Geralt!” The desperate plea of a sweet voice stops him, freezes him in place, just a jerk of his hands away from clawing the eyes of a certain green-eyed bastard.

His fists are white-knuckled, tremoring as they clutch at Valdo’s collar with the suppressed temper of a hundred storms. He brutally yanks him into his space, golden eyes flashing.

Finally, there’s a flash of fear in those green eyes. For once, Geralt does not mind the fear directed at him, in fact he revels in it. He should be afraid. Geralt of Rivia is a Witcher, a cold-blooded monster-killing machine, and he’s a Witcher whose soulmate was just threatened, bullied.

Valdo isn’t taller than Geralt and neither is the Witcher, but his hulking size, bulging arms and barely restrained bloodthirsty mania paints a terrifying picture.

“If it weren’t for Jaskier, I’d castrate you with my bare fucking hands.” His growl comes deep from his chest, voice harsh, gnarly. His glowing eyes brighten, snarl baring a little more of that teeth. Then he smells it.

A slow grin stretching his lips, a dark wolfish thing he knows is a horror to look at. “I can smell it on you.”

The Witcher narrows his eyes. “Fear.”

The scent only gets thicker.

“What in the Gods’ names is happening here?”

Geralt doesn’t stray his gaze away from his target, the murderous glint in fiery embers still being stoked by the way the man heartlessly treated Jaskier. He’s never quite gotten worked up like this before, in regard to his soulmate—including the times the worst types of jealous lovers crowded Jaskier against his will, spitting bodily threats at the bard.

Those types of people would usually cower in seconds under the glower of one irate Witcher who has come to the bard’s rescue. But this, this is different. The violent threats can’t quite compare to the utter bullshit spewing from Valdo’s mouth; they’re more personal and targeted, aimed perfectly blow-for-blow to fish the desired reaction from Jaskier. It’s clear Valdo knows him well—they are, or rather, were close enough for Valdo to which of the bard’s buttons to push, words digging themselves to the hilt in Jaskier.

Geralt would rather not think about the other aspects of their closeness. But it’s clear they have a more than platonic history together.

And it absolutely enrages Geralt that the man would use their past relationship as a weapon, throwing words on a whim like they were daggers, with no regard for the bard’s boundaries—

(—and Jaskier is not known to have many of them; but that just makes the whole thing worse, doesn’t it?)

That a man like Jaskier, who is open and selfless and unabashedly loving, is reduced to—

(—not weak, never weak—)

—such a vulnerable state, come apart by threats and unwelcomed manhandling.

“Ah—it’s nothing, Your Grace,” Jaskier blurts. Geralt looks at him over his shoulder, incredulous.

“Like shit it’s nothing,” Great grumbles. The whole room is staring at them now. Just for once, can he go to a ball without stirring any trouble and drink in peace?

“Witcher?” the duchess asks gently as she looks between the three of them, pausing at the sight of Geralt’s raised hackles and bared teeth. He meets the eyes of the duchess and, to his surprise, finds himself glad that this particular nosy royal has a soft spot for love stories.

“This man,” he nods jerkily at Valdo, “just insulted and threatened my soulmate.”

A collective gasp is heard throughout the room, and only by his sensitive hearing does he hear the incredulous whispers. Apparently, a lot of people thought Witchers can’t have soulmates; yet, here he is, evidence in the flesh.

Valdo’s eyes spark with realization, chuckling darkly. “At least now I know why you haven’t aged a day since we met.”

There are soft warbles in the back of Jaskier’s throat, words wanting to be spoken but unsure of its delivery.

The rage in his gut simmers. Jaskier never hesitates in dishing out the most cutting and outlandish insults. To know Valdo has such an effect on him—where Jaskier is second-guessing himself—only makes Geralt want to tear the man apart even more.

It’s so rare that people connect the dots between him and Jaskier, figuring out they share a soul-bond; but he doubts it would get any less disorienting when the fact is shoved in their faces, much less said out-loud. Their soul-bond is mostly left unspoken, a rule deemed by Geralt from the first day they met. It became clear to Jaskier that Geralt isn’t one to hold back his punches, literally, even when it comes to his soulmate.

Geralt once mused over the thought that Jaskier must assume the Witcher doesn’t see his soulmate differently from the next person when it can’t be any further from the truth.

The duchess’ lips are set into a firm line, eyes grim. She turns to Valdo and says, “Is this true?”

