#maybe its the fact that the woman aggravates me so much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allandoflimbo · 4 years ago

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Ashens (Part 18)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian. Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 17,000 (I’M SO SORRY) the first half of this story is flashback. The second half is the present.

Chapter Warning: Sex, twice. Sad Sex. Filthy sex. SMUT. VERY strong Language. Bucky and Reader will be very toxic in this chapter. It might be triggering if you’ve ever been in an emotionally abusive relationship.

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

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There’s an imminent smell of old wood garnish and pumpkin spice escaping a bright orange glow that flickered in the background.

The odor was extremely strong, trickling through the thick and heavy air of the twelve by twelve room. There was a draft coming in through the window and it continued to help push the flame directly towards the center of the room- the scent marking anything in its direct path with a faint reminder of the close arrival of winter.

Though the glow of a candle was soothing, to many it was anything but pleasant; scented candles were a new thing and it was said to be something for the upcoming future generation.

The idea behind it was that it carried an artificial smell that held a memory you could carry along with you wherever you went. Its point was to remind you of where you were or what you wanted to be feeling, come the fitting setting. This specific pumpkin candle was to remind us all that it was a season of festivity and gathering, and much-needed warmth. The other obvious reason being that pumpkin was delicious.

If you weren’t eating it, you might as well be smelling it.

To most people, it made no sense. Why would you want to smell something so delicious and not be able to physically consume it? It was a pleasant odor coming from an artificial chemical, completely contrary to what is expected. Put simply, it was an empty promise.

One more strong whiff of pumpkin, mixed together with the cozy sound of a crackle of fire, he blinks and Bucky is brought out of his daze. He’s now entirely environmentally aware of his surroundings and sounds coming from additional places come into his perspective.

Within a moment’s relapse, he chooses again to regain focus on the other specific sounds aside from the antagonizing fake fire, gazing his eyes over the pleasant words in front of him.

To his dismay, they don’t sink in. He is distracted by the harsh rain pellets and the distant undeviating sound of a honking Durant. Unlike the candle, those sounds didn’t stand out to him as empty promises, but instead as a reminder of the harsh reality of the outside world.

His strong and confident fingers appeared to skim the yellow worn-out pages of his book on their own accord; his eyes still looking, but not necessarily seeing. Looking closer, with shoulders painfully slumped, he squinted his blue eyes. The words blurred into one and he began blinking desperately and shifting in his seat. He tried to regain his proper vision, not enjoying the sensation of not knowing or seeing what he was trying oh so hard to understand.

His right thumb gave a slight unconfident tremble as he tried to pick up the next page. After a couple of failed attempts, the paper not obeying (most likely due to his careless attempt- it’s not like he was actually reading it), he sighs in aggravation.

He closes his copy of This Side of Paradise harshly between his hands, bringing it to his face. He bounces his right leg uncontrollably up and down as he tapped his pointer finger on the cover of the worn-out novel, resting one elbow on each knee.

It was a nervous tick he picked up somewhere along the way.

The walls of the study room seemed to want to envelope him warmly, as if trying too hard to show comfort and security. There was an eeriness that made him constantly tremble and not feel comfortable at all. Maybe it was the hideous wallpaper, or maybe it was that disgusting odor of varnish from the freshly repainted wooden chair that he smelled when he first came in and could not stop thinking about.

There was no longer a sound of a honking Durant, and the rain seemed to dim down drastically as he continued to look into the distance. He wondered if it was the December air leaking through the slightly ajar window that made the tightness in his chest grow cold and frigid.

Aggravated, he placed the book down next to him on the side table, avoiding the waiting and apprehensive eyes staring at him. They had been staring at him for what felt like hours but had been only mere minutes.

He knew he was a strong young man, he'd always tried to be because that's how he was raised back in his little home town of Shelbyville, Indiana. And if asked about it, he would speak of it with great confidence.

When his mother passed away, his father had been the one to make sure to teach him that nothing like her death would be strong enough to tear him down. That instead, it would, and should, be a motivation for him to be a better person each and every time. He would need to transfer that hurt and despair into physical action.

But clearly, it had to come with a price and tremendous hard work. Things like that, non material things like emotional determination, could not be bought. If you wanted to be great, you had to work to be great. If you wanted to be strong, you'd have to work for it. He’d have to push through all the heartache and pain to reach that level of excellence that he knew his father wanted to see in him.

That is that natural characteristic they’re born with: soldiers.

It was well known, Bucky Barnes was a military brat. His father was always well respected at Camp Lehigh. They'd say back at camp that he was much like his father: loyal, headstrong, patriotic, and obtained strong morals. It was practically in his blood to be a fighter. A fighter for the good in people, the kind, and the innocent. It was his duty, and when he'd grow up to put his own two feet in combat boots himself, he would be prepared to take on any mission he was told. He would be more than capable of doing so.

They all promised him this and he himself grew up believing it.

But this, this of all things, was not something he was prepared for.

Because he's realized -at this exact moment- that his entire life he has lost almost everything and gained absolutely nothing in return. He'd put himself out there so many times to try and do the better good, from giving his last twenty five cents (that he initially wanted to use to buy flowers for the new pretty girl he met) to the little boy he saw walking down Broadway with no shoes.

He excelled in every class he'd ever taken because he knew it was good for him because it would make his father proud.

The shadow that belonged to the eyes and voice from earlier sat down in front of him behind a large desk that had a plaque.

It read ‘Director' in golden ink that had begun to fade from years of scratching and unkindly picking by kids that faced much less traumatic sentences than this.

Bucky's eyes lifted for the first time in what felt like a long time. He could feel the strain on his heavy eyelids as he did so. He regretted it the moment he looked up, because that's when reality seemed to have punched him directly in the gut. His eyes swelled and he blinked away quickly, not letting emotion get the best of his masculinity.

He'd refused to let a tear out.

But the look of pity on the man's face is what did it for him, it made him want to completely fall apart. He didn't like being looked at that way. He didn't like being the victim, the way it felt. He hated it with a passion. He wanted to run out of there and hide himself away for at least one small moment and cry.

"I'm so sorry."

That was the response he exactly did not want to hear. Bucky let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his short hair as the words rang in his ears like ticking bombs. Again, he didn't like the pity.

He tried to deny it and shake his head back and forth to himself but all that did was drive tears to trickle out of his blue eyes.

He knew this would pass with time, but being weak was not the reaction he needed to put on display. He was a soldier for heaven’s sake. No matter how destroyed his life seemed to be getting, he couldn't let it show.

Bucky cleared his throat, making sure his voice would sound strong before he would begin to speak.

And it was.

"It's not your fault.”

Twenty-one. That's how old Bucky Barnes was when his father passed away.

+ + +

They were both laughing so hard that she started getting tears, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the laughter or the bitter cold. They were both so caught up in the events of the night neither noticed how cold it really was.

Once their laughter dwelled down, she continued to stare at him in total admiration. He was something else for sure. She wanted to feel his arm around her again. She looked down at his freezing hand and took it into her cold one.

“Tell me about you, James.”

He smiled when she looked back up and he gave her a tight squeeze.

“First, tell me what a fine dame like you is doin here in Brooklyn.” A playful smile plays on her lips, but it’s a rhetorical questions so he continues, “What do you wanna know?"

She smiles even wider and this time it reaches her eyes, “Everything. I want to know everything about you by tomorrow mornin’.”

The fact that she suggested spending the night with him made him gulp.

He looks down at her lips and nods slowly.

He followed up by telling her that the apartment he had rented out for the next few weeks was just a couple of blocks away. On the walk there she had questioned what he meant by rent for a couple of weeks to which he responded with that he would explain there, but that they should get warm first.

When they arrived, his door ended up being three floors up. His dingy beat-up door made her smile inside. He gave off a classy, rich, stuck up vibe, but really he was simple and not much for being out there. She liked that he seemed so original.

He inserted the key into the normal door lock and bolt lock and opened the door for her to let her in first. She stepped into the “foyer”, if it could even be called that, and took a look around. It was more like a two by two feet space. She walked in the rest of the way and took a look around. It was basically a small studio, but a lot smaller. It was one room, inside there was a tiny kitchen on the left corner, a window that looked out to another brick wall, and to the right a metal bed with a white blanket.

But it was made, military style.

He walks over to his record player and places the needle gently down on the vinyl. If You Only Knew starts playing quietly.

He looks over his shoulder at her and notices her facial expression.

“Yeah, sorry” he chuckled dropping his keys by his iron stove, “I know it’s not much, but it’s temporary. You should’ve seen my old place before I left for training.”

He catches himself when he says it but it’s too late. Her head snaps to his direction and her face holds an emotion that he can’t really pin point. He can’t tell if it’s fear or surprise. He swallows hard and tries to direct the conversation to a different direction.

He curses himself in his head for his stupid slip up. He goes to the far kitchen and opens the cupboard, “I got some cookies, uhm,” he doesn’t know what to say with her staring at him like that. He closes the cupboard and runs a hand through his brown hair. It’s silent.

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. A car honks outside after it runs through a puddle and Ella’s voice is haunting.

“You’re in the army.”

He’s caught off guard and his eyebrow raises at her voice. He looks at her. It wasn’t fear or surprise that she had felt when he said that, it was sadness. It was the one feeling he was afraid she’d feel, it was the reason why he didn’t want to tell her just yet. But it was too late, she knows now.

He nods.

He sees visible tears build up in her eyes. He doesn’t want this, he wanted this to be happy. Just a half hour ago they were laughing and now she’s in his apartment, shattered. She nods quickly and crosses her arms across her chest.

She was different and he knew it the moment he saw her. Any normal girl would love to be with a soldier, but not in this case. Not when it was something like this.

She looks at his bed and his window and shakes her head. This was a damn pit stop.

The made bed revealed just how loyal he was to what he had signed up for and she knew there was no backing out. But he was perfect, she couldn’t lose him. She had to at least stay for the long hall, she thought. It wouldn’t last forever anyway.

Her eyes meet his again. The tears had been blinked away and evaporated and her strong satire was back.

He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the sink, sighing. He had been waiting patiently for her response. Whatever she said would ever make or break this, and for God’s sakes if there’s anything he didn’t want to do it was break this.

“How long?” Her tone was strong.

“How long till I leave?” He was a bit confused by the question.

She nodded.

Bucky felt his heart sink. It wasn’t long. She would not like the answer. It was not good. She concluded this herself by his delayed answer and his stare at the floor beneath him.

She let out an exhausted sigh and a click of her tongue as she turned away from him. Now she was angry.

“Five days.”

They’re silent, standing there letting reality sink in. Minutes pass by. She takes a seat on his bed and takes off her coat. He watches her every move intently, wondering if she would decided to stay for the long haul or run out of his cheap room he dared call an apartment.

“Like I said. I want to know you.”

He heart soars and he smiles. He re opens the cupboard and takes out a box of cookies. He fills up two jars with milk and hands one of them to her as he practically dances over to her. He sits criss crossed on the bed. She chuckles at how innocent he looks just sitting there like that in his dress shirt and suspenders, like a kid.

It’s awkward at first, trying to sit cross cross with a long dress on, but eventually she manages by pulling her dress up around her thighs. Bucky blushes at this. She brings him out of the moment.

“So what are you doing in Brooklyn?"

He smirks, “I live here, Doll.” She gives him a confused look. He takes a deep breath and decides to start from the beginning, “I moved here when I was a teen. My father was in the army since we used to live back in Indiana. I used to go with him to camp, I loved everything about it. The respect those men held, the strong mentality they had, there’s was so much about what they were doing that made me see there was something greater to live for. To make this country better for us, so we can live and be peaceful and happy. There are way too many nasty people out there who don’t deserve to breathe our air. We are good people and I want to save the good people. It’s something serious, putting your life like that on the line. Unfortunately not all are willing.”

Daisy smiles at him talking about his love for the military. She remembers her mother’s words at that moment.

It really was in his heart, his love for humanity, “it’s in my blood, just like dad. I did training in New Jersey where he was stationed.” Mentions of his father makes him trail off for a second and Daisy notices. She places her hand on his, “and then they sent me back here for some additional work just until our physical forms go through to see who gets accepted. Who does leave in five days.”

Daisy perks at this, “So you’re not actually certain if you will leave?”

Bucky chuckles to himself and looks down. He reaches for another cookie, “Doll, my dad was well respected on the forces. They raised me to do the same. They practically have my name already there ready for me. I know I’m not staying.”

Daisy stays silent again. Bucky tosses the cookie back down and reaches for her cheek. She gasps and looks up at him, her blue eyes soft, “I’m not saying this to make this harder. I’m being honest with ourselves, because,” he looks at her eyes and then her lips. She swallows hard when she sees him looking there. Her heart starts to race in his chest as he moves in closer, “because I know all we have is five days and I want to make the most of it. I’ve only known you for a few hours but what I feel with you is something I know will last forever.”

The moment he says this he feels like he’s just put his heart own on his sleeve. Something he has never done. There was no taking it back now. He’s never had a relationship like this before, he prays to God he didn’t just mess it up. He starts getting afraid when she doesn’t respond, she just stares up at him. His eyes swell up slightly and he wants to add that it’s okay if she didn’t feel the same.

But No. he didn’t not want to lose this. So he slides his hand from her cheek even higher up the side of her head through her hair and watching her, “Please tell me you feel the same.” His voice is low and full of emotion. Hopeful.

She’s never felt this. This had to be the boy of her dreams, and now she felt like the one that was dreaming all over again. Just three hours ago she never even knew this man existed, but all of a sudden she felt like she’s known him all her life.

She moves in closer and watches his Adam’s apple bobble up. The proximity was too much to bear. He was too much, and yet she wanted more. She wanted him.

And she only had five days. They had five days.

And they were going to make the most of it.

The moment her lips crashed onto his was a moment he wouldn’t forget. The fire that exploded inside of him was a bright red flame and it burned through his heart. Instinctively, he brings his other hand up as well and slides it to the other side of her face. She slides her left hand up his thigh and he growls against her mouth, their tongues meeting for the first time. It was fast, hard, and needy.

He raises himself up onto his knees so he’s towering above her still criss-cross body. Her hand raises up higher up his thigh and he feels her delicate fingers reaching in his waist band. He growls against her mouth once more.

She uses his belt loop to bring his body downwards as she uncrosses her legs and lays herself down onto his bed. Bucky’s right leg drops down the side of the bed and accidentally kicks the glass over. They’re lips still stay connected and he’s bringing his right hand to the strap of her dress, and now Ella’s voice sounds like a goddamn melody.

He’s about to pull her strap further down but he stops himself.

He pulls away and they’re both breathing heavily, Daisy whimpers at the distance he puts between their lips. The sound makes him want to go back to what he was doing, but he stops himself.

She’s about to question him when he places her strap back against her clavicle. He pats it down gently and the act makes her laugh. His lips are swollen and she kisses them one more time. He moans into her mouth. She pulls away and lets him speak.

“I want to know you, too.” He says.

“We will. We have five days.”

+ + +

Her legs had curled up against her chest as she laid on her side, a single finger making soft patterns against his chest. It moved up and down sharply as his breathing became affected by what her touch was doing to him. He had stared down at her finger and then grabbed it diligently. She watched silently as he used his right hand to unfold her twirling fingers and fold it with his, holding it against his body.

She looked up at him incomplete awe, her eyes drifting down to his approaching lips. He dipped his head just slightly as he brushed his lips against hers.

They had stayed up all night talking about their goals, and what they loved to do. Daisy was a simple, innocent,, young girl. She loved dancing and flowers and she also admired the simplicity of innocence. She grew up in a Christian household and her morals were up there. They both laughed together when she brought up the fact that she never would’ve had thought she’d be cuddled in bed with a man she met only hours before.

They commented about their families, how Bucky’s little sister had been taken away from him not too far back, about his mother’s death.

“What about your father?” She had asked.

Bucky remained quiet as he stared up at her. She noticed his change in demeanor and her eyes squinted. Bucky let go of her hand and switched his position from on his side to on his back. He brought his leg up and folded his hands on his chest.

He felt her shift and lean against him. He looked over and saw her resting on her elbow, her left hand drifting up his neck and into his hair. She pulled on it slightly making him close his eyes.

“James.” She whispered, pleadingly. He opened his eyes and looking into hers.

“He passed away,” he could tell she was going to start saying condolences as her mouth opened but he beat her to it, “this morning.”

He thought she was going to start giving him sympathy, he expected it. But instead he felt her rest her head on his sturdy chest. He was taken aback at first, but then smiled softly and took in a deep breath. He allowed his hand to snake in through her soft blonde hair.

“You’ll get through this. You’re strong.” He swallowed as he felt her hand skim against his chest, feeling him. He didn’t want to push her into anything and was thankful that her hand just went to his waist, pulling his body closer to hers, “I can tell.”

“I want to be with you. And when I get back from war, I want to be with you again.”