Valdo backtracks, voice light, “My Grace, I was not aware that the Witcher is his soulmate. And I was merely catching up with an old friend—”

“By insulting him and using emotional blackmail?” Geralt grits out, eyes glinting dangerously.

Valdo cocks a brow, as if he’s challenging him in front of the duchess.

“My Grace, whatever the bard and I discuss is only meant to be kept private, without a Witcher interrupting our conversation.”

Geralt’s hands roll back into fists. “I felt his fear over the soul-bond. You did something to him.”

At this, something heavy and dark is shown through the duchess’ delicate features. “You felt the soul-bond?”

Geralt nods, and more murmurs erupt from the crowd. It’s rare that one person of the soul-bond feels something so inherently strong, that their conscience calls out for their other. It’s a phenomenon not to be taken lightly. Everyone in the room knows the weight of his statement.

“Pray tell,” the duchess starts, her tone gaining an edge, “what exactly did you do?”

Valdo opens his mouth, but Geralt cuts in, “My Grace, no offence but I think we should ask Jaskier for the details.”

Geralt glances over to the bard in question, who stares at him for a long silent moment before gratefully nodding, something soft in those blue eyes. Geralt doesn’t want Valdo to spout details Jaskier wouldn’t want out in the open. He isn’t quite sure what Valdo did, but he knows it’s terrible if it ruffled Jaskier’s feathers enough that even Geralt would feel the repercussions.

He’s put the ball in Jaskier’s court, giving him control over the person who has ruined their evening.

“Master Dandelion?” the duchess softly inquires. Jaskier swallows hard, back going stiff again. He gapes and closes his mouth, deep in thought, probably trying to figure how to put what happened into words.

“Uh, well, he didn’t leave a mark on me,” Jaskier simply says, “not visible ones.”

The duchess goes stiffer than Jaskier. “But he laid his hands on you, yes?”

Something flashes across Jaskier’s eyes, meeting the royal’s gaze. The air thickens, and Geralt feels like he’s missing a part of the conversation between the two when Jaskier solemnly nods. The duchess straightens up, snapping her head towards Valdo with a cold gaze, similar to Geralt’s much more heated glare.

“My Grace, you have no idea if this bard is telling the truth,” Valdo points out, still playing the act.

“There are many witnesses. I am sure at least one person in this court has seen what transpired.”

She steps closer to Valdo and Geralt, her crown practically shattering the glass ceiling, a terrifying aura coming off the duchess.

“Even so, you shall show Master Dandelion the respect he has earned. He is one of the most famed bards, if not the most, in our time.”

The more the duchess inches closer, the further Geralt steps away from Valdo, certain the duchess can handle the man. Behind him, he hears the soft footfalls of his bard and he reaches behind blindly, groping for Jaskier’s hand, which squeezes his once their fingers lace together.

“My Grace, might I remind you I am Master Valdo Marx, also a bard of high regard.” The man does a graceful little bow, a little smug smirk on his face. Both Geralt and Jaskier don’t resist the urge to roll their eyes. Suck-up.

A finely shaped brow arches high on the duchess’ face.

“I’m afraid I’ve not heard of you.”

Snickers amongst the crowd break the silence, and even Jaskier can’t help the snort of amusement. An annoyed frown briefly crosses Valdo’s face.

“You should be aware that in Mellaburn, we do not tolerate any foul play against soulmates, especially if it’s against the most renowned bard in the Continent and Geralt of Rivia.” The duchess’ tone is one of incredulous disbelief, as if she’s reminding him how much of an idiot he is for going after a Witcher’s soulmate.

“I hardly doubt the two would hold back had I not intervened,” the duchess says, now standing in front of Valdo, somehow towering over him despite her petite stature.

“Not to forget, they are my special guests. I expect everyone to treat them the same way they do with the members of the ducal table. I do not accept anything less.” Her eyes flash, words cutting. She awfully reminds Geralt of lilac and the chaos behind violet eyes.

The look on Valdo’s face is one of subtle indignation, brows in a slight furrow as he stares down the royal. It’s a thorough dressing down even with the little words the duchess said. Valdo looks around, as if finally realizing he’s crowded in a corner, everyone’s eyes watching his every movement. The sharpness in his eyes dulls like a dagger being sheathed, and he puts his hands up in a placating manner, subtly surrendering.

Geralt’s snarl deepens. He does not want to spend another moment around this heinous snake or stand around getting gawked at.

“Duchess Emylya,” he calls out. She does not turn her gaze away from Valdo, still accessing him from head to toe.

“Yes, Witcher?”

“If you don’t mind, Jaskier and I will be taking our leave.“

Jaskier grips his hand tighter, cutting him off, “But I didn’t get to finish my performance—”

“Of course. I shall get a guard to escort you to your room and a handmaiden to provide as much provisions as you see fit for your trip tomorrow.” She shoots a look at Jaskier—like a worried mother chastising her child, and Geralt nods gratefully, but he pauses at the offer of a room.

It must be an apology of sorts, letting them stay at their palace even though they already have a room at the town’s inn. He doesn’t look at a gift horse in the mouth, however. The duke, having stood by watching the entire confrontation, calls for a guard.

Geralt lets go of Jaskier’s hand—and has to resist when Jaskier gripped it tighter at the last second to keep the Witcher close—to walk over to the speechless group of minstrels, picking up Jaskier’s treasured lute in his hands. He returns to Jaskier, a guard already by the bard’s side, who looks absolutely bewildered by the turn of events.

He passes over the lute, sharing a reassuring look—those soft blues warming in his gaze. Jaskier nearly ducks his head, lips twitching from a flat line to a tiny smile—the sight of it unfurls a knot in Geralt’s chest, one he didn’t know he had.

The bard mumbles a soft ‘thank you’ and trails after the guard who leads their way out, Geralt at his heels—who sends one last scathing look at Valdo before they leave the pin-drop silent room.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #geralt #jaskier #valdo marx #ao3 #my writing #my ao3 #my fic

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years ago

Text

Choice

(Hayffie pregnancy. 6 years after the Revolution.)

Effie sat at the vanity in her Capitol apartment. The tabletop was neatly stacked with cases of makeup and bottles of polish, lotions, and perfumes. Nearly everything was in its proper place. She slid her fingers along the mahogany surface and paused on the one item that didn’t belong there; a plastic container which held two pills, the first to help her cervix open and the second to help her uterus contract. “Help,” the doctor had said to simplify the science, but the word felt as out of place as plastic on glossy wood.

She looked up at the mirror. Her face was bare and her hair natural. It was difficult to look at herself with imperfections glaring back. 38 years of smiles, genuine and false, had brought lines to her cheeks and to the corners of her eyes. The creases stayed now, even when she wasn’t forcing a smile. The illusion of agelessness was becoming harder for her to effect.

“Pregnant?? You MUST be mistaken. It’s just a stomach flu.” she had said to the doctor with incredulity and indignation, “I simply can’t be pregnant. I’m too... old.” She held the thought but left it unspoken.

“There’s no mistake, Ma’am.”

The “Ma’am” comment didn’t help matters. She’d glared at him in annoyance.

“Would you like to see a scan and hear the heartbeat?” he asked.

Effie was stunned. “There’s a heartbeat?”

“We should be able to hear it with a vaginal ultrasound. Without one, it will be difficult to assess the gestational age since you’ve been on continuous hormones to prevent ovulation and menstruation for...” The doctor glanced at Effie’s chart. “...Many years.”

“Prevent ovulation... Hah! That’s a laugh.”

“Hormonal birth control is 99% effective when used correctly.”

“Well, OF COURSE I used it correctly!”

“I’m not implying otherwise, Mrs... “The doctor glanced at her chart again. “...Trinket. Even with flawless use there’s still a 1% chance of pregnancy. And, well, here you are.”

Apparently the odds were not in Effie’s favor. She considered the irony and clung to the possibility of a false positive.

“It’s MS. Trinket! And YES I need to see a scan.”

The ultrasound was quick, and moments later Effie was listening to a heartbeat and looking at an image of what appeared to be a microscopic teddy bear, only without ears yet.

“That’s human?”

The doctor stifled a chuckle. “Indeed, Ms. Trinket, your baby is human.”

“My... baby?”

“And in perfect development for 9 weeks gestation.”

“9 weeks?”

Oh, my God... Haymitch.

“And perfect,” the doctor said that word again.

“This is NOT perfect. This situation is not even remotely perfect! I did not intend for this to happen.”

“I understand,” the doctor sympathized, “Would you like for me to explain your options?”

“Yes. Please... Can’t someone else VOLUNTEER for this?” Effie focused on not hyperventilating as the doctor described medications and procedures used for abortion. He also described the course of pregnancy if she chose to not terminate.

In the end, Effie carried the pills home in that plastic container. She also took a digital copy of the ultrasound. Though she wasn’t sure why, because the thrumming of that tiny heartbeat would probably be stuck in her mind forever.