+ +

She knew she was taking a risk by inviting him over to her house, but she had wanted him to meet her family. Sure this was fast, but how long did they truly have together? She obviously remembered the stories her mother told her.

Underneath the anxiety, love, and happiness she felt as he helped her mom cut the carrots, she genuinely hoped her parents would love him, too.

“How long have you known this boy, Daisy?” Her mom had asked over her shoulder as she washed some lettuce and tomatoes in some cold water in a bowl under the sink. Daisy bit her lip. Her mom noticed her hesitate, “ Daisy .”

Her tone was judging and all too motherly. Daisy looked up and saw her mom giving her a glare that quickly told her that she didn’t like where this was going. Daisy felt defensive.

“Momma, before you judge me, he’s an amazing gentleman and I fully trust him with everything,” she saw her mom shaking her head to herself and murmur something but the sound of the sink water drowned it out. Daisy got up exasperated and walked over to her mom, “Think about it, when was the last time I brought a boy home? You know I don’t bring just anyone. You are going to love him.”

Her mom smiled and looked over at her, shutting off the water.

“You are lucky I’m me and not your dang fatha’, Daisy.” She washed two more tomatoes, “Do you?”

Daisy gaped at her, not really know how to respond to that. To be fully honest she didn’t really think about it. When it came out while she was cuddly with Bucky earlier that day, it was natural and she hadn’t thought twice about it. But it seemed to soon to tell, but yet not fully impossible. She’d never felt the way she felt that when she was with Bucky. She felt heat creep up into her cheeks and her mom started to smile. The moment was interrupted by a strong voice.

“Love who?”

Both Daisy and her mother’s face fell at the heavy tone that washed over them like pure ice. Daisy’s eyes drifted up to her dad who was standing in the door way. He held a cigar in his right hand, his leather covered foot tapping away. He eyed them both, clearly he was eavesdropping and was not liking where this conversation seemed to have been going.

Daisy gulped. She looked down and fidgeted with her fingers.

“A boy, daddy.”

“Daisy invited him for dinner.” Her mom added casually, draining the water out of the bowl with her hands. The silence was deafening. Her dad could tell she was avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled maniacally as he tapped his cigar with his pointer fingers, some ashes tickling towards the freshly mopped floor. Daisy watched as if it were poison. Suddenly, she was very fearful.

“Is that so?”

Daisy nodded, finally looking up. Her dad looked serious, territorial even.

“Charles, quit scarin’ her. I hear he could be the one.” Her mom winked at her.

Her dad squinted angrily, “The one? And I’m just now hearing about this kid?” He walked over to his wife and rubbed her back soothingly, still giving Daisy a disapproving look, “and did I just hear love?”

Daisy groaned in aggravation, running her hands through her curls, “Mom, stop that.” Daisy sighed as she wiped her hands on her little dress and walked back over to the stool that sat on the far side of the large kitchen, “he’s a great guy. Daddy, I know that, it’s why I invited him today.”

“I just don’t get why I’m not meeting this damn boy.”

Daisy flinched at his tone, “Daddy, please.”

“Then explain it to me!”

Daisy dropped her face into her hands, “I was just worried about you meeting him because he’s not the typical guy you go for. But I do care about him, please, just give him a chance. He’s very sweet.”

Daisy practically felt her father roll his eyes. She looked up and saw a snarl on his face.

A soft knock on the door and Daisy immediately flew out of her seat to open it. Her dad made a comment to Daisy’s mother about agreeing to this in the background, but Daisy was now momentarily too excited to care. She took a deep breath as her hand wrapped around the doorknob.

She opened it and the moment her eyes landed on him, her heart went soaring and she literally felt herself smile. All the anger and fear she felt before dissipated. His reaction was mirrored to hers, his pearly whites making her blush hard. His gorgeous eyes wrinkled at the sides as he smiled. He looked perfect in a soft black suit, underneath it is a white dress shirt, but the top button undone. His hair was in a small quiff and shiny from his pomade.

She extended her hand out to take his in hers and pulled him inside playfully hard. They both giggled together, Bucky’s face leaning down to kiss the top of her cheek. She hadn’t realized how hard she really pulled him until he stood right in front of her, their fronts touching. She was blushing as he stared down at her face and then her lips.

He tilted his head slightly and started to lean down, and her eyes drifted shut, when the moment was interrupted but a cough.

“So you must be the boy Daisy won’t stop going on about.”

Bucky pulled back, red tainting his cheeks. At that moment he realized he had just been caught almost wanting to devour this woman’s daughter’s mouth right in front of her. He stepped back bit and straightened out his back and cleared his throat.

He brought his one hand across his chest and with the other he extended it out for a handshake. No longer lust in his eyes, he was now completely serious, his mission being to impress a high class family. Her mom smiled at how charming he was.

“Mrs Davis.” Bucky greeted with a firm shake and smile.

She could tell by his strong handshake that he had been raised well. She exchanged looks with Daisy, who clearly looked terrified and expectant of what her reaction to him would be. She looks back at Bucky.

“Daisy never mentioned your name.”

“James, mamn.”

“That’s a strong name.”

Everyone looked up to follow the voice. Charles stood there tall and brooding, another cigar in hand. Bucky stretched out his arm once more, too eagerly this time, “Please to meet you, Mr. Davis.”

Bucky waited as Charles stared down at Bucky’s hand, not taking it and clearly not wanting to anytime soon. Bucky stood there awkwardly, fear and rejection creeping into his guts. He slowly lowered his arm, Charle’s gaze not leaving his face.

“You live on the upper east side, too? What’s your Street? You’re dressed like a damn paper boy.”

Bucky’s face fell immediately and Daisy inwardly groaned.

Bucky licked his lips nervously and then fixed his back to stand taller as if to appear powerful. There was no way he was going to let this man tear him down.

“No, sir,” He hates that his voice is shaky. He gives Daisy a nervous side glance and then back to her dad, “I live in Brooklyn, sir.”

Her dad frowned and both Daisy and her mother knew this was going to go down fast.

“Brooklyn,” his tone was disapproving, “What do you do for a living, boy?”

Daisy took a step next to Bucky, “Dad, that’s enough.”

Bucky frowned and realized Daisy hadn’t really told them close to anything about him. While he understood, he was now dreading the whole entire conversation that would go down. Him and Daisy shared a look before Barnes looked back up at Charles.

“I’m in the military, sir.”

Her dad raised an eyebrow as soon as the words left his lips, then a scoff. Daisy looked up to his her mother’s face fallen and sad.

Bucky’s eyes darted between Daisy and her father, suddenly realizing that something that he said was not good.

“Sir, was something I said -“

“Daisy, tell me hows a boy who doesn’t have a real job suppose to be with my daughter? A goddamn soldier? Jesus.”

“For heaven’s sake, Daddy!”

“Charles, stop that!”

Daisy’s mother’s angry voice made everyone go silent at once. Bucky felt small, wanting to fade away into the ground below him.

Charle’s scoffed, tossing his cigar at Bucky’s beat up dress shoes. It was the best pair he owned and even those were not his best. He swallowed hard, trying to not feel small and sad.

“I’m gonna get Jimmy and then we can eat.”

Bucky stared down at the cigar at his feet, his heart feeling heavy. “A goddamn soldier”.

It replayed over and over in his head.

Suddenly, he felt a comforting hand on his back. He looked up and saw Daisy staring down at him, sad.

“Just a goddamn soldier, Daisy?” He motioned upwards with his hand. “What is this?”

Daisy looked down, “James, that’s my father, okay? If anything, let’s just be glad he didn’t kill you. He’s like that with everyone.” That actually did help Bucky feel slightly better as he stood up taller. Daisy’s hand reached up as she cupped his cheek, “And the soldier thing, he’s weird about that. I’m not sure why.”

Bucky stared at her for half a second, doubting every word, before he simply complied and nodded. He smiled slightly.

+ +

The dinner was quiet and tense, and over much too slowly. Bucky had quickly pulled Daisy out into the hallway to say goodbye before he left, groaning into her mouth how he was never going back in there ever again. They both laughed and kissed.

And now here they were at the bar, the night before he had to leave. Bucky didn’t want to leave, because he had a feeling that this would be one of the last few days he would have any peace and serenity. His gut was twisting and turning as he played with the strand of her hair between his thumb and pointer finger. As his gaze drifted from her lips to her blue eyes he just knew deep inside that this is exactly the kind of feeling he wanted to be feeling for all of eternity.

He felt it when he touched her, when he looked at her, and when he held her in his arms.

It was like a wave of fresh air that reminded him of home - Daisy was his new home. He knew it happened fast, they all did, but sometimes true love doesn’t have to be complicated. When its meant to happen, it just simply happens. It’s simple as that - as simple as him tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her that pearly white smile that made the cheeks on her face turn a crimson red.

She leaned her forehead onto his as he held her close by her waist, the piano in the background that was once haunting, now insanely beautiful exactly like the woman in front of him.

When Bucky had told Steve he might ask her to marry him one day.

Those words Steve said kept ringing in Bucky’s head, even as he now held Daisy in his arms, but they meant absolutely nothing to him. She was his sanctuary, his now, and he would take it by the hand.

He would take advantage of these last few hours he had with her and he would pretend all is good in the world and it would stay that way. It had to.

He kept telling himself that so he, himself, could believe it. The truth was it was all going to go downhill, he could tell.

He knew that once he left for New Jersey tomorrow that he wasn’t going to automatically be drafted into war, there wasn’t a necessary need just yet. But his father had told him the speculations of how the US wanted to go after the Nazis, and he knew there was something else his father wasn’t telling him, and it would not be long before hell broke loose.

That’s when Steve and all the others would eventually be even more so analyzed and drafted, and so would Bucky - without a doubt.

Sure, he was courageous. It wasn’t that he was scared to go, but he needed to be certain that Daisy would always be safe. He would surely miss the moments of having her in his arms, safe and happy.

Softly, he took her left cheek in his hand and rubbed his thumb across the top of her cheek bone,. He needed to take advantage of this moment that was staring them dead in the eye. He needed to. It didn’t matter how fast it was, how much he wanted to treat her preciously, and how much he respected her faith. He needed her.

“Come to my apartment with me,” he noticed her gulp and her mouth opened slightly. Daisy’s mouth went dry and she watched his usual blue eyes turn a heavy grey. Bucky smiled slightly, “I don’t want to seem like I’m making you do something you don’t want to, but I just…” his voice drifted off as his gazed dropped slightly. His eyes became clouded with disastrous visions of the future. He blinked it quickly away, wanting to just see the image of Daisy underneath him. Just her and her pearly white skin and those gorgeous lips kissing him.

At that moment Daisy knew exactly what he was asking.

She was a virgin and she had mentioned that to him when they started talking about the topic of her faith. She technically wasn’t supposed to be engaging in anything that was sexual before marriage to which Bucky simply nodded. At that moment, he decided he wouldn’t be too strong on her nor mention anything of his past sex life which would surely leave her blushing. He loved fucking.

But as she stared at him right then and there, realizing this could be the last moment where they’re both happy together and not having to worry about anything, she wanted just exactly the same thing he did. She closed her eyes tightly together and leaned her face closer to his, giving him a deep and sexy kiss on his top lip, biting it as she pulled away.

Bucky practically growled at her action, never seeing this side of her. Daisy was innocent, a classy lady, one that should always be treated as such. Sure, he knew of her passions for burlesque and lingerie (when she told him he had practically tried not to cum right then and there in his bed), but that was a dirty little secret that he concluded shouldn’t be mentioned out loud. She was always that beautiful, young, and morally behaved girl that stole his heart.

When she let go of his top lip, which was definitely throbbing now, he narrowed his lusty eyes at her and took it as a sign of acceptance.

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t slightly shaking the whole time he walked her to his dungy little Brooklyn apartment. He looked straight adorable in his little Italian flat hat and suspenders, his coat draped across one of his arms, the other holding her hand as he slid his key into all three locks of the door.

She swore she could see him shake a little too when they had gotten inside and he put his coat on the tiny kitchen table and he turned to her.

The room suddenly felt even smaller, the air between them hot and utterly thick.

He eyed her up and down and swallowed hard. She wore a beautiful black dress that covered every single part of her that he now wanted to see exposed to him.

Her lips were slightly red from the many kisses they shared on the way to the apartment, and her pinup eyeliner was so damn pretty as it shaped her eyes to perfection. She was damn gorgeous and she knew it.

He slid off his dress shoes and then walked over to where she was standing. Her heart hammered away in her chest as his stunning blue eyes traced her body. The moment he finally stood before her, he realized he didn’t want to do with her what he did with every other girl.

He lifted his left arm to the side of her neck and watched her chest fall rapidly up and down. He grabbed her there lightly, and then slid it down the side of her body, eyeing the beauty that was simply her.

“James.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

He grabbed her right hand and pulled her along over to his bed. She looked down at him as he stared up at her, in awe and in love. She brought her hands to his face and touched his perfectly combed hair, smiling.

She stopped when he laid his hands over hers and brought it down between them. His face was now serious as he whispered, “Lay with me.”

He wanted to make love to her tonight.

Did they and it was slow and tender.

+ +

Bucky had told Steve he’d be back soon. It wouldn’t be too long - maybe a month, maybe even a few weeks. Bucky stepped onto the steam train and Steve and Daisy had stood next to each other as they waved him goodbye. The moment he sat down in his seat and the vision of the love of his life and his best friend became nothing but silhouettes, he threw his head back against his cold seat, taking a deep breath. He made a vow to himself that now was the time to make himself, his father, and his country proud.

The only thing he wanted more than his girl was to save the lives of every person he possibly could.

He took an additional deep breath, running a damp hand over his face. He stared up at the iron ceiling as the train swayed side to side and up and down over the slightly uneven tracks, making its way south.

He fidgeted uncomfortably as each horrible made up scenario of what could happen when he arrived went through his mind. He wondered if the chief and sergeant would agree that he’d be as fitting as his father in taking his place and if he’d make the best soldier he always wanted to be.

He took a deep breath and simply leaned his head against the glass.

His blue eyes watched as the scenery of green and trees became the last of peace that he had a feeling he would feel for a very long time.

+ +

Wheaton, New Jersey

The train ride wasn’t long; a little over an hour which was just enough time for Bucky to take his well-needed nap. When he had arrived at the station, he had noted the Jeep he was told that would pick him up along with two others who were on board. He didn’t even bother to meet up with them while onboard the train, wanting to take as much time to himself as he could, knowing it was probably his last opportunity.

The Jeep zoomed down a dirt road and through an intimidating metal gate. Bucky watched as young men ran around the perimeters, training intensely. Others were talking amongst each other as they took their break, sweaty bangs dangling onto their foreheads.

They looked at him in curiosity as his car sped towards its destination, probably wondering what was so special about this guy that he had to get to where he was going so quickly.

Suddenly, the car came to a heavy jolt and a hand slammed down beside him on his seat announcing their arrival. He jumped slightly at the intrusion but took a deep breath and opened the dingy door.

As Bucky stepped off the jeep and into the dirty mud of his new camp, he knew he needed to find his uniform and combat boots as fast as he could.

He stared down in a slight grimace at his freshly destroyed dressed shoes - he had just gotten them shined. He scoffed to himself and dragged it’s front against a random dry patch of grass trying to get off as much as he could. A young man jogged by, kicking some mud up onto Bucky’s new pants. Bucky looked on at the man as he ran, a look of anger written all over his face.

From a distance (from beneath a random tent that provided cover for a rest area, Colonel Douglas Smith watched in amusement the entire scene unfolding.

“This is Barnes’ son? The sniper?” He snarled under a grimace. He turned his head and gave Williams a disappointed look.

Another man -Williams- which sat to his left, looked towards Bucky’s direction over his daily newspaper. He watched on along with Douglas and smirked as Bucky looked around, lost.

His eyes drifted to Smith and then back down at his paper, giving it a slight smack, “Yes, sir.” humor tinted his voice heavily.

Smith shook his head in wonder as Bucky dusted off a piece of lint that was on his coat’s collar, “He better be right about this, or I swear to God.”

Bucky’s eyes scanned his vicinity, eyes narrowing diligently. His eyes finally landed on someone who seemed to be who he should be looking for, judging by their attire and posture of authority. Also, the fact that they had been looking at him first.

“He seems too pretty to be as good as they say.”

“His father says he is the best.”

Colonel Smith eyes Bucky up and down as he made his way over, sporting his new suit and fresh suspenders. As soon as he reached the two men, Bucky nodded at each one and took off his Italian flat hat, tucking it into his armpit revealing a perfectly groomed gorgeous head of hair drenched in pomade.

He reached out with his right arm for the Colonel to shake with a bright smile on his face, “James Barnes.”

“Colonel Douglas Smith,” he nods over to the man sitting down who seems very busy jotting something down, “This is Sergeant William of the one-oh-third.”

“Colonel. Serg.” Bucky confirms with a nod to each.