The vanity mirror and the birth control had been tricksters. Effie felt like a fool. An imperfect fool... with a perfect “baby” inside her. Of course any baby she conceived WOULD be perfect. “Nothing but the best for my girl,” she recalled her mother’s oft-spoken words.

Would this baby be a girl too if she let it happen? Or would it be a boy?

Effie stared at the pills, then stared again at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t see a baby. She couldn’t feel anything inside her. She felt alone.

She sent Haymitch a message. “I need to see you. Can I come tomorrow? — E”

He sent a teasing response later that evening. “It would be my pleasure to make you come tomorrow. — H”

Effie couldn’t help but smile, before she started to cry.

***

Six years had passed since the Revolution, and Haymitch considered himself at this point to be a fairly functional alcoholic. One of the ways he stayed functional was to work. His expertise in strategy made him a sought after consultant by both government and businesses in the Republic. But he rejected offers at that life. He decided instead to raise geese.

“A goose farmer?” Effie had laughed years ago at his plans, thinking he was joking about a brand of liquor that was popular in the Capitol. “Yeah, right, I’m sure you’ll be *farming* that *Goose* day and night.”

“Nice try, Sweetheart. But I’m not joking. My mother raised geese. She turned a decent profit on their eggs and meat. Not enough to keep from having to put my name in extra times each year at the reaping, but enough to survive awhile.”

“I didn’t know.” Effie had developed a habit of laying her hand on his chest and stroking the hollow between his collarbones as an offering of tenderness whenever she pitied him. Haymitch hated to be pitied, but he let her do it because the way she did it felt so good.

“Now you know.” He pulled away slowly. Feeling good with her, with anyone, for too long was dangerous. “Some eggs hatched last week. The goslings are still in the incubator. Do you want to see?”

“They’re inside your HOUSE?!”

“For now,” he chuckled, taking her hand and leading her to another room. On a table was a heat lamp glowing red above a slotted crate filled with the chatter of baby geese.”

“I declare! Haymitch Abernathy is a goose farmer. I never imagined myself saying those words.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not a total career change; I’m still a drunk too.” He winked at her, then lifted the lid off the crate.

The goslings still had their downy plumage. They were balls of fluff, and Effie’s eyes lit up like a little girl. The light came from inside her, much deeper than her gold mascara.

“Do you want to hold one?”

“Hold one!? Goodness, no. I have no idea how to do that. I’d probably squeeze the poor thing to death.” She watched Haymitch pick up a gosling and cradle it in his palm. Those hands were lethal in The Games because they had to be. Those hands clutched a knife in sleep. And those hands had such capacity for gentleness. She knew.

“Hold out your hands; you’ll be alright.”

She hesitated.

“Honey, I know how soft your hands are. Trust me; you’ll be alright.”

Effie cupped her hands like a chalice. She squealed a bit as he placed the gosling into her palms.

“Shhh,” he said to soothe them.

“Ohhhh, it’s feet are walking on me!” Effie fussed.

“It’s just a baby, Sweetheart. It’s not going anywhere. You’re alright. You’ll be alright.”

“It tickles,” Effie giggled, natural like a girl again, discovering pleasure in something new. “It’s soft.” She looked at Haymitch. Then back to the gosling she said, “Hello, you.”

Haymitch watched her with amused enchantment. In the months since the Revolution, her appearance had become less clown-like and more authentically her. He was still figuring out who that was, and he guessed she was still figuring herself out too.

“Take it!” she hollered suddenly, “It just defecated in my hand. Take this thing!”

Haymitch laughed as he put the gosling back with the others, and Effie ran to the bathroom. He closed the crate and followed her.

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I feel defiled. This sink is not enough. I need a bath.”

He held her hips from behind, looking at her in the mirror. “You don’t look defiled, not yet. I love this shirt and skirt thing you’te wearing.” He slipped his thumbs under the hem of her blouse, caressing her skin in circles. “I need a bath too. Do you want company?”

She turned around to face him. She might be squeamish about baby things, but Haymitch she could handle. She slid her arms around his waist and untucked the back of his shirt . “Well, I didn’t ride all this way for nothing.”

***

The other way Haymitch stayed functional as an alcoholic was to walk. He walked a lot. The fences that surrounded District 12 for the first 42 years of his life had been cleared away with the rubble during the years of reconstruction. The forest was wide open, and he spent a lot of time in it, just moving. Katniss had warned him years ago to step loudly.

“After everything we’ve been through, I’d hate to mistake you for a deer and shoot you. You probably wouldn’t taste very good.”

“I’m definitely not dear, Sweetheart,” he’d retorted, “Don’t mistake me for that.”

She paused. “Yes, you are. And I’m not the only one who knows it.”

So Haymitch stepped loudly today as usual. As he walked, he wondered about Effie’s message, short and urgent. If she needed a quick fuck, surely she could have gotten that from somebody else without having to ride across the country. Most of the time that’s not how it was with them anyway. Not anymore. Sex between them was loaded with feeling. Way too much feeling for his comfort, but it was too good with her to just stop. He hadn’t been with anyone besides Effie in at least a year. Work, walking, and drinking filled his days and nights. When he wanted more, he took the train to see her, and he never turned her down when she asked to visit.

A couple of months had passed since his last trip to the Capitol. He wouldn’t acknowledge how he missed her and how it felt to receive her message. Last night he dulled the feelings with Scotch. Today he walked and watched the sun move across the sky. The train was scheduled to arrive this evening. Alone in the woods he pretended to not be counting the hours.

***

The monotony of a train ride which she’d taken countless times gave Effie too much space in which to consider and reconsider whether she should have even gotten on the train. Running to the bathroom to throw up during the first few hours of the trip certainly didn’t make anything easier.

She had messaged Haymitch yesterday on inmpulse, in shock really. In the stillness now, reality was sinking in. What would it serve to tell him that she was... pregnant. She could barely think the word. How would she say it out loud? Besides, she was reasonably content with the way things were, and this could screw up everything, not just with Haymitch, who’d grown on her in ways she didn’t understand. But EVERYTHING.

Her glory days as a true fashion icon and escort had died with The Games. But she was still Effie Trinket! She picked herself up and adapted. She fashioned a career within the Republic’s efforts to promote democracy and to honor the fallen. I organize marketing and tours for the entire Memorial Complex for goodness sake! The place would fall apart without me. Effie hadn’t NEEDED anyone for a long time, maybe ever. She couldn’t understand why she suddenly felt alone and vulnerable.

I’ll get over it. Maybe I’ll just get over it. But what if I don’t get over it? Get over WHAT even? Oh, why didn’t the universe just stick to the cards! I had written them out exactly how I wanted my life to be.

She didn’t know.

Somewhere in the stillness, ethics got the best of her or came from the best of her. Haymitch should know about the pregnancy, not just because she felt alone and vulnerable, but because telling him was the right thing to do, regardless of any other decisions she would make and regardless of the consequences.

***

Haymitch sat on his porch beside a purple umbrella. A smile crept over his face as he touched the lace fringe. One gust of wind would destroy the thing, but Effie always prioritized style over function. She probably even had a back-up in her suitcase. She may be impractical but definitely not stupid.

He kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks. Picking out the stickers could wait; he wanted to see her. The door was unlocked; she’d found the spare key. He changed its hiding place periodically. Unfortunately if he moved it when he was drunk, then finding it when he sobered up was sometimes a challenge. Fortunately he didn’t have many hiding spots, nor did he have much inside his house worth stealing. He just felt safer with the doors and windows locked. Not that much safer, but enough to get some sleep occasionally.

Inside he took his coat off and dropped it on the floor.

“I’m in the dining room, Haymitch,” she called out, knowing that surprising him in his house could be dangerous. The one surprise she had for him already felt dangerous enough. “The train arrived early, so I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.”

Haymitch peered around the corner of the nook she called “the dining room.” Effie sat at the table with a glass of Scotch in front of her. A silk scarf which matched her umbrella draped loosely over her head, wrapped once around her neck, and the fringe hung in front just above her breasts. Her blonde hair peeked out from beneath. Her makeup was light, almost nonexistent. Her dress hugged her curves without flamboyance

She was hiding. This understated appearance was Effie’s way of hiding.

He didn’t know why she was hiding, but he wasn’t complaining. He loved her like this.

“This is ‘the drinking room,’ Sweetheart, and I see you’re off to an early start.”

As he crossed the room, she stood up and stepped into his embrace. He smelled of pine trees, crushed mint, and sweat. He was damp and dusty and probably ruining her clothes, but she didn’t care. Not today. Today she leaned into it all, because what if this was the last time she’d have the chance?

He pulled back just enough to unwrap her scarf and drape it across the back of her chair. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good” is such a short word, she murmured, closing the distance he’d created.