“Sit, boy.” Colonel demands with a motion of his hand in front of him. Bucky politely abides as he pulls out a chair to sit himself down. Bucky places his hat down in front of him and takes a deep breath, “First, I’d like to give you my condolences.”

Bucky momentarily stalls as his eyes drift back and forth between both men, but then clears his throat nodding, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Your father was a great man. Quite a fighter used to say he raised you from young to be the same way.” Colonel eyes Bucky up and down. Bucky gulps, finally feeling the pressure he had been slightly dreading from the beginning. He knew they were expectant of him, and now he was here to prove it and he wasn’t sure he had the balls of steels he had one day ago, “That true?”

Bucky clears his throat, “Yes, sir.” He leans down to reach into his briefcase and pulls out a beige file. He puts it onto the table and slides it across to Colonel. Smith is impressed by his promptness and professionalism and sees William smile from his peripheral.

“What’s this?”

Bucky clears his throat once again, “Dad trained me for many things,” he took a brief glance around the base, “I experienced boot camp at the age of fifteen. I’ve done long races, obstacle races, everything that tested my endurance, boxing, running- both in the rain and scorching heat. I’ve bled, I’ve learned not to cry and hold my own. I know tactics, I know what it takes to be a soldier, sir,” Bucky notes their faces still hold no expression of amazement he was looking for and he feels his palms sweating harshly, “My father did it so I knew how to be strong and prepared for when the time was right.”

Colonel Smith crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, not yet touching the paper in front of him. Bucky looked on in simple embarrassment from Smith to his folder, wondering if it was pointless to show as much pride as he did.

Smith’s strong voice makes Bucky jump when he starts talking, “You think that because you’ve trained since you were a young boy, but clearly have no experience being on the front line, that you are an American Soldier?”

Bucky automatically becomes defensive and his posture becomes confident. He didn’t like the nagging, the accusation of something he was not. That’s when he realized, he needed to prove himself. He was good, and they wanted to see it.

He leans closer to the table and crosses his hands out in front of him, “No, sir, of course not. Not yet,” His voice was strong and clear. The colonel sat there waiting for what Barnes had to add, “I have no experience yet with being in a war, not yet. But I have other experiences, first-hand experience.”

“And what is that exactly?”

“Guns.” Both Smith and William now give Bucky their full attention, looking straight at him in total interest. Smith even moves up closer to Bucky.

Bucky is almost one hundred percent more confident now than he was ten minutes ago because now he’s finally talking about something he knows he can own up to well. This he enjoyed immensely.

“Sure. Your file we have here does show you are good with targets, that you know what weapon is best for what, that you helped your father when it came to assembling and reassembling them for the troops, and that you are great at knowing the anatomy of a gun but many here can do that with intense training. What do you have that the others here don’t, James?”

The colonel was pressing now, and Bucky at that moment realized that what he was doing was not because he didn’t see a reason to not trust Bucky, but more so so he could prove himself, and this was his chance.

Bucky looked Colonel Smith straight in the eye with a snarl. He slammed one finger down on the table in front of them, “I’m not just good with targets. I hit them all.”

“I do not miss. This file,” Bucky again slams his finger down on the folder in front of them, “There are diagrams, spreadsheets, rough drafts, charts, and all my grades for every algebra, geometry, physics, and trigonometry class I’ve ever taken. All As. It also includes my use of Pythagorean theorems.” Colonel raises an impressed brown and opens the file. His mouth is slightly agape as he reads on what is pages and pages of mathematical equations, transcriptions, and each a different weapon usage.

For a cocky good looking guy, Bucky was clearly very very intelligent - a closet nerd.

“I might no be a soldier yet, but I’m already a good fucking sniper.”

William and Smith are smiling now as they see Bucky in the way they wanted to, “Look, I’ll go out there tomorrow if you need me to. Sure, I’m a kid, but that just means I have the time to learn more. I’m ready to fight.”

Colonel stares at Bucky for a beat. He nods, takes the folder in his hands, and stands up. Bucky looks up at him, “You will be here to assist Serg. William and I. And then we’ll see where we take you from there. We want a hard-headed kid here to help get these other guys in order.” His voice was softer now as he spoke on, “Soon, we’ll be out there in the real world and I feel you’ll do fine, kid. Your health record looks great, I saw your previous training records here at the base and they are impeccable,”

“Thank you, sir-“

“but,” Bucky swallows hard. Smith hands the file over to William, “We want you to focus on shooting. And train these damn ass kids that this isn’t just a game. William will escort you to your temporary quarter.”

Bucky nods and stands up, a wide grin on his face as Smith initiates the handshake this time, “Good luck, Kid.”

+ +

Letters.

That's how he spoke to her for two years. He missed her, he missed Steve, and he missed school. He missed Brooklyn, but he missed her most of all. She was everything he had ever wanted and more.

They refused to lose touch, but it seemed to have gotten harder the longer he spent time away from her. He almost started forgetting what it was she looked like and he did not like that at all.

He hoped more than anything that she didn’t forget what he felt like, what his cock felt like the inside of her pretty self. God, he missed her so much.

He’d be laying down in the bunker after one of her letters where she’d admitted that she missed all of his body, and suddenly he’d find himself a panting mess, a hand wrapped around himself. No other women in his life made him cum as much as she did. She was perfect.

Dad has been gone for four weeks and I don’t know why. Jimmy has gone with him- it’s just me and mother. I overheard her saying something about Germany but I’m not quite sure.. Or maybe it was something else. Though none of that matters to me, James- I want you. Please come home to me.

He would pick up his pen and start writing.

Daisy,

I’ll be home soon, my love. I want and miss you, too.

For some reason, a chill ran down his back as he reread the words “something about Germany”.

Like an awful memory that has never happened, he sees a child in front of him. It was a little girl and she screamed in agony for mercy. She was getting strangled to death by his own hand, a silver glint caught his eye-

“James!”

Bucky jumped up looked upfront his lap from where he was writing to see Williams looking at him in curiosity, waiting.

“Be right there, Sergeant.”

Take care of Stevie for me, Daisy. Be careful, both of ya.

Much love,

Bucky

+ +

He’s standing in front of the men, showing them how to correctly calculate the wind and kickback of a PPSh-41. Ten iron cans laid on the grass as Bucky allowed his gun to swing back towards him. He smirks and slides it back into place in the holster around his waist.

“Johnny, you’re up.” Bucky would announce each boy’s turn until they’ve all managed to hit all targets. Some of them taking more thirty tries each to succeed.

As much as he’d try and teach them how to properly shoot each and every gun they had on hand, it was evident that they’d never be as good as him.

But there were good in other aspects, some of which actually reminded him of Steve back at home.

“Faster.” Bucky would demand as he walked in front of them as they did fifty push-ups each. He knew they could handle it.

Williams and Smith watched from afar as Bucky’s men eventually became some of the strongest and most courageous they’ve seen in a long time.

They shared a knowing look and Smith gave a small nod.

Bucky’s gaze drops from the men he’d grown to love down to his feet. He didn’t expect to be there for two years. He didn’t think he would go that long without seeing Daisy, but they ended up loving having him there.

Within weeks he had the entire infantry under his finger. At first, he wasn’t too keen on yelling at them at what to do and how to do it, but with time he realized it was for their best and they realized that too. He was actually not a complete asshole when it came to bossing everyone around, but to be fair it mostly had to do with the fact that they were all not too much younger than him either, some even older.

+ +

It had been Friday night when Bucky had everyone in their bed by 8 o clock, without a complaint or disobedience.

Bucky sat in his little office under the vintage desk light as he was reading one of Daisy’s latest letters, where she spoke about how her father had come home briefly but was quickly leaving for Siberia within a few weeks and how much she was dying to hold Bucky back in her arms again.

She kept begging and begging him non stop.

Bucky’s face was crestfallen as he wrote back that he promised he would be back, and that he had to talk to her about something special when he saw her again for the first time.

Truth was, he was going to ask her to marry him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her even if it was from such far away. Bucky was tucking the letter into the envelope when someone cleared their throat from his left.

His head snapped and he smiled when he saw it was colonel Smith.

“Bucky, mind if we speak for a second.” Bucky nodded his head and tucked the letter in his back pocket. The colonel noted this with a nod, “That for the lady?”

Bucky smiled slightly, although it was also sad, “Yeah. Miss her,”

Colonel patted a hand on his shoulder, “I know, kiddo.”

They were about to go into Colonel’s office when Smith turned around. Bucky practically walked into him, not expecting him to stop so suddenly in his path. Bucky’s face was serious and he felt worried at the tension that quickly grew, “What is it, Colonel?”

Contemplating before speaking, he looked over Bucky’s shoulder, “The men love you,”

He looked back at Bucky, “You’re good. Really good.”

Bucky should’ve been proud of his words (he was slight) but he could tell something was going on. Smith’s tone and his eyes were off, something was clearly up.

“What’s going on?”

The colonel looked down. It looked like for a second that he was going to back out on telling Bucky. But clearly this wasn’t something anyone could control anymore, “They want them in.”

World War II had merely started about a little over a year ago. Nazi Germany was at its peak and troops were being sent out constantly. Bucky knew there were several infantries being sent in, along with the heavy draft. Bucky had spoken to Steve back at home and Steve kept mentioning about the guys all being deployed out, but not all. They were still trying to recruit more as time came, seeing who was eligible and who wasn’t. Bucky tried to convince Steve as much as possible to quit trying to join the army, to stop lying on his forms to get accepted.

At their base, they were training until they were to be pulled out.

And now was the time.

“But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

Bucky’s heart plummeted for a fraction of a second. He wondered what else he possibly had to say.

Colonel turned into his office and allowed Bucky to follow behind. Bucky closed the door behind him, reluctantly and with a hard swallow.

“There’s a group being deployed in two days. To England, the one-oh-seventh.”

Bucky’s heart jumped into his throat. Pride filled deep within his gut and he tried to contain as much excitement as he could.

Smith went around his desk, “We agreed that you’re more than suitable to be deployed as well. So you’ll be with them.”

Bucky smiled. It was finally his time. It wasn’t just his men, but him as well.

“When?”

“A couple of weeks. The week before you’ll be allowed one week at home to see your friends,” Colonel looked at the letter that was peaking out behind him, “and your girl.” Bucky felt like he was going to cry from excitement at this point. Colonel’s face was still serious, “we want to assign you as an official Sergeant.”

The earth seemed two have shifted for a moment while Bucky processed the words. He couldn’t believe they would want him to serve at that level. Bucky’s brows raised in surprise as he stood motionless.

A soldier he always knew he would become one day, it was practically in his blood, but “Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.” Smith crossed his hands out in front of him and stared up at Bucky, hopeful, “I knew the moment you started talking that you were different. You’re good, you’re loyal, you’re a true born soldier just like your father always said you were. You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on something unless they were worth it. You know how to take charge and you’re willing to be on the front line.”

That same image of a tormented child being strangled to death by a hand flicker’s through his mind's eye, except now the kid is thrown against a brick wall, completely deceased.

Bucky swallows hard, “My men, they will be with me?” He knew the answer because he was already told upfront but Smith but he needed to be sure. He needed to know all of them would be there by his side when he killed Schmidt.

“Yes. Drafting starts soon, son. You’ll be home for a little bit to say goodbye.” Smith smiled, “Go get your girl.”

+ +

He’d made sure all their beds were made before they all left to say goodbye to their loved ones one last time, and he made his as well. What good Sergeant would he be if he weren’t the best example if he were a hypocrite?

He hadn’t told Steve nor Daisy that he was coming home- wanting it to be a surprise. He stepped off the train, a tailored uniform, his new Sergeant cap on his head, and a pin on his left chest. He was ready.

A sharp wind blew in from the west, making him frown slightly in pain. The January air burned him like fire but yet gave life at the same exact time. This was reality and it was like a slap to the face. He was here to say goodbye.

Bucky had grabbed a paper from the boy at the train station and saw something about Howard Stark’s Expo and he felt like a little boy all over again. He loved Howard Stark, to be frankly honest he was quite a nerd for it. Not only did he make the best weapons that Bucky would love to have his hands on one day, but he also loved how smart and genius he was. How he was never afraid to reach the unreachable and to do what no one else had the guts to. He would kill to meet him one day and just tell him how amazing he was.

So he had to go to his expo before he left. He was ready to see his best friend and his girlfriend and that’s exactly who he was going to go with.

Bucky had been walking excitedly from the train station to Steve’s house, but he was not expecting to see him getting beaten up by a gentleman in an alley outside a theatre.

Anger blew up inside of Bucky as he ran towards the scene, “Hey!” He called out, grabbing both of their attention.

When Steve saw Bucky his eyes lit up.

Bucky grabbed the bully by his collar and kicked his ass while Steve watched from the corner of the dirty alley.

“I think you like getting punched.”

Bucky said as he helped Steve off the floor.

“I had him on the ropes.”

Bucky decided not to comment any more on how Steve needed to lay off and instead wanted to spend the last few hours he had with his best friend and his girl. He told Steve about how he was sergeant now for the 107th and that he was leaving for England in the morning the next day.

But he was also excited to share with Steve the one thing that Steve knew Bucky loved the most - Stark. When Bucky pulled out the newspaper that showed the expo that was happening that night, Steve notices the fanboy smile written all over his face. He couldn’t wait to pick up Daisy so they could all go.

When Bucky and Daisy saw each other for the first time, he had spun her around so hard her dress spun with her. Bucky kissed her so hard and she cried as she told him how much she missed him.

Steve just stared back in boredom.

“Are we going, or…?”

They both giggled and Bucky punched him playfully on the shoulder, “Come on, punk.”

The three of them walked into the expo. Steve was looking around in awe while Bucky had the biggest grin on his face as he held Daisy’s hand. She wore a beautiful dark drey below-knee dress and brown leather oxford heels and her lips were coated in the most beautiful shades of red.

It was everything Bucky had ever dreamed of. Stark literally blew his mind, especially when he brought out the beautiful to die for women and then make a car fucking fly. Even if it was for just a second.

Bucky’s heart soared.

Daisy looked up at him wonder and she watched his face light up in pure happiness. She didn’t know someone could be so beautiful and that she could love someone so much. She raised her right hand up to his face as a firework went off behind his head in the sky. It was blue - the same shade of his eyes.

He wasn’t expecting that gesture from her at that moment, so when he felt her soft little fingers on the side of his face, he snapped his head down to look at her. Her smile faded as he gave her a look of pure want.

She traces his lips with her thumb and leaned her head down on his chest. Her heart soared even more as he brought her to him in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of her head and then told Steve that they should call it a night.

Steve gave Bucky a tight hug and told him to be safe.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Bucky warned him with a smile.

When Steve split ways with the couple at his door, he knew exactly what they were up to. He was happy for his best friend, he just hoped they weren’t too emotionally involved more than anything. He didn’t want to see Bucky get hurt.

He looked at his best friend with a weird sorrow. He wasn’t sure why something in his gut was telling him that this happiness, this simpleness, was going to be very short-lived.

+ +

When they had gotten back to his apartment, he had her against his door and his lips were on hers.

This was it.

Snippets of that flash of that dead child kept hitting Bucky over and over as he kissed Daisy up against his door.

He tried to get rid of those images as much as possible as he grabbed her gorgeous legs, pulling them around his waist.

That seemed to have done the job perfectly because he felt himself growing hard for her.

“Please.” She pleaded desperately over his lips. He pulled away from her for a second and just stared at her beautiful face trying to take it all in. Reality hit them like a truck as he caressed her cheek with his thumb. This was goodbye, for a while.

He leaned in slowly, and this kiss was different. It was love and care, and so much need. A need for forever. He felt tears building behind his lids as the thought of never getting the chance of holding her like this ever again tried to take over his brain. She tightened her legs around him, her hands going to the straps of his belt.

“God, I missed you, Daisy,” He moaned against her mouth. He brought his right hand between her legs, pushing her panties to the side. He slid one finger from her clit down her slick slit and her head fell back with a thud against his door. She groaned out loud at the sensation that wracked through her body, “Missed the sounds you make. I love you so much.” He growled against her.

She ran her hands through his hair and pulled his face away from her neck to kiss him deeply again. She nodded against him as her hips met the rhythm of his hand, confirming that she felt the same way.

“Please take me, James.”

He walked them over to his bed and gently laid her down. She stared up at his lustful eyes, her lips swollen from his kiss, and her dress bundled up at her waist.

Bucky didn’t waste two seconds to pull it off her. Next, she helped him pull off his uniform jacket and shirt, revealing his gorgeous abs that she wanted to lick over with her tongue.

Next, she removed his pants.

She slowly tucked her fingers into the underside of his underwear as she bit her lip. It was obvious that she was teasing him.

“Just take it off.” He ordered.

She did as told and practically whimpered as his hard cock was revealed to her. She sat up and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra.

When he saw her perky breasts, he leaned down and kissed her once more. The first time they had sex it was different. It was innocent and timid, but now that he knew her body and she wasn’t so shy anymore, it was more carnal. The first time was about opportunities and their future.

But this, this felt like goodbye.

“I can’t wait, Daisy. I need you.” He confessed as he laid her down all the way. She nodded against his understanding.

He stretched out his left hand to hold onto the headboard while the other grabbed his pulsing shaft. She spread her legs and he slid into her with a long moan.

He looked down at her and watched as she arched her neck back in pleasure, the nails of her left hand digging into his sides.

“Faster.” She moaned.

The other thing that was different about this time was how fast it was. The first time it lasted for almost an hour, they had made love in the most sensual way that left his skin crawling. This time they were both so close so fast, they just needed that release due to being away from each other for so long.

She was practically screaming as he fucked her fast and oh so deliciously into the bed below her. It was so good that after only a few minutes she was looking down at the spot where they both met, her lips formed into a perfect o.

She started nodding quickly. She cried. Bucky groaned as he twitched inside of her, his pleasure growing just as strong as hers. He was right behind her. He put his other arm up on the headboard too, letting his restless hips do all the work.

All that was heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin and their moaning.

He picked up his pace as he stared deeply into the blue orbs. When she shut her eyes she let out a silent scream, and he felt her clench around his cock.

That did it for him. He whimpered.

He increased his speed until he felt his own end approaching, and it was going to be strong. When it did, he groaned, tightening his grips on the headboard, making it bang against the wall behind them. He continuously slammed his hips harsh against her.

“Fuck.” He groaned slipping out of her. She watched in awe and as he stroked himself so fast his hand became a blur - little spurts of white falling over her pretty tummy.

His eye drifted back to her face and he watched as a smile played on her lips. Her face was extremely flushed as she bit her bottom lip in a way that made him want to take her again. He chuckled lightly. It made his heart heavy, and he knew that now was the perfect time to ask her what he had been wanting for the last two years.

He let go of the bed and laid himself next to her. He placed his left hand above her hand and the other on the side of her face. They watched each other in complete love before he kissed her long and hard.

When he pulled away, she felt him slightly shaking and noticed the look of nervousness in his eyes. She swallowed hard.

“Daisy,” he whispered. He traced her features with his hand, and just like that the fear escaped his eyes, and instead of scared he was now feeling complete love and he was ready because knew this is what he wanted forever.

+ +

Diamond ring on her hand, big heart in his chest, Bucky Barnes had been ready to devote his life her and to love.

Life had other plans for him.

Why be a husband when he could be brainwashed into becoming the Head of Hydra?

Why love with his heart and soul when he could kill and become the world’s greatest assassin?

They’re at the New York Library. Steve stands behind him, hands in pocket and eyebrows furrowed together.

70 years later, Bucky detests himself for who he has become. He hates it all. He hates that he woke up.

His hand trembles as he reads the article. It’s worn out, ink faded.

YOUNG WOMAN, FOUND IN HALLWAY, SHOT

Reason unknown, ongoing investigation

The blonde 21 year old was found shot through the skull in the five story building but an other woman after a shot was heard.

The woman states: “There was blood everywhere. It reeked of disaster. The poor girl was always so quiet and sweet.”

Her family has been under investigation after her father’s disappearance —

Bucky’s heart shattered, but those beautiful memories still stayed fresh in his mind.

Present

You watched him from underneath your lashes as his chest slowly moved up and down. He looked deep in thought, as if his mind had been somewhere else, even though he was physically there.

As his eyes examined you across the bed, you wondered what was going through his head.

You were shocked when he stretched out his arm and you felt his hand run through your hair, letting his thumb linger over the back of your neck.

“What does it mean?” He asks. His voice is deep and filled with emotion.

He’s asking about your tattoo.

“Nothing.” You say breathlessly.

His eyes were enthralling.

“There’s no meaning?”

“No.” You eyes leave his and you look out towards the direction of the dining area.

“Why did you get it?” He asks.

“It was in the moment. It felt like it would be thrilling; fun. The thought of forever made it even more so.” You say without a thought, letting your eyes close.

His hands don’t leave the back of your neck, and his touch remains gentle.

“You’re absolutely insane.” His tone has a chirp to it that you’ve never heard before and a near chuckle escapes your chest. He rubs his thumb there again it sends a jolt into your stomach. You open your eyes again to take a peak at him and the looks he’s giving you must’ve triggered something in your own appearance because his eyes furrow together, “What?”

“You reminded me of someone.”

He swallows thickly.

“Yeah?”

“Will.” You feel your throat grow tight at the mention of his name. Bucky senses a change in your tone and he knows that whoever this Will is, he had an impact on your life, “He died just a few days before Fury found me. He was my best friend. He was sweet, humble, funny, sarcastic, optimistic,” there’s a crack in your voice and Bucky’s breath hitches, “I loved Will. He was supposed to be here with me. We were coming to the Capitol together.” Bucky watches you intently as you speak so fondly of your dear friend. Emotions consume him and he’s in a warped daze, right hand that had been on your tattoo running up the side of your face and into your hair, “he was the only friend I ever had.”

Your eyes meet his and he sees in the tears in your eyes. He looks at you confused, fingers tightening in your hair.

“And then after I laid him to rest, I walked into the woods. I was crying and I was angry at him for leaving me. I fell down at slope, hurt my hand and my leg —” Bucky says your name quietly but you ignore him, “it was dark. I was afraid. But I wanted to continue on. Deep down I know I did. I needed to do it for Will. Then this man came and he was going to ruin everything, so I killed him. I had to,” it’s the first time you’re addresses your killing so verbally and so emotionally and it affects you more than you thought, “I had to kill him.” Bucky watches with concern as your fingers tremble against the sheets, “And then Fury found me and took me to your camp. I met Steve, and then I met you.”

Bucky pulls his hand away moments later.

You both lay there in silence. It’s the most you’ve spoken to each other since the night he first fucked you.

After you had sex in the kitchen, you both had separated quietly, going your separate ways until night time. You both slept on opposite sides of the bed and a couple feet apart.

It wasn’t even that it was awkward. There’s was just too much unsaid and still too much tension. You kept falling harder and harder, and you were getting weaker.

The next day you had gone to work and Bucky had found a plan to get into Ashen’s tower.

A day later, you finally spoke again.

At nights it was the hardest. You hated his sudden silence.

You hated that you had no idea what the hell was going on anymore.

Your eyes met in an intense gaze.

Bucky watched curiously as your left hand grazed over the sheets and up over his waist. You watched as his breath hitched, his breathing picking up.

“What the hell are we doing, Bucky?” You asked sincerely.

Part of you genuinely wondered if he was only doing this with you because you were the only girl available.

“Fucking.” He spats out too quickly. He continues to watch you as tug your fingers into the band of his dark grey sweats, “we’re fucking.”

You feel a surge of energy build its way up your body. You don’t know if it’s lust or anger, and it scares you that you can’t distinguish it. You begin to wonder if possibly it’s both.

You move closer into him dragging his sweats down as best as you could. Bucky had to help you by lifting his hips off the bed for a second. He lets out a long breath as his length escapes the confinements of his pants.

Your heart hurts as you take in his glorious body and his face. The face of a boy that you wished could give you more than this, the face of a boy that changed your life.

Because even though he was pure man, you knew deep down inside he still felt young. He felt robbed. You hated that you wanted to take him in any way you could. You hated that you loved making him cum and that he let you.

Eyes darting down to his half soft cock, you lick your bottom lip. You take him into your hand, thumb sliding over his tip. Bucky lets out a tight moan. It comes out heavy and needy.

His reaction gives you a boost and you give him a few languid strokes.

“Over the head, and under it.” He tells you with a gruff. You do as told, watching as pre cum oozes out of his hole. Bucky groans, stretching his right leg out. He mumbles something you can’t make out. Your look up to see him quickly lick his hand and the replace yours with his own over his growing dick, “Like this.” He curved it up towards his body and he teaches you how to stroke. You watch amazed as his flesh hand moves over his cock, noting how where his thumb and pointer finger meet focuses on the edge of the mushroom tip.

You put your hands over his and he lets himself go, letting you take charge again.

The feel of his saliva on your palm over his cock is filthy. Dirty. Fucking sexual.

You mimic his actions from earlier for about a minute until you decide to lick a strip up the underside of his shaft.

You hear him gasp underneath you and a heavy hand meets the back of your head. You look up at him timidly and he’s looking down at you. He looks as sinful as ever. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is agape. You can’t tell if it’s the pleasure you’re giving him or if he’s shocked.

It kills him how innocent you look with your head between his legs. Your lashes are so long and pretty and, oh, your lips look small plush too. You keep eye contact as you flick the tip of your tongue over his tip and a whine escapes his throat. You do it again, and again.

“Oh my god.” He moans. You take him into your mouth little by little, careful to not let your teeth scrape him.

You bob your head up and down, your right hand stroking what you can’t take down your throat.

You feel his hands pulling your hair into a makeshift pony tail and you groan around him.

“Fuck.” He gasps at the vibrations. One of his hands leave your head but the other stays there, helping you; guiding you.

You sit up up until your butt is in the air, with him still in your mouth, and your place your hands on his thighs. You take a deep breath, and he watches as you lower your head down his cock, as deep as it could go.

The chocking sounds are erotic to both your ears.

Bucky is breathing harder now and he takes your head in both of his hands, running his fingers gently down the sides as he slides you up and off his cock.

When your eyes meet, his looks lust blown. His gaze is briefly on your now swollen lips, and then he composes himself, hands going down to the hem of your white camisole dress.

He helps you pull it off in one go followed by your underwear. As soon as it’s off your feet you go to sit up when he stops you.

He grabs your pillow and places it behind you. You sit back. Bucky gives your body a hungry look as he grabs each of your knees, bending your legs up. He gives them a shove away from each other.

You feel exposed and naked and you know he can see just how soaked you are. You whimper as he slides to fingers up your bare and freshly shaved folds. He lets out his own moan as he gathers your juices onto the tips of his fingers, smearing them over your clit.

Shocked, you watch as he leans down until his front is almost perpendicular to the bed. He kisses the inside of your thigh, nibbling it as he makes his way to your center.

You feel his hot breath against your cunt as he tells you to put you to grab his head.

In a euphoric daze, you do as you’re told. A jolt of pleasure shoots through you as he licks your clit. You feel two of his fingers spread your lips and then he’s licking at you, feeding on you like you’re his favorite meal.

You groan, shoving his head closer to your pussy.

“Oh, shit.” You moan when he enters two flesh fingers into your as he sucks on your bundle of nerves.

Your left leg kicks out as he sucks and sucks. You’re breathless as you look down, the sigh of his head between your thighs being the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, god.” You say.

He looks up at you and you’re gasping. His eyes don’t leave yours as he continues to fuck you with two fingers, the tip of his tongue now flicking at you like mad.

You let out a heavy groan, your head tossing backwards in pleasure.

You feel him pull away and you whimper at the loss of feeling. You feel him grab the side of your waist and he’s pulling you against him until he’s back into the same position he was before.

Bucky leans over the side of the bed and goes into his night stand. You don’t know how to feel when you see him grab a box of condoms.

Did he buy that? Did he know he didn’t want it to be just a one time thing? He didn’t want it to be a one time thing?

You rips box and tosses almost angrily, and when he’s got the foil in his hand, he tears the edge with his teeth.

He slides the condom over his dick and then gently grabs your arms.

“I’ve never…” you stutter as you sit on his lap.

“I know you haven’t, i’ll teach you.” He slides you up and down over his cock, coating it with your slick. You’re leaned over him gasping and he’s grinning his teeth, “You can ride my cock, can’t you?” He purrs up at you so deliciously you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from whimpering, “I want to make you feel good. I want to make you cum. I want us to cum together.”

Your movements quicken as his words turn you on. He takes himself in his hand and rubs his tip up and down over your slit before finally pushing into your heat.

You both groan simultaneously. The pleasure is mutual and you both feel full and satisfied, for the first time. He’s gasping, both hands taking a hold of each side of your face.

He hates what this has become. He hates that his emotions are at an all time high right now.

His eyes look into yours as you move up and down and he remembers why he was so afraid of loving again.

As you move over him, he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle it if something bad were to happen to you. As you fuck yourself on his cock, he knows he can’t fall down that rabbit hole again. He tried so hard to make you hate him and yet here you were, letting him fuck you.

You couldn’t like him. Not emotionally and not physically. It was for your own good. He was bad news, he knew he was.

Everything he touched always got destroyed. It always died.

He was cursed.

Your cunt gives him a perfect squeeze and he shouts.

“God, Y/N.” He cries, grabbing your hips and driving you down faster and harder.

He bends his legs and the sound of your skins hitting echoes around the loft.

Dirty.

Your hand goes to your pussy and you rub yourself furiously.

“Oh yeah.” You moan. He moans back in response, his own hips lifting off the bed to fuck into you.

He tells you to rest your hands on the pillow next to his head and you do so.

He grabs your hips and starts ramming up into you.

Looking down, his face is only a few inches from yours and you wished you could kiss him. You wonder if he can see past your lie of just wanting him for sex. You wanted so much more than an orgasm.

He was killing you.

With one of his ruthless trusts, he hits that spot inside of you that makes you see sparks and you feel your end approaching.

You’re breaths come out of your nose in sharp huffs, fingers curling into the pillow case.

You scream when he leans himself up, taking the side of one of your breasts into his mouth. His nibbles you with a growl.

You know he’s getting close too because his eyebrows are tight together and there’s a thin sheet of sweat over his body.

You cum beautifully over his dick. You know you’re probably shouting but you don’t care because there is absolutely nothing that could ever feel better than this. He helps you drag it out and he rams into you and you look down to see his eyes tightly closed.

You rub a thumb over the tops of his left cheek.

“Cum for me.” You whisper.

His mouth gapes open and he gives you a few more strong thrust before they start to falter. He lets out a loud and animalism grunt, followed by a slap to your right ass cheek.

You’re both panting as you collapse on top of him.

+ +

The building’s security infrastructure was a lot less advanced than Bucky had planned for, which was a great thing. He half expected to have to divert more cameras and more security. Especially for a Hydra centre.

Or maybe he was just that stealthy.

He had commenced his part of the mission earlier in the afternoon than he usually did, but that was because he wanted to see if he could catch Ashen this time.

Just as planned, at three forty five sharp, Ashen and three other man came in through the main entrance.

Bucky, having come in through a weak and dingy window across the building, watched from afar as they took the elevator. On cue, Bucky took the door to the stairwell.

He made it quickly to the seventieth floor until he hear the familiar voice. Waiting until it was far enough and he could no longer hear anything, Bucky stepped out into the hallway.

He makes sure to avoid directly sight of any cameras he sees along the way. So many years as the world’s most dangerous assassin gave him the stealth and experience needed to do it successfully. He would go undetected.

The building was modern and gorgeous. There were glass panels and long hallways. Bucky followed the men from a safe distance until they finally walked into a room, closing the door behind them. Bucky tried to maneuver as best as he could without being seen.

When he turned he saw something that left him stunned.

It was a medical bay, expect that there was just one bed.

He could see Ashen and those few men, who were now adorning lab coats.

What caught Bucky off guard was the little boy laying in the bed, unconscious. There were several tubs and IVs coming in and out of his little body. He was a strange color, almost light green. Ashen sat next to the boy, sad.

Bucky watched carefully as Ashen took the little boy’s hand in his.

“Hey, kiddo. Daddy got you a gift this time. It’s not the usual one you like, but I figured you’d still love it.” Bucky watched as Ashen pulled something out of his suit pocket. It was a Hershey kisses. Ashen placed it on the bed, “You need to wake up, buddy. It’s the only thing left before we can figure this out. Please, Ashens.”

Bucky’s heart sunk as the kid’s father’s head dropped down onto the bed. His hand ran over his head, the other continued to hold onto Ashens’ hand.

“Sir?” One of the men in the lab coats speaks.

“Yes?” Ashen responds.

“We can hold him on the machines for a few more months, but if things don’t start to look up —-”

“I don’t want to hear it. He will wake up. He will stay on the machines until I say otherwise.” He snaps, “We already have Stark technology being detected within the walls, we can’t afford to lose guard now. We are getting closer!”

“Sir—”

“He’s my son!” He shouts.

Bucky starts to back away when he hears someone about to turn the corner. He hides behind one of the walls that lead into a room until the close is clear. He finds his way back the way he came.

He needed to find you.

+ + +

“Pour me a Knob Creek on the rocks, sweetheart.” The man slurs, giving you a nod towards drinks behind you.

You tried not to groan as you gave him a fake smile. You quickly poured him the drink and slid it across the bar to the douchebag who wouldn’t stop eyeing you like a piece of meat.

“I’ll have the same.”

A voice says on the opposite side. You look over and you feel fear creep up in your bones.

Silas.

You nod, hands shaking as pour his drink.

He watches you closely.

“You nervous about something?” He asks.

You let out a shaky chuckle.

“No.” You say bluntly.

You slide him the drink and he takes it, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

“I won’t bite.” He says.

You look away. Shit did he remember you?

“Didn’t think you would.”

You go to turn around when he grabs your wrist. Your blood runs ice cold and your freeze on the spot. You can feel your heart beating away inside of your chest.

His eyes are intense as they stay on you.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asks.

You let out another chuckle.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re not a whore?”

His blunt question insults you. You know he means one of the call girls down stairs, but it still bothers you.

“I’m a bartender.” You insist.

“Bartender?” His grip tightens slightly.

He stares into your eyes and you feel threatened.

Did he remember?

“Hey, everything alright out here?” You turn around, relieved to see Pietro behind you.

Silas quickly lets go of you and returns to his drink.

Pietro looks up from your wrist to Silas with a raised brow.

Your heart only calms down a bit before you clear your throat.

“You okay, Marina?” He asks you in the corner where Silas won’t hear.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Pietro doesn’t believe you and you can tell by the way he looks at you.

“If you ever have any issues with anyone here, please let me know.” You nod, “Good. Have a good night, you did good today.”

You give him another short nod, still unable to breathe properly.

+ +

Bucky was standing out on the balcony when you came home. He looked to be deep in thought about something so you gave him the space he needed. You avoided the bedroom and instead hung out for a bit on the couch, trying to process what happened tonight and how you would tell Bucky. You knew for certain he was going to flip out. Or maybe it was just your paranoia and he would tell you to relax and that you were overreacting.

You weren’t sure what would happen.

Bucky doesn’t decided to come inside until you’re in the kitchen grabbing some left over take out from yesterday. He stands in the entrance for a few seconds before sitting down at the table behind you.

“We need to talk.” He says.

You wait a few seconds before sitting in front of him. He’s looking down at his hand on his leg instead of at you.

He bites his lip and scoffs, disappointedly.

What was going on?

He stands up, runs his hands through his hair and begins to pace around.

“We shouldn’t have done this. Any of this. It was a mistake. I knew it would’ve been bad. A distraction. We shouldn’t have done this.” His mumbling under his breath and not making any sense to you.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You ask quietly and concerned.

He walks over to the counter and slams his flesh fist on it.

“What the fuck are we doing?” He shouts, “We’re supposed to be working, focusing on this mission, and instead,” he spins around pointing out the kitchen, “instead we’re out there fucking, Y/N. We’re acting like a bunch of fucking animals, humping each other’s brains out!”

“Bucky —”

“I knew, I knew this would’ve been a bad decision. I fucking knew I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“You need two people to have sex, Bucky.”

“You should have never told me you wanted to fuck me.”

“I never told you to fuck me. I was only telling you how I feel. That’s all I’ve been doing this entire time.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have.”

“You’re the one who told me you wanted to fuck me, Bucky! You’re the one that bought a fucking damn box of condoms while I was taking a damn shower!” You’re angry now as you stand up from the chair, “Don’t you dare tell me this was all me or all you, this was both of us.” You jammed a finger into his chest, “You bought me fucking plan B just so I couldn’t get pregnant with your damn child and then you fucked me again not even an hour later. Don’t you fucking dare.” You can feel the tears in your eyes.

He grabs your fingers and walks you back until your back is against the wall. He snarls down at you.

“Then fuck it. We like to fuck. Either it’s me or you or both us, fine. But we shouldn’t have done it.”

You want to push him away from you as you feel repulsed by him.

“Yeah? Was that what was going through your mind as you were shoving my head down your cock, Barnes? Making me choke on it? Or when you fucked me up against our window so our neighbors could see? I don’t have to fuck you ever again.”

“Good —!”

“—I literally told you I loved you and you attacked me for it—”

“—because it’s obviously only making everything worst—”

“—I then sleep with you, I gave you my virginity, and you have the audacity to stand here and say I seduced you when I gave you my innocence!” You shoved him away and he stumbled back. Your face felt red and you feel furious. You were shocked you weren’t crying, even though you felt like it, “Huh?” You give me another shove, “How fucking evil are you? You gaslighting piece of shit.”

He looked at you after that and your breathing was the only thing that could be heard. His face was stern and turned into a scowl as he looked down at you.

“I’m evil?” You took deep breaths through your nose to control yourself, “No, yeah you’re right, I am. I know I’m a piece of shit. I’m abnormal.” He spat the same words out you had used against him the other day, “I’m so damn evil, Y/N, that I’d rather try and focus on this damn mission than worry about getting laid.” You’re both breathing hard now. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Yeah, maybe before I was thinking with my cock instead of my head, but it needs to stop now. Last night was the last time.”

You could feel your heart thundering away inside of you. You squinted your eyes at him, seeing the underlying discomfort in his eyes.

“What happened today?” You ask slowly, carefully. He doesn’t answer you and you start to get angry again, “I come home, I found you outside looking all depressed and now you’re in here snapping at me about focusing on the mission. What. Happened. Today?” You emphasize through clenched teeth. He takes a deep breath again, looking away from you he runs a hand through his hair and turns away from you.

“They know we’re here. We weren’t careful enough.” He says.

Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach along with your worst fears.

“What?”

“They know we’re here! I fucking followed them and I overheard them. We either weren’t careful enough or —- I don’t know!” He’s pacing again, “Your parent’s must’ve put in some kind of tracker to make the capitol aware or something of stark technology or maybe Hydra pre installed something. Whatever it is, they know we are here, and for all I know they could be watch us right now. We fucked up.”

You watch him as he stresses over this. He grabs at his hair.

“They don’t know it’s us, Bucky. If they did they’ve would’ve caught us by now.” You tick your jaw as you watch the muscles in his back flex, “Something happened at work today, too. I think Silas remembered me.”

Bucky scoffs, turning around again to face you.

“There’s no way he remembers you. We wiped him.”

“Maybe you’re right, but he was acting off. He came to order a drink and he grabbed me —”

“He grabbed you?”

“Just my hand. I was fine. Pietro showed up, sensed the tension, and Silas backed off.”

“Fuck.”

You take a deep breath, stepping away from Bucky.

“You’re right,” you eye him up and down, “We can’t let it happen again. We need to focus on this and I’m already exhausted from you.”

“Exhausted from me?” His voice is a low timber now, the anger from before having died over.

“You don’t even know the amount of emotional turmoil you put me through, do you?” He continues to stare at you quietly and you take another step towards him, “You took something I can never get back.” You say quietly, “And it’s up for you to decide what that something is.”

+ + +

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a-dusty-emerald · 4 years ago

Text

Till it sinks in: Draco x Reader / Hurt-Comfort, Fluff Fic

A hurt-comfort fluff fic, with a slytherin Y/n being the girlfriend of the softie-who-hates-to-be-called-softie-so-he-bitches-all-day Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Where Umbridge uses her quill on you.

_____________________________________________

Dolores Umbridge, maybe the most hated teacher to set foot at Hogwarts, had a special dislike against anyone who disobeyed. And while that may be all teachers, not all teachers dismissed sobbing students from their detention. Every single student that got detention with Umbridge looked broken afterwards, but no one knew what she said to them; it was a mystery.

Professor McGonagall, for instance, made sure the students that misbehaved researched a wide topic for a few hours during the week, with the intimidating presence of her self. Professor Snape, on the other hand, locked students in the Potions classroom and let them out after the successfull brewing of a potion of his liking. Hence, it must be something similar.

Y/n strolled into class, her curls bouncing around the embroided slytherin crest of her robe. Defence against the dark arts was her worst subject, she only thought it was interesting when Professor Lupin taught it, and had done surprisingly well. Then, it was a hands-on, useful and fascinating module, while now, Umbridge followed the Ministry's policy to teach the students in a "risk free" way, by only reading through the theory. Not only were the lessons incredibly boring, the whole book was utterly useless.

"As if Voldemort will ask you the theory of Merlin's rule of categorisation of spells when he Avada-Kedavra's your ass", Y/n had scoffed when she saw the chapters. Draco had laughed, but told her that his father had owled him that Umbridge was a family ally, and hence he could not be out of line in her class.

"When did you become such a nerd?"

"Oh shut it Y/n", Y/n recalled.

She had also implemented some stupid rules, like "no touching between boys and girls, and a six feet distance at all times", and reduced the hours that students could go out of their dorms. While Dumbledore wanted the students to be at their dorms by 10pm, Umbridge thought that 6pm was acceptable.

As if.

Y/n entered the class, the only class she did not sit with Draco. Apparently, boys and girls could also not sit with one another, since they would eventually touch. And in a doomed world controlled by Umbridge, that was a sin.

Draco spotted his girlfriend entering the room, wearing a bored look on her face. He was not excited about DADA either. His parents might have told him that Umbridge was the best thing that could happen in this school, but he was not blind or stupid. The stuff being taught were useless and her teaching method was more boring than 5 hours of Divination with no breaks in his eyes. At least then, he could laugh at Trelawney. Now he just was supposed to stay silent and listen Umbridge reading the most basic book ever again and again.

He realised he got lost in his thoughts and was staring at Y/n longer than intended. She seemed bored as hell, but her eyes always intimidated him - yet, he would never admit out loud. Even the plainest of her looks had such passion beneath it, her deep dark orbs had a fire in them, surrounded by thick eyelashes, making her look coy and mischevious even when she was not planning to.

Y/n noticed him looking and smirked back at him.

"Stop staring, people might think that you like me" she mouthed silently to him. He grinned and shook his head. 'She is something else', he thought.

An unpleasantly familiar trotting of heels approached the creaking floor at the centre of the classroom, making students focus on the short, evil woman that was tormenting the school; Umbridge.

"Hello, my dear students" she smiled in a sickly manner. "Today we are learning about the theory of protection spells."

Y/n groaned, thinking other students would join her, however, it was this uncomfortable and awkward moment that everyone had decided to stay deadly silent, making her disapproving groan loud and clear to be heard.

"Is there an issue, miss Y/l/n?" Umbridge smiled in the evilest way she could.

"No, no, of course not. I always wanted to listen about the theory of protection spells." Y/n smiled in the fakest way possible.

"Is that irony I am sensing, Y/l/n?" Umbridge had a more serious look now, her smile not decieving anyone.

"Nope." She said, emphasising the "p" sound in her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she quickly glanced to Draco, who had a warning glare. "Don't aggravate her!" He mouthed. Y/n rolled her eyes, and unfortunately for her, Umbridge saw that, taking it as it was directed at her.

She scrunched up her nose and stomped her heel lightly on the floor, when she exclaimed: "Detention after class, miss y/l/n! That attitude of yours is no match for a young witch!"

Draco did not know why everyone was saying Umbridge's detention was horrible, he had heard she only requested some lines. Even so, her detention had gained a horrible reputation, and he didn't like it one bit that his girlfriend would be the one going there.

Even so, he was angry at her, he had warned her so many times. She was such a brat every time she spoke to Umbridge, when he had told her that every student that was leaving her detention was crying.

The DADA lesson had finished, when Y/n saw Draco stomping towards her, stopping around the 6 feet limit, keeping his distance.

"Why do you never listen?!" His angry hissing voice aggravated her even more.

"I rolled my freaking eyes, Draco, chill."

"You were sarcastic. You know you were. Are you happy now?" His glare was piercing her soul.

"I am not, actually. I would prefer no stupid rules, but I guess my boyfriend is too much of a wuss to think for himself and see how ridiculous Umbridge is."

"She just wants order. Besides, its temporary!" He half whispered, half yelled.

"Sure. Tell that to yourself to feel better, darling." Now she was mad at him. "Now excuse me, I have a detention to go to." She closed the gap between them - breaking the rule- just to bump on his shoulder angrily, and stomped past him, going to detention.

"Fine! I don't give a fuck, then!" She heard her boyfriend's voice. She knew he didn't mean it at all, but she silently prayed he changed his mind after her detention, he had an hour to think by himself after all. She was hoping for an apology.

Y/n lightly knocked on her door, listening to Draco's advice for once. She should be polite, calm and collected no matter what she said to her. She couldn't risk an expulsion. Umbridge's sickly laugh was heard. "Come in, y/l/n."

Y/n opened the door, fighting back her urge to laugh or roll her eyes. Her least favourite colour, fuchsia pink, was plastered everywhere, cats trapped on the walls, and a heavy, sickly, sugary aroma filled her nostrils, she did her best to keep her pokerface.

"Sit", the teacher ordered. "You will do some lines today, Y/n."

Relief passed through her. That wasn't that bad. She grabbed a piece of paper and moved to grab her quill, when the fuchsia toad in front of her stopped her. "Oh no, dear. I'm afraid you wont need that." She smiled, and handed her a large black feathered quill from her own collection. "Use this, please. It is one of my favourites."

Y/n grabbed the quill and moved again to reach for her ink. "Oh, silly me, I forgot." She heard the professor giggle. "You won't need any ink, dear."

She looked at Umbridge confused, her tamed eyebrows furrowing to her words. Still, she went with it. She grabbed the quill and before she started, Umbridge directed her "you shall write the line: I must not be arrogant." Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"How many times, Professor?" She said.

"Hm... let's just say... till it sinks in." Umbridge giggled once again, sipping her tea.

Y/n scoffed silently and started writing the lines, red ink magically appearing on paper. Her left hand was uncomfortable the whole time, but she ignored it. As soon as she finished the first line, though, the discomfort became a burning sensation, and hurt so much, like someone was creating small cuts in her skin. She looked at her hand to see what was going on, only to see the line she wrote engraved in her hand.

'You evil bitch' Y/n thought.

Every time she would rewrite the sentence, it was like the invisible knife digged deeper and deeper in her skin, twisting at each twist of the quill. She looked at Umbridge with teary eyes, a silent plea to stop this torture. Blood was seeping out of her wound uncontrollably now, staining her robe. Umbridge just glanced at her and said "one more page."

Through silent tears, a wrecked bloodied hand, trembles and gritted teeth, she finished her torture without making a sound. She excused her self, said goodbye to the professor, and closed the heavy door behind her, exhaling with a trembled sob escaping her lips. An exhale that she was holding for an hour.

She contained her tears and hid her hand from plain sight. She did not want to worry anyone, and she sprinted with all the energy she could muster to the dungeons. She just wanted to wash it off, wrap it in a clean cloth, and have a good cry.

As she was approaching the dungeons, it dawned on her: she could run up to Draco there. What should she do? On one hand, the thought of making him feel bad enticed her, she was still mad about his behaviour. On the other hand, she knew he meant no harm, and that he would make her start a legal war with Umbridge. She really didn't want to do anything right now, as much as she hated her guts.

She hid her hand better, wiped her eyes, took a few deep breaths and prayed that her boyfriend was not in the common room, as she opened the door.

Unbeknownst to her, Draco was waiting restlessly at the common room all this time. He didn't like the fact they fought before, he hated not being on good terms with Y/n. He didn't think he was entirely on the wrong though. 'Maybe if she listened to me once in a whi-'

His thoughts came to a halt when he saw a trembling Y/n enter the common room. Her eyes were red and glassy, and she was crouched in a weird position. He instantly forgot everything he was thinking of and sprinted towards her. When her eyes fell on him, she inhaled sharply, sttaightening her posture. He was terribly worried and she could feel it.

"Darling?" His soft voice was music to her ears.

Her eyes avoided his, refilling with tears just from his worried voice.

"I-I need to go to my room." She said with a lowered gaze.

"Tell me what's wrong please-"

"I thought you didn't give a fuck." Her voice was low when she said it, her teary eyes finally meeting his. She did not mean to snap at him, but everything was too much.

He finally locked eyes with her now, the emotion he saw in her overtaking him. He pursed his lips and looked down.

"I'm sorry. You know - baby you know thats not true. I want to know what happened. What did she say to you that made you cry? You don't cry easily, I know that. If you want I'll report her!" He was frantically searching for her gaze again, his grey irises full of concern.

"She said nothing bad to me. She instructed me through my lines." She avoided his gaze once again.

He lowered his gaze as well, and broke the -for once- uncomfortable silence, his voice slightly broken.

"Do you not trust me?"

His words echoed in her head. She did. She did with her life. She could not stay mad at him, no matter her anger. "I do. I'm sorry, I'm a-a bit of a m-mess, i'll tell you, j-just give me a few m-minutes..."

His hand grabbed hers to pull her into an embrace, to hold her close, to calm her. As soon as his hand grasped her own, though, a strong wave of stinging pain shot through her, a hissing sound escaping her lips as she yanked her hand away. She was holding it close to her heart, a few hot tears escaping her eyes. There was no escape now.

Draco looked at her wide eyed, a blank expression of confusion mixed with worry resting on his features. "What-"

He looked down on his hand. Blood.

He inhaled sharply. Blood? His heart was pounding in his chest now, his fury for Umbridge boiling. What exactly happened in her detentions?

"Darling." He spoke. His voice was low and steady, and Y/n could swear she could hear her own heartbeat. "Your hand. Please." He extended his own to signal her to give her hers. Slowly, she put her bloodied palm on his own.

"Did she do this?", he hissed angrily. Y/n nodded but winced at his tone, not ready for facing an angry Draco. He saw that, and his features calmed down.

He grasped her shoulders carefully, gently pulling her in a hug, lightly kissing her forehead and letting his lips linger there. He tilted her chin up, pressing a quick peck on her lips.

"Im not mad at you". He said steadily, to show he meant every word. "I'll kill her, honestly" he mumbled, as his eyes examined the wounds.

"I must not be arrogant?!?"

He felt his anger rise again, as he managed to read the cuts that were filled with blood.

"She h-had a black quill. I would write on paper and it would transfer the letters in m-my hand. Must be c-cursed." Y/n said between small sobs.

His one arm cradled her head and she felt him moving the other one on her waist, urging her to move. "Come on, lets get you cleaned up. I'll send a letter to my father. She will be out of her position tomorrow."

Y/n's eyes widened "No n-no I-"

Draco didn't let her finish "Y/n, I love you but please shut up."

For the first time in a while, Y/n giggled, music to Draco's ears.

He took his time being extra gentle on her wound, making sure it is clean, before putting a few healing spells on it, muttering apologies whenever Y/n would wince.

"Tomorrow your hand will be good as new. Trust me."

"I trust you Draco. Thank you."

His eyes looked up from her wound, and Y/n was sure she could melt. He had the softest gaze ever. They fell asleep in each other's embrace, soft kisses taking away the pain.

The next morning, Y/n could hardly stiffle a laugh at the annoucement of Umbridge being suddently fired. She turned at her boyfriend, who looked smug as ever.

His eyes glimmered and his eyebrows wiggled with smugness, as he said:

"She should not have been that arrogant. Guess karma is a bitch." He shrugged.

That Malfoy boy was your everything and you knew it.

FEEL FREE TO LIKE AND SHARE!! Feedback is always welcome, love you all!

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tu-sugar-mami · 3 years ago

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So @alcinassugarbby asked for another part of my previous music drabble, where R teaches Alci how to perrear to latino music. And if you want to get the vibe you can listen to the Spotify playlist i made specifically for this.

Also, just to let you know, this was written with latino people in mind.

I took my time with this one, but please enjoy ;)

------

The castle was huge af, you yourself had gotten lost in its infinity many times, mostly when you have the late night cravings and sneakily you manouver you way out of Alcina's hold and have to find your way through the darkness of the hallways in order to find the kitchen. It was like a neverending maze, but just as it was great for parties and hide and seek games, it was a pain in the ass to keep clean.

Maids had stopped roaming the castle's halls a long time ago (more like, the family outlived them), and Alcina never bothered to hire new ones, so the chore of cleaning the place fell upon the daughters.

Your mom raised you right, you were not going to let the girls struggle with the the chores when you could do something about it, and so, you being in your right age to put music to clean but not old enough to put Juan Gabriel, you pulled out your phone, connecting it to the speaker you made Alcina buy for you, and you started to sweep and mop, with your sleep shorts on clinging to you like a second skin and an oversized shirt (courtesy of Alcina's wardrobe) hanging on your body.

You were the only one currently in the castle, as the rest of the family went out for some business stuff with MM, leaving you the entire place to do as you pleased, so you didn't hesitate to blast the music through the whole east wing while dancing around the room you were cleaning. Though you lost track of time, and when you felt a hand on your shoulder just when you were crouching throwing it back, lost in the music, you jumped 3ft in the air with a surprised yelp, only to run to the nearest couch to grab a deadly weapon, a decorative cushion, and wield it with assertive determination towards whoever had dared to put a foot inside your home.

"Whatever are you doing, dear?" You heard your lover's amused voice and you blushed, letting out a squeak of surprise at being caught while dancing like that. You didn't even hear her arrive, but then again, the music was too loud.

You quickly turned the music down, so it wouldn't hurt her ears and so you could hear her better.

"I uh, was cleaning?" You said, unsure of your answer. You went to her, giving her a welcoming hug, though it was mostly to hide your face.

Alcina, the ever teasing woman, looked at a flustered you and a smirk formed on her face. "What an interesting way of cleaning. I'm sure the floors will be sparkling when you're done." And if it wasn't enough, she added: "You're really good, my love, you should teach me sometime." Alcina could say stuff like that all day, but in reality she loved the cute way your butt bounced up and down and as cool and composed as she looked in the outside, she was having a hard time keeping her eyes (and hands) off of your lower back. Because she's a gentlewoman, and a lady, and not because her daughters are wildly unpredictable and no one could assure her they wouldn't barge through the door at any moment effectively interrupting and testing her self control.

Though what she said gave you an idea, and now it was your turn to smirk mischievously. "Oh, i can definitely teach you. I would love to, even."

Her expression went blank and her face went pale, or well, even paler if it was even possible. "No." She said without a pause.

You giggled, and she giggled too because she cherished your laugh.

"No, but really. I could teach you. I mean, i'm no master myself but i know my moves." To prove your point you smoothly swinged your hips left and right, while holding Alcina's hands to make her follow your dance.

"I don't think i can do that, dearest. Maybe is best if i refrain from doing such dance." The smile on her face was small but it made the whole room brighter and you wanted to kiss her right there, although at that exact moment one of your favorite songs, and a classic at that, could be heard from the speaker and you didn't waste a second to dance along with it.

"Watch this, Alci." You said as you started to move at the rhythm of Yo Perreo Sola. Your left leg bouncing against the floor, then you started to move your hips in a rhythmical circle with a little pause and bounce of your butt at the end of every lap. It was really simple, yet Alcina looked mesmerized. And when you bent over, with your hands on your knees, and started going up and down, Alcina's eyes were definitely glued to you.

"See something you like?" You asked, smugly.

Alcina was speechless. But her gaze fixed on your behind let you know that in fact she did like it, she did like it a lot.

You stopped and you could have sworn you heard Alcina whine. "Why did you stop?" She asked, with a tint of disappoinment in her voice.

"You didn't say anything, so i thought you might not like it." You turned away from her to hide your smirk, because it was all bs, you knew she was enthralled.

"No, no. I like it. Although i must admit, i'd rather wish you'd dance for me like this more often." When you faced her again ahe was watching you intently.

"Tell you what, you dance for me first and i'll dance for you tonight in our chambers, how's that sound?" You were struggling to keep your grin under control as Alcina seemed to seriously think about it.

"You really want to see me dance like that, don't you? You little devil."

"There's nothing else i'd wish for right now."

Alcina sighed. "Fine, i am willing to do it." She held your face with her hand and leaned to kiss you. "Just because i really like that butt of yours."

You blushed but went to choose a song nonetheless.

"Let's start with something easy." You said as you browsed through the Colores album, looking for a song that you thought fitted her perfectly and 'Negro' started to play.

Alcina had listened to your songs before, but it never ceased to amaze her how different each song was, the rhythm and lyrics, not to mention the many different languages, and seeing you so excited to share part of your culture with her– it just made her heart soar.

"Alright, how should i start?"

Your huge bright smile made it impossibe to hide how much you were enjoying this. "You see, my dear apprentice, perrear is an art where your hips are the brush and the room is your canvas. Now, with me, stand like this and try to move you butt up and down along with the beat."

Alcina was hesitant. How a lady such as herself would allow her body to move in such an... aggravating... manner? Well, the answer was that she loved you. She would do anything for you and if it was your wish to see her dance, then she'd swallow her pride and try her best.

With awe you witnessed how your lady attempted to perform the basic step of perreo, though you could clearly see she was being shy, and you didn't blame her. The first time you tried to learn in front of your full body mirror was like that too.

"How's this? Am i doing it right?" She asked, unsure.

Her posture was a bit awkward, and you placed your hands on her to correct it. "Yes, now try to lean down a bit, like this. You can put your hands above the knee for support." She did. "Now, the tricky part. Try and arch your back a bit, just a bit, while you throw it back."

"I'm not throwing anything back, dear." Alcina said, confused, and even glanced behind her to confirm.

You giggled. "Baby, i meant your butt. Like this."

Alcina followed your example, and she being an extremely smart, talented and observing woman, picked up the move real quick.

"Now try to draw a circle with your hips. Yes, just like that. You're doing great, babe!"

"I sure hope so, my love. I'm really looking forward to you dancing for me tonight." She smirked, stopping her moves and pulling you close to her, her hands on your back pressing you against her front. "I putting a lot of effort and i require praise and kisses." You were more than happy to comply to her wishes, climbing on a chair and proceeding to kiss her hungrily. Wet kisses could be heard in the room, and Alcina's hands under your shirt gently scrapping the bare skin of your back were driving you crazy. But you knew you were getting too lost in the moment, and as much as you wanted to keep drawing those delicious groans from her you still had a goal to accomplish.

With a last bite to her bottom lip you pushed yourself back and jumped to the floor, ignoring Alcina's whine of disappoinment.

"Let's move to something a little more difficult." You say, a little bit out of breath, as you change the song to Gasolina. It started with a rapid beat and you wasted no time following it.

"Oh god..."

"Now you do it."

You'd be lying if you said seeing Alcina try that specific step didn't stir something in you. Definitely her leaning down, moving her hips side to side, slightly rotating her waist, in a rapid pace was a sight to behold.

"My love, you're drooling." Her amused voice reached your ears and you got out of your trance.

"I guess i'm really good teacher." You day, the back of your hand hiding your mouth.

"Mmh, well i think so too." She laughed. A beautiful laughter indeed. "Do you happen to have more knowledge you'd like to share?"

You lit up as a new song came into mind.

"I do!" Wait a sec!"

You quickly change the song and run back to Alcina's side.

"Third step! Should be easy enough." You squat and thrust your hips forward in a repetitive smooth motion while gradually rising with every 'Tra' of the song, slowly, tempting, alluring. "What do you think?"

Alcina is staring again, and you can almost hear the Microsoft startup sound as her brain reboots.

"Would you look at that! It's already night time." She said, pointing to a half covered window that lets in a faint but clear ray of sunlight. You opened your mouth to deny it but Alcina was already hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around her waist. "And i believe we made a deal." Her husky voice and hungry eyes left no room for arguing, though you wouldn't complain.

-----

I think i should put links to videos so you can get a reference.

If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #my fic #re8

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skiyoosmi · 4 years ago

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if fate permits

⤷ chapter nineteen: when it's too late

previous < masterpost > next

YN'S POV

ATSUMU'S POV

TWO DAYS LATER...

[THE FOUR IDIOTS’ APARTMENT, 6:55PM]

Kiyoomi only watched as your eyes became melancholier, as if it were not already in the first place, the longer you stared at the screen of his phone. Probably rereading his conversation with Atsumu, he thinks. Initially, he wasn’t really planning on showing it to you but just like any other day, you decided to be the whipped soulmate (or more like an idiot, at least to him) you were, all while saying “Atsumu is important to me, should I really leave this apartment while not making amends with him?” He almost retched, is this girl really fixated on becoming a saint? How could someone be this lenient? He has no idea. And so, he showed you– that even after all this time, the piss-haired boy will remain as he is; that no matter how many years may pass, Miya Atsumu will be Miya Atsumu.

And he was the exact opposite of you: he was self-centered, conceited, prideful, juvenile, and so many more that it would take Kiyoomi more than a day to list all the things he detested from the boy. He can only remember how much he loathed the boy upon their first proper meeting; not that he likes meeting new people anyway. Kiyoomi was no genius but he knew, right at that moment, that Atsumu was far from being the ‘knight-in-shining-armor’ soulmate his dearest sister was so engrossed to have.

Kiyoomi also knew that he was not the best brother in the world; hell, he is way too far from being a good one even. He couldn’t care less if you have an admirer from afar (like that Iwaizumi who seems to be around you all the time these days), nor when you finally get yourself a suitable boyfriend, not even when you finally get wedded to someone. He wasn’t overprotective... or at least that’s what he believed. But he was only human, after all– now that he contemplates about it, he realizes that he isn’t really fond of seeing you cry.

“Stop hurting yourself over and over again, you fool of a sister,” he said, clicking his tongue afterwards and grabbing your bags after hearing your father call from downstairs, “Know your worth a little, will you? It’s kind of painful for me to watch you get hurt too, you know. It’s not just mom and dad.”

And with that, he left the room, leaving you to tend to your other belongings and perhaps, say goodbye to this little house that managed to etch itself to your heart. Compared to your childhood home, it wasn’t enough to make you sob your heart out dry. But for some reason, tears still found its way on the corner of your eyes as you remembered the fond memories you’ve made here with your boys – the moment you stumbled upon this house when you four were trying to find a place to stay, the smile on your face when you decided that this was the one (cue Atsumu literally hauling you three towards the agent to settle the down payment), the moving day when Kiyoomi and Osamu brawled for the first time in their lives because they both wanted that bedroom that was the only one downstairs, “to be away from the idiot disease” as what they said. You can only wonder if you could make new memories as happy as those in your future home.

“Ah… you really are a fool of a sister, YN,” you whispered to yourself, wiping the tears away and getting the last of your things before proceeding downstairs, finding your father standing by the front door, arms crossed with a face mask adorning his face (you never really questioned where your brother got his traits, it was as clear as the day), “Kiyoomi is already in the car but I think you should bid Osamu-kun a proper farewell first. He’s in the kitchen. We’ll be waiting so just take your time.”

You nodded before proceeding to the said area, finding the gray-haired with his arms already wide open. Your lips quivered before jumping at him, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“We’ll still be seeing each other at school, you damn gorilla,” he chuckled before burying his face in your neck. You clicked your tongue, pouting at his very much realistic reply, “But it’s different! Eating breakfasts together, going to school together, going home together… and drinking wine until we’re brains out! I’m pretty sure my dad won’t let me do that at his house!”

He cackled, releasing you from his hold and flicking you on your forehead, “what an alcoholic woman! Are you sure you’re going to be a student in a prestige university abroad? You’ll be left behind by your classmates if you keep on prioritizing your wines before your studies.”

“Hah! You’ll see, Osamu. Those red wines will be the reason I even become one of the most famous writers in the world. You better wait and I’ll release an autobiography saying a man named Miya Osamu used to bully me to death,” you huffed, smirking after you saw him stare at you in disbelief. Your smile gradually disappeared upon the realization that the center of your heart was not home… even when I’m already leaving, huh?

Osamu frowned as well, scratching the back of his neck because of the sudden silence that indicated your little recognition, “I’m sorry. I told him to go home before 7 but…”

“It’s fine, Samu. We’re still not in the best terms so it’s probably better this way – a more peaceful way of farewell, you know? No fighting or anything else. Besides, I couldn’t tell him anything about my moving, scholarship, and so many things,” The lad didn’t miss the way you quickly wiped your tears away though. Damn you, Atsumu, why are you always making her cry, he thought.

“I’ll see you at school then, Samu. I’ll miss the dinners you cook,” you smiled, walking quietly outside, and shutting the front door. At the same time, a chime resonated from your phone that was in your pocket. Opening it, you released a long sigh… of relief? of anxiety? You didn’t know.

[Haji, 7:15PM]: I did it, YN. My thread, it’s… black.

You looked up at the night sky, finding stars twinkling as if they were gazing back at you.

Should I start moving on too, Haji?

[TOKYO UNIVERSITY GYMNASIUM, 7:20PM]

For the umpteenth time this week, Atsumu heaved yet another deep sigh, hands weaving itself with his hair to ruffle it out of frustration. Today, he couldn’t care less about the girls lurking around the university gym… because for the umpteenth time this week as well, his twin brother expressed his disappointment towards the boy, leaving him in the said place with the same words he had uttered yesterday and even the day before that, accompanied by a threat this time: “You’re such an immature asshole I wouldn’t be surprised if YN finally gives up on being your friend. You better come home before 7PM or else, I will drag you by your feet with my own two hands.”

Clicking his tongue, he grabbed another ball, gripping it so hard his nails almost left a dent on it. 7PM? He only scoffs. No, he won’t go home yet. He doesn’t care if Osamu gets furious at him and drags him nor if you give up on your friendship; all he thinks right now is that he wants to spike this ball straight onto the other side of the court, make it burst if it was even possible. It wasn’t his fault he got mad at you, he’s entitled to his feelings; he’s right, Kiyoomi’s mistaken… you shouldn’t have promised something you would just break in a span of less than thirty seconds. You shouldn’t hav–

But is it really her fault though? A voice in his head refuted him, or is it just because you’re really an immature asshole who can’t be happy for her?

Of course, it’s her fault, he argues. Immature? Him? He’s almost twenty-two, for god’s sake! He has been living in this world for more than two decades, how could Osamu call him underdeveloped? He swears he’s going to give his twin brother a good punch or two once he gets home.

… But she’s just trying to reach for her dreams, why are you not supporting her? She always does that when it comes to you, doesn’t she? Or have you already forgotten?

And at that, everything went perfectly still. The sound of the ball falling from his hands resonated throughout the quiet gym. Even with just hearing words from something or someone he can’t even identify, Atsumu felt as if he was hit on his head with a ton of bricks.

“E-eh…? W-why… why am I crying?” He whispered, fingers going up to touch his cheeks and furrowing his eyebrows when he felt the dampness of the said area.

Because you know you don’t deserve her. You know that it’s your fault. It has ALWAYS been your fault.

“Shut up,” he said to no one, plopping down the floor while he clutched his ears this time to shut the voice out. As it kept talking, he tried hitting his head with his hand, tried talking over it, tried retorting savage remarks back; however, everything was futile for it kept talking, kept torturing his mind with nothing but the truth.

You hurt her, then apologize, then do it again. What are you playing, a tug-of-war? How selfish of you, Miya Atsumu! Are you really her best friend?

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” He screamed, his throat feeling as if it was getting scratched from the rawness of his voice. There was no way he was gonna have a voice tomorrow.

You’re so aggravated whenever you think about losing YN, are you sure you’re not in love with her or something? Yanno… have you never thought about the fact that maybe she’s your sou–

“Atsumu-kun! Wake up!” A voice yelled while grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him awake, finally bringing him out of his… dream? Was that even considered a dream? Because Atsumu was sure as hell that what happened was just plain torture to him.

“Are you okay, Atsumu-kun? You were having a nightmare,” turning to the girl who kept her hold on him, he finds Yui, who was looking back at him as if he lost the screws in his head. He starts to believe that he, in fact, did after all that weirdness. After all, who in the world would randomly just fall asleep in the middle of an empty gym then proceed to have a nightmare while on it. Surely, there would be no one except for him. How in the world did it happen anyway? As far as he could remember, he was just practicing his serves and tosses a while ago.

“Yui, why are you still here? It’s getting late,” he asks the girl whose eyes just lit up, for some reason, at his question before lifting her hand up and showing… what? She continued to smile though and waved the same hand right in front of Atsumu’s face, much to his slight annoyance. He wasn’t really in the best mood to play guessing games right now, so he only sighs exasperatedly, “Just get to the point, Yui-chan. I’m feeling the exhaustion now.”

“I told you before that I could see my thread, right? Well, it turned black! Me and my soulmate met up a while ago and turns out, he was a Moira, so we performed the mini ritual, which is so weird by the way, before cutting it. He said one of us has to ‘affirm’ their desire to cut the thread, so I did! As far as I know, based on my previous researches about soulmates, it doesn’t really matter because the ‘gods’ know the deepest desires of our hearts but you know, I don’t really care because I’m free!” She exclaimed, squealing afterwards, and flinging her arms around Atsumu’s neck to give him a hug. But the boy stayed still and gaped because how can someone afford to be happy at this situation? His arms remained motionless at his sides, confusing him; wasn’t he just itching to have this weeks ago? In fact, he was just dreaming about it about three days ago. So why? Why couldn’t he bring himself to hug her back?

“Your soulmate cut it. How can you be happy, Yui-chan….?” Before he knew it, his mouth spoke for him faster than his brain could process. He removed himself from the girl’s embrace, watching as confusion begin to form on her face; though it only took her milliseconds before an odd smile showed up on her face once more.

“Because that means I could finally date you without feeling guilty for my soulmate, silly!”

Atsumu felt like a hundred years had passed in just a single night and yet again, he sighed. If anyone sees him right now, they will probably laugh at his rather pathetic-looking state. Never in his life has he felt this exhausted, not even when Kita Shinsuke would force him to do an unreasonable number of receives and then make him clean the whole gym with the said captain; no, not even that could beat this fatigue and strangely, it makes him miss the captain.

Maybe he should’ve just gone home before 7PM, like Osamu said. He then shudders as he remembers that he still has to face his twin’s wrath.

“Can’t I just go back to being a toddler… like the brats that have no problem in the world?” He whines to himself quietly, relief spreading throughout his whole body as he sees your shared apartment; can already smell the meal Osamu cooked for you four; can visualize the disgusted look your brother will give him once he enters the house, all sweaty and gross-looking. Though, he thinks it’s odd that upon looking at the window of your room and Kiyoomi’s, he finds that they weren’t lit up unlike the usual. Maybe they’re already asleep, he shrugs given that you both love getting your beauty rest as much as you can. Twins, you are.

As careful as possible, he opens the front door, wincing when it makes a sound that would possibly wake up the very sensitive ears of Sakusa Kiyoomi from his room downstairs.

“Don’t bother trying to be quiet, Atsumu. You’re not going to wake anyone up in this house,” The voice of Osamu startles him. Fastly recovering from the mini-scare, he turns to his twin to glare while clutching his chest in hopes to calm his heart down, only to stop when he finds his brother glowering at him with a much worse scowl on his face.

“Samu, I’m sorry. I just got caught up with som–”

“You know, Tsumu, it’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? You always come around when it’s already too late,” Osamu speaks, trying to find the right words to say, “YN and Kiyoomi… they left and went back to their parents’ home. They will be staying there until YN and her mom leaves for abroad which would be in less than a month, right after this semester ends.”

Miya Atsumu was self-centered, conceited, prideful, juvenile, and so many more that it would take Kiyoomi more than a day to list all the things he detested from the boy. He didn’t care if you gave up and break off your friendship with him… at least that’s what he believed. But like Sakusa Kiyoomi, he was also human – and at that moment, as his brother stares at him and waits for a reply, he only stays still. Why is it that instead of the volleyball he was holding at the gym moments ago, it’s his heart that’s about to burst?

⤷ notes. we didn't have internet connection for a whole day and phew.. this was the result of me being bored out of my wits, i guess? and i apologize in advance for the pain that i keep on giving and WILL keep on giving :>

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #atsumu smau #iwaizumi smau #atsumu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu headcanons #atsumu headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #miya atsumu #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu

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maybe-itll-be-someday · 3 years ago

Text

After The Rain

For my beautifully bright friend, @sequinsmile-x.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. I’d only ever be able to pull 2.5k words out of my math riddled brain for you.

Read on AO3

Aaron always did hate the rain.

The rain always meant that he would have no choice but to stay inside, a witness to the bottles of whiskey that his father would consume and his mother’s indifference to the situation. The rain meant that he’d have to stay home from the library, where he spent hours perusing through books and living in between worn out spines. Instead, he’d stay holed up in his room until his father’s booming voice beckoned him out, the rain aggravating his already delicate temper another notch.

It drizzled the day that they lowered his mother into the ground. Barely 25, his only suit hanging off his shoulders and circles under his eyes from nights he spent reading through cases and making his life more than his father’s ever was. He doesn’t cry as her casket gets lowered six feet beneath them, so the sky softly weeps on his behalf.

It rains the day that Haley leaves him. He comes home to their apartment, a light smattering of rain drops on their window as he takes in the empty space of their living room. Jack’s favorite toys are gone from the living room floor, where he spent hours stacking blocks and attempting to shove shapes into the wrong holes. The clothes she left in their closet were non-essentials - not anything they needed to live their everyday lives.

(It’s only fitting that he gets left behind too.)

It storms the day he makes the decision to send Emily off to Paris, his heart in his throat when he tells their superiors that the only way they could keep her safe is by letting everyone think that she was dead. Tears sting in his eyes and his fingers cramp from the intensity in which he’s holding the pen as he signs away to her new life, one that just recently slotted him in like a neat puzzle piece.

Thunder rumbles above them when he squeezes her hand, promising her that he would find Doyle and that he would bring her home. The skies crack open and the rain starts to fall when he gets to stamp his affection for her on her lips, sealing whispered promises he had no idea if he could keep.

So he takes the assignment in Pakistan, because when the sky splits open on a Wednesday night, he feels like he’s drowning.

At least it didn’t rain in the desert.

It rains on their third date, much to his dismay.

He should’ve checked the weather forecast before committing to taking her on a picnic in the park on a rare weekday off. He even goes to a boutique wine store in DC, asking for advice on what kind of wines would go best with which cheese because he wants to impress her. He wants the flavours to melt on her tongue to be the same sharp contrast of salty and sweet that lingered on his tongue when he tasted her. He buys her favorite wine, wrapped in a label that’s worn with time, because he wants to show

He just wants to tell her how he feels, but it’s way too soon. She’s only been back in the States for a few months, their romance rekindled in the past few weeks.

So instead, he tries to plan every moment of their date to the perfection she deserved.

If only he had checked the weather.

Emily had shown up at his door, white linen flowing down from thin straps and cinching around her waist, delicately draping right above her knees and his mouth going dry at the sight of her. She wrapped her fingers around his neck and kissed him in greeting, his own hands greedily grabbing the fabric under his hands and internally debated if they could forgo the picnic and instead eat the overpriced cheese he bought off of her skin.

But her eyes brightened when she saw the picnic basket he had prepared, running a finger and reading the labels of everything he bought in perfect intonation to their native languages.

“Where did you get all of this?” She had asked, cheeks dusted in a light pink at the realization that he had done this all for her.

“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll tell you.” He’s always been attuned to her movements - a careful eye thrown in her direction. It had started just as a precaution, his opinions on her joining the BAU still up for debate.

It had slowly and too easily transformed into something else completely. It was probably the reason why he had gone to four different delis in DC, tracking down cheese he couldn’t pronounce the names of and two bottles of wine that he thinks cost him more than all the wine he’s ever bought in his life.

He remembers the first time he caught it. Reading a report from over her shoulder, their relationship refining its rough edges as they slipped closer and closer together. He remembers the smell of her perfume, the soft scent of something floral in his nose as he read through her report.

“Good.” He had said, a soft hand on her shoulder in approval when her shoulders tightened ever so slightly. Not in annoyance, or in anger, but in a frustration that he thinks had to do with the way her hips shifted in her seat. He was just starting to learn about her, of the mole that was tucked on her collarbone, of the small rose tattoo on her ribs and the dove that flew across her hip bone.

He spent his time exploring which patches of skin produced which noises, which angle of his caused her to grip whichever part of him she was holding tighter, and which words caused his name to roll off of her tongue in a sweet cacophony of moans.

Her pupils darkened at his approval, his touch igniting something under her skin that when he said it later that night, wrapped in her silk sheets - the words good girl dropped in the middle of unintelligible mutters - she had arched into him and her thighs clamped down around his hips as she urged him to go deeper and faster, chasing her release by embedding him under her skin.

Another button he’s learned how to press and his delight grew as her pupils widened at his words.

“As long as I can hold you to that.” He wanted to tug her back into his bedroom, taking advantage of the fact that his apartment was kid-free for once but she just cackled and tugged on his hand, telling him to grab the picnic basket because she was starving .

They find a secluded area of Potomac park and he asks her to explain whatever it is he bought, because he really was only working off of the recommendations of the elderly Italian woman at the first deli who had written down all the cured meats and cheeses that he should buy when he mentioned it would be for his girlfriend.

Emily tells him which wine would go best with which cheese and he feeds her grapes and cherries that stained her lips in a soft pink, stealing soft kisses when he lingers close enough and enjoying the blush that spreads on her skin when his hand draws soft circles on the inside of her knee.

The dark, grey sky looms over them without warning, the clouds splitting open to let fat drops of rain land on the very expensive cheese that he thinks is an absurd amount for pressed curds of milk. Aaron starts to quickly pack their picnic, calculating the amount of time that it’s going to take to get to the car that they’ve parked on the other side of the road and wonders why the rain was determined to ruin what was going to be one of his favorite memories.

“Aaron.” She says, chuckling and running a hand down his back. “It’s only the rain.”

But she also notices the way his body has gone rigid, jaw set in a tight line as he continues to pack the food back into the basket. He flinches when a particularly fat raindrop hits the back of his neck and she frowns at his reaction.

But she doesn’t press, instead helping him pack away all of their food and letting him coral her under a nearby tree just as the rain pelts the ground in heavy, loud waves. The rain was torrential, their visibility limited to the first twenty feet in front of them and Aaron already knows that they won’t make it back to the car without getting soaked, if they could find it in the downpour.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He mutters, fists curled tightly and Emily pushes the wet curls across his forehead and brushes off his apology.

“It’s not like you can control the weather.”

“I should’ve checked--” He protests.

“It’s okay, I actually like the rain.” Her head cocks, appraising him with a careful eye and Aaron knows that he doesn’t have to tell her that he isn’t a big fan of the rain. She stares at him for a moment longer and as he is about to suggest they sprint back to the car, her hand slips into his and she tugs him out from under the shade of the tree and right into the downpour.

“Emily, what are you doing ?” He asks, his voice loud to try and compete with the rain that was battering the ground beneath them. Emily doesn’t respond, instead keeping a firm grip on his hand as the drops of water soaked her skin, causing the white fabric around her to cling to her skin.

“Dance with me.” She says, a gentle tug on his hand pulling him closer.

“There’s no music.” He says and she just laughs, his pedantics having the opposite effect on her as she steps closer to him, lifting the hand in hers as his arm loops instinctively around her waist. He’s about to protest again, because they really should be getting back to the car because the food is in a wooden basket under a tree, but she tips her lips on his and effectively stops his protests before they begin.

Her temple brushes against his cheek, and the taut pull of his muscles releasing slightly. She curls into him, her hand resting on the small of his back as his palm flattens across her shoulders, his thumb edging the outline of its blade. A shiver runs up her spine at the contact, the warmth of his fingers a sharp contrast to the rain that slid on their skin. She starts leading him in a gentle sway, their movements oddly on beat with the beating of the rain.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never danced in the rain, Hotchner.” He shrugs, a playful smile gracing his lips.

“I’m not in the habit of catching a cold or freezing in wet clothes.” Emily laughs, the soft lilt of it wrapping his heart in a warmth that causes those three words to curl dangerously at the end of his lips.

“The rain isn’t all bad.” She says, glancing up towards the dark sky as she lets the rain pound on her skin. “It brings the flowers. It cleans the air. It helps us savor the sunshine just a little bit more.”

Her fingers twine around a damp strand of his hair at the base of his neck, the scrape of her nails eliciting the release of the tension in his shoulders. He pulls her a little closer, taking the lead her in a soft shuffle

“The rain brings the rainbows.” She says, a soft smile curling at the edge of her lips, as if she was telling him a secret he wasn’t supposed to know about.

He didn’t think he’d ever find himself dancing in the rain. The torrential background of some of his more unpleasant memories is the same background that makes his chest want to split open to let all the light that was building inside of him out. To let the three words that curl dangerously at the edge of his lips to tumble out laced in a million promises and praises he wanted to give to her.

He didn’t think he’d find himself here, her soft figure pressed against his as the rain soaked their skin. He didn’t think he’d get to imprint his affection for her against her lips, tasting the sweet tartness of the cherries that stained her lips. He didn’t think he’d ever get to have her.

The words slip from his lips, his affection for her pouring from him with no warning or forethought. He just needs to tell her because he’s happy, and he doesn’t think he’d ever be this happy in the rain .

“I love you.” He says breathlessly, panic rising in him as she stiffens in his arms. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”

But she giggles, bright and brilliantly, and tugs his lips right onto hers and says that she loves him too.

If this was his rainbow, he’d happily let it storm for the rest of his life.

The next time it rains, he is the one to tug her into the park across the street. He takes her hand and leads her in a waltz he definitely doesn’t know, the cadence of her laugh sweet and light in the air. He sings Blackbird in her ear, low and whispered, because she’s always brought out a side of him that he thought he could keep buried under steel-reinforced walls.

He’d give every side of him to her, if she asked.

Maybe they’d make enough of these memories, of the rain soaking them to the bone but they would laugh and he’d make her hot chocolate after and he’d peel the heavy fabric of her dress off of her skin as she laughed and tell him to hurry up because Emily Prentiss was anything but patient.

Maybe they’d make enough memories to clean the stained ones that followed him whenever it rained.

Aaron always did hate the rain.

But with her, he hated it a little bit less.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron x emily #ckbwrites

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eternally-drifting · 4 years ago

Text

Eclipsed (Jungkook FF) - Ch.2

Discovering the kings biggest secret leads you into understanding the way he is, and how perhaps you have been just a bit too prejudice. After all, who are you to judge anyone.

pairing: Demon King Jungkook x Reader

genre: fantasy, fluff, inspired by the anime Inuyasha, slight e2l, then f2l, and some angst cuz why not, future smut, oh and a hint of gore.

warnings: mentions / descriptions of blood loss, insinuates d34th of character

word count: 1432

parts: <prev 2 / next>?

a/n: so this ones a little shorter and it’s not edited (nothing ever is). But i have written and re-written this chapter SO many times that this is the first time I’ve actually felt content with it. So... yeah

Without further notice, hope you enjoy this.

Feather light touches skimming across your face sent a shudder through you. The cooling breeze carrying the scent of morning dew, leaving a calming sensation as you inhaled and exhaled. You laid there in the soft, overgrown field of grass, not a single worry clouding your mind. It’s been so long since peace has been in your reach, this being perhaps the longest you’ve felt it. Desperate to stay in this… this realm.

Not having to worry about the usual troubles that occur in you day to day life. The usual weight in your chest – lifted. Never have you felt so light before. Reality doesn’t exist here, there are no mistakes, no judgments, no fears, no responsibilities, no doubts, no regrets!

Here, in this realm, you are whoever you choose to be. Wander however far or close you choose to go, and not have to answer to anyone but yourself. This realm, in this realm, you can be an ordinary woman, or the free wind. In this realm, you can just be.

“___,” it’s so soft, just as the breeze carrying it’s sound to you.

You open your eyes and are greeted with shades of purple transitioning into hues of coral, orange, and light blues. As the breeze continues its dance with the grass, you hear it again. Ever so soft and soothing in the wind.

“My darling ___.” The weight is settled back down. Feeling heavier than when it was lifted.

Sitting up, you turn your body around in the direction of her voice. Her image clearer than when you last saw her. “Mama…”

She smiled and yet; even in this realm it was sad. “You have to wake up now darling.”

“What?” No! not again. You disagreed, frantically shaking your head.

“Wakeup ___.” She reached her hand out towards you, but it was quickly fading away.

“N-no, please don’t. Please, stay here!” You pleaded, but you knew that it would do no good. Anytime you did, it always turned out the same.

“Forgive me ___,” and when you blinked, there she stood again. Drenched in her own blood, barely able to stand, and wheezing with every step she took. The final blow being that she continued to smile, even as her tears flowed down her face, the light in her eyes slowly dying out.

“I’m sorry ___,… I’m so sorry…” She collapsed to the ground, her blood having caused a puddle at her feet splashed, droplets landing on your face. You ran towards her in a frenzy.

‘This can’t be happening, not again, no! Please, not again!’ But when you reached to where she had fallen, her body wasn’t there. Any sign that she was even there in the first place – gone.

‘Wake up ___.’ What?

You twirled around to try and find her, but there was no one there. Even still, the voice continued, echoing through the open and empty space.

‘Wake up ___’

‘wake up… wake up… wake up… wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup’

BANG!

You jumped awake, skin slick with sweat that your clothes and hair cling to you, chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself. Your arm throbbing in pain again from the sudden jump. Looking around, you realize that it was another bad dream.

‘Another nightmare mixed with reality.’ You huff out a scoff and shake your head at it all. “Suppose I can’t escape it even in my sleep.”

There was another bang and only when you calmed down enough, did you realize that it was coming from the front door.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you grimaced at the thought. ‘Don’t tell me that he’s here already.’

The banging suddenly stopped, and you dared hope. ‘Maybe he le-‘

“I know you’re in there and awake ___, I can hear your heart beating, open up!” Wretched demon!

Laying back down for a second and closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before releasing an internal groan. Now that you were awake, the pain in your arm was amplified. Images from last night flash through your mind. The horror it was to stitch up the wound on your own nearly knocked you out. With a pitiful sigh, you made to throw your robe on with care to not further injure your arm.

The knocking continued and seemed to only become more and more obnoxious. ‘He waited who knows how long till I woke up, he can wait a few more seconds.’ Grumbling to yourself as you reached the door and opening it just a crack.

Greeting you was the sight of a very flustered and aggravated advisor. His eyes a luminescent ruby and pupils’ slant like a feline, sent daggers at you so sharp – that you’d be chopped into fine pieces. Oh yes, he very much was glaring at you with a scowl etched onto him. You’ve grown accustomed to it. The look of disdain whenever he came over to your humble home.

You assumed he had enough of you as he barged into your home as soon as the door opened. ‘You could at least let me invite you in first! No, just barge in and make yourself comfortable you bast-‘

“You reek of blood.” You can hear the disgust in his voice. Pausing by the door you let your shoulders drop. Quietly closing the door and locking it. ‘Of course, no wonder he was banging on the door incessantly. He must’ve caught the scent of it as soon as he crossed the river.’

As you made your way over to the stove to prepare tea for your interrogation, he turns to your nightstand and begins to rummage through it. You rolled your eyes and returned your gaze to the kettle, too tired to stop him.

‘First, he nearly knocks my door down, then he says I reek, now he goes through my stuff like he knows me. The audacity of these demons!’ Thank goodness he wasn’t one of the demons that could read minds – he’d never let you live all the stuff you’ve said down.

“Found it.” His footsteps laid heavy on the old wooden floors, creaking with each step he took, until he was a few feet away from you. Refusing to look at him, you kept your gaze on the steam that pushed its way through the kettle. The whistling being the only thing that was keeping the room from silence.

“___, let me see it, please.” He did not command you, but he was not asking you either. Grabbing the kettle, you made to the table by the window, setting everything down and gently removing your robe. Leaving you in a loose buttoned sleeved shirt, one of the sleeves having been torn off.

He’s subtly sniffs the air and tries to pinpoint what else besides your blood it is he’s smelling. Once he figures it out, his eyes harden and flash a bright pink before quickly returning to their usual ruby hue. “…You’ll have to come to the palace.” Your eyes widen, head snapping towards him as he puts everything back and reaches for your cloak. Head shaking vigorously, you beg him, “Please, no. Yoongi, I know that I’ve made a few mistakes, but I swear that I have it under control now, I swear!” Even you know how pathetic and desperate you sound.

Standing hastily, you winced at the pain, “Yoongi, I just need a li- “you jumped back as he abruptly turned towards you, face set in a slight snarl, light jagged markings appearing underneath his eyes. Stunned, you slowly stepped back and gave him space to calm down.

The snarl dropped immediately, markings fading away completely. He sighed, closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to rub his eyes. “Your flesh is being eaten away by the poison, which I can now see you haven’t even figured that out yet.” Poison?

He looks at you, waiting for something. Your face must have given away to your confusion as all he can do is shake his head in disbelief. “Didn’t you find it unusual that after you purified the wound it continued to seep miasma.”

You felt your stomach drop, skin going cold. You didn’t smell any miasma whatsoever. In fact, all you felt was pain but thought it was normal from the wound being too big. Now that Yoongi mentioned it, the wound should have healed properly overnight…

The situation only seemed to get worse each second.

“Besides, you would have had to be at the palace anyways.” The way his eyes held nothing but dread, made you even more sick.

“The king has ordered council.” And your heart stopped.

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buckysgoldenheart · 4 years ago

Text

Late

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Henry has a reputation that makes you cautious and it’s caused some disagreements. Everyone thinks you hate each other, but maybe you don’t as much as you let on. (fluffy ending, and idk, maybe angst depending on your definition).

Words: 2880

Notes/Warnings: I made this like mid-20s Henry during the Tudors filming, season 1. If I messed up with tenses somewhere, I’d like it of you let me know. I started this story out in the past-tense then changed it to present so I might have missed some stuff when editing, even after reading it 100 times over.

At the sound of the doorbell, you hop up from your sunken spot on the couch. After the day you had, the Chinese food on the other side of that wood slab is the only thing with the ability to help you recover before you must face a fresh 5 a.m. morning with Henry tomorrow.

God, you want that man to fall off the face of the earth. You don’t care if his disappearance meant you would temporarily be out of a job. Being an assistant on the set of The Tudors was something you had strongly considered sacrificing in the past if it meant never having to work with one very particular, blue-eyed, temperamental actor ever again.

You almost quit weeks ago but told yourself to suck it up. You can’t afford to unintentionally cause drama at your workplace, not after your last job; and getting that kind of reputation is not what you are going for. Besides, filming for the first season is almost over, and you will gladly welcome the long break before everyone needs to report back for season two.

The smile you were fully prepared to give the delivery man falls entirely at the sight on the other side of the door.

“What the hell are you doing here,” You huff out.

Henry crosses his thick arms over his even thicker chest and frowns back at you. “I didn’t get my script.”

A headache is already forming just from his proximity and you don’t bother resisting the urge to rub at your temple. “Well, I sent it to your house a week ago.”

“And I didn’t get it, so clearly you didn’t do a very good job.”

With an eye-roll, you say, “Is there some reason you had to come all the way to my apartment and bug me for the script when I will see you first thing in the morning?”

“Everyone else will have had theirs longer, and I wanted to get a good start on learning my lines, so yes, I have a good reason for ‘bugging’ you, Y/N.”

You hate the way he says your name. It passes his lips so softly every time and makes your heart speed faster than your liking. If another man said your name like that, you’d fall for him in an instant, but no, Henry seemed to be the only man possessing that thick, honey-sweet voice.

“Whatever,” You groan and turn on your heel. In your office desk are two extra copies of each actors’ script for emergencies, but a simple text from Henry would’ve sufficed; this is hardly life or death.

‘Hey, never got my script. Can you bring a copy in the morning?’ So damn easy.

You turn your head back when Henry’s heavy footsteps hit your hardwood floors. “Hey, I didn’t say you could come in,” You snap, eyebrows drawn together.

“What kind of person would leave their guest outside?”

The sass in his tone makes you want to pull your hair right out of your scalp. “You’re not my guest,” You say, but your blatant aggravation does nothing to hinder him and his body is a foot away from yours before you know it. Inches he has on you forces you to look up just to meet the smirk on his face.

“Stop acting like you hate me,” He says as he reaches a hand to grab yours.

“Excuse me?!” You quickly swat that hand away. “I am not acting like anything! Any negative feelings you are sensing from me are one hundred percent genuine.”

Henry scoffs and crosses his arms once again. “Oh, please.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. He is unbelievable. Everything he does, everything he says, everything he is has had the power to make your whole body shake since the day you met him. “God, I can’t stand you!”

Walking away from him for the office, he follows close behind. “You know what, you’re not all that great either!” He yells at your back as you open the drawer of your desk to shuffle through the scripts. “You yap all damn day, talking to everyone else on set and making them laugh! You shoot that pretty smile in any direction and people flock to you like deranged birds!”

“So!” You pull out the script and hand it to Henry. Without giving it a glance, he snatches it from you and tosses it back on the oak wood surface of the desk.

“So? You’re distracting them from their jobs! We could probably get things done twice as fast if you weren’t around!”

“That’s—”

“And you are annoyingly beautiful!” He harshly interrupts. “Annoyingly! The men we work with will not shut up about it and I’m sick of listening to them talk about you the way they do! I end up hearing your name more times in a day than I hear my own, and I get called upon every five seconds! I’m practically forced to think about you!”

You blink at the increase in volume that makes the thin walls of your home quiver.

“I don’t know how many times your face manages to flash in my mind in the course of a week, but it’s starting to get to me!”

Your hands rise in disbelief before they slap back down to your sides. “That’s not my fault! But you’re one to talk! You’re well aware you’re ridiculously, unnaturally hot, and I fucking hate it! The women we work with won’t shut up about you. And you think I’m annoying? Imagine being surrounded by a pack of idiots that go on and on about how amazing you are, when the truth is, you’re so arrogant I can’t stand to be within two feet of you!”

When you try to walk past him, his hand wraps tightly around your upper arm. “Hey!”

“Leave me alone! I hate you!” You snarl at the rage in his eyes and try to shake him off you.

“You don’t hate me.”

You glare up at him. “Oh no?”

He gapes at you, seemingly stunned you have the gall to challenge him. The grip on your arm loosens until you are free. Winding his fingers through his chocolate locks, Henry shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “You are so...”

“So what? So irritating? So infuriating?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“If I’m such a problem, then go.” Ignoring his words, you point a finger in the general direction of the nearest exit.

“You want me to leave?”

“Yes! Of course, I do!”

He quirks an eyebrow and cocks his head. “So you’re going to grab me with your tiny hands and throw me through the front door, is that right?”

“I can’t fucking lift you!” You yell.

“Then I’m staying!”

“I think you’re really not! You can’t just demand to stay here! That’s not how this works!”

“Why can’t you just—God damn it!” He stomps his way back into the living room, script forgotten, and reaches for the doorknob. You follow him and let out an exhausted breath of relief, but Henry whips around to you again before you have time to revel in the feeling. “You know what, no. I’m not going anywhere until we settle this bullshit between us. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. I’m not going to act like I dislike you. I’m not going to keep playing this game, because it’s clearly not getting me anywhere; in fact, it’s doing the opposite.”

“Getting you anywhere?” You mumble.

“This whole thing is fucking bullshit and I’m over it.” He swallows. “Tell me what I did.”

“What?”

“You keep saying you hate me but have never given me a reason, so what did I do?”

Your jaw drops. “Are you kidding? You were just telling me I suck at my job, yet at the same time you don’t think I have a reason to be mad. You glare at me during work, you act like I’m an inconvenience, you—”

“That’s not what I mean.” Henry grabs your hand, and for a reason you couldn’t place, you allow it this time. “At the beginning, when we met, what was it that caused a problem between us? I’ve gone over our first meeting in my head about a thousand times and cannot figure out how I upset you so much that you’re still mad after months.”

You slip your fingers out of his palm, looking to the floor.

“Please just tell me,” He begs. “Please, I--”

“You sleep with the women you work with.” You spit out.

When he stares at you in confusion, you wince and say, “I have this friend…kinda. She was an extra on Hellraiser and claimed that you slept with nearly every woman on set, herself included. When I told her I got this job she said you’d probably try to get in my pants if I wasn’t careful, and I’m not cautious enough about men as it is, so—”

“You were mad at me before we met for something I didn’t even do?” He isn’t angry or looking at you like you’ve lost your mind; more like he can’t believe that was all it was. As if he had a simple solution to the problem that planted its roots deep into the both of you months prior.

“Whether or not you did, it’s not like you’ve been an angel to me anyway,” You say.

“Because I fucking panic when someone I want doesn’t want me! And you’ve made it very clear that you do not want me! You always seem so angry and…and I’m not very smooth, ok!? I say shit I don’t mean!”

“So you do want to get in my pants?”

“No!” He says quickly, then after a beat, sighs. “Yes.”

You give no response, so he continues.

“I swear, despite how idiotic I have acted, I really like you, and I don’t know who your friend is or why she would tell you I slept with a bunch of women on set, but I didn’t.”

You have to look away from him. His eyes hold too much sincerity and all it does is confuse you. You have spent too much time pissed to feel comfortable with the idea that it was potentially all for no reason, so you hug your arms across your middle and take a step back from him.

“Y/N, we need to talk about this.”

You shake your head. “I can’t right now.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s late, Henry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You won’t meet his stare but can see from your peripherals his head slowly nod. You don’t look up until your front door closes softly behind him.

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

You spend the earliest hours of the next morning sipping coffee before everyone else arrives for work, wondering if the night before actually happened or if it had just been a very realistic messy mix of a dream and a nightmare.

The sun rises and you watch as it ascends each inch until it’s planted high enough in the sky to warm your skin. He’d be here soon, looking for you, wanting answers for any questions you hadn’t given him the chance to ask.

So, what, he likes me now? He wants me? You can’t wrap your head around it. But you suppose it makes as much sense as you saying you hate him when really what you’ve been is nervous. You don’t want to be used again by some man with more power than you. Pulling yourself out of that hole was hard enough and you have no desire to trip and fall right back in.

“Y/N. You’re here early.”

You jump at the first voice to interrupt the peaceful silence. It was the last moment you’ll have to yourself for the next fifteen hours at least.

Turning your head, you smile at your boss. “Morning, Em.”

“Henry’s here early, too,” She says. “He asked me to let him know when you came in, but seeing as you’re already here, you think you could just head to his trailer now?”

No, you want to say. I’m not ready. “Sure.” You half-heartedly smile, dumping the last of your coffee in the nearest trash can.

Each crunchy step along the gravel to Henry’s trailer feels less sturdy than the one before. Though, he isn’t in his trailer when you find him, but standing out in a grassy patch, throwing a ball to Em’s dog, Leo. It makes your heart pump hard to see him so casually soft. It’s the first time you are looking at him when his eyes aren’t already on you.

Leo loyally returns the ball to Henry three more times before you gather the nerve to step up to his side.

“Em said you wanted to see me.”

You notice him hold in a breath when he registers your voice, then tossing the ball once more, he says, “I’d have gone looking for you myself if I knew you were here.”

You nod, but you’ve yet to look at one another.

“The makeup artists are gonna have a blast today trying to make me look decent,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t sleep all night. I spent it trying to figure out what to say to you but came up short.”

You scratch behind Leo’s large ears when he nudges your legs with his head. Henry gently grins, though you don’t see it. You shrug. “At least you don’t have as many scenes today.”

Henry chuckles. “That’s true.”

“I couldn’t think of anything to say to you either,” You say.

A moment passes as he blows out a deep