“I have longer options for you,” he whispered into the corner of her mouth.

“Then kiss me. For as long as you want. Just once, without holding back.”

Her breath was cinnamon. It had been weeks since he’d tasted her.. Something was up, but he’d figure it out later.

“Just one kiss?”

“For now.”

“Okay. I won’t hold back if you won’t eith....” He didn’t get to finish that last word before she started the game.

Time moved with the speed of their mouths, slowly at first and then quickening. She slipped her hands under his shirt and her fingers played over the muscles along his sides. Through the past few years he’d become stronger with work. She delighted in his body, but wouldn’t admit it.

“Cheater,” he muttered without breaking their kiss. Her dress was too form-fitting to lift, so he held her waist and caressed her through the fabric. His thumbs traced her ribcage and settled on her stomach, jolting her back to reality.

“Haymitch, wait,” she ended the kiss, trying to find her breath.

“What’s going on, Sweetheart?” He said the endearment without any sarcasm. “How about we sit down, and you tell me, okay? Can you do that?”

Effie nodded, slumping into her chair. He pulled up a chair too and sat close enough to touch her. He just wasn’t sure if she wanted him to touch her. So he waited.

She pushed the glass of Scotch toward him. “I poured this for YOU. Let’s start with this.”

He swallowed the liquor in one gulp, wary.

“You’ll need another.” She poured him a second glass, which he drank as quickly as the first.

“If you want to get me drunk you should just hand me the bottle.”

“I don’t want you drunk, just prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

She reached into the bag beside her chair, pulled out a disc and slid it along the same path as the Scotch.

“What’s this?”

“Just watch it.”

“Now?”

She nodded.

Haymitch reached behind him and plugged it into the nearest viewer.

The microscopic teddy bear without ears filled the screen. The tiny heartbeat filled the room.

“Jesus, Effie. What is this?” he asked again, already knowing and not yet believing.”

“It’s an ultrasound... It’s... my ultrasound.” She whispered ‘my.’

“When?”

“Yesterday. Well, 9 weeks ago. I mean, the ultrasound was yesterday. But 9 weeks ago...”

Haymitch did the math.

“How did this happen?”

“Isn’t it a little late for the HOW talk? One of my eggs and one of your sperm had a party and made... that.”

“Mine? Are you sure?”

Effie started to simmer. “OF COURSE I’m sure!”

“How can you be sure?”

“I haven’t had sex with anyone besides you in over a year, Haymitch!”

His jaw dropped, and she immediately softened. She hadn’t meant for that reality to slip out. It said too much about her feelings. It revealed depths of her that she didn’t intend.

He reached for the bottle of Scotch, and poured himself a third glass. “Do you want one?”

“A baby?”

“I was going to say a glass of liquor, but let’s go with your question first.”

He looked right at her eyes, right into and through her. He hadn’t walked away from her, not yet.

“A baby?” she wondered, “In THIS world? Who in their right mind would want to have a baby after so much horror?”

“I’m not asking about *anybody in their right mind.* I’m asking about YOU, Sweetheart.” The endearment was soft again.

“That’s NOT funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny. ...I just notice you’re not drinking.”

Effie reached into her bag again and pulled out the plastic container. “One pill for my cervix to open. Then one the next day for my uterus to contract.”

“You haven’t taken them.”

She shook her head ‘no’.

“Why not?”

The tiny heartbeat kept echoing through the room. Neither of them reached to turn off the viewer.

Effie closed her eyes. “Because of THAT. Because that could become a baby... my baby... our baby. It’s a lot to think about. It could change everything. Even not having it could change everything.”

When she opened her eyes, his were still on her. “It’s been at least a year since I’ve had sex with anyone but you, Honey. Something’s changed already.”

She didn’t expect that response. Everything felt wide open, like her organs might fall out, or maybe it was that thing some people call a soul. He was close enough to touch, but she didn’t touch him.

“When I didn’t care about anyone, it was hard enough. But now...”

“Now what?”

“Now I never stop being scared.” He said it. He’d never said it before.

She caressed his shirt sleeve. “I’m scared too.”

“You’re alright. You’re going to be alright.” He covered her hand with his.

She wanted to ask him the same question that he had asked her, Do YOU want a baby?

She was afraid that his answer would be ‘yes.’ And she was afraid that his answer would be ‘no.’

Mostly she was afraid of her own answer, the one she hadn’t yet spoken.

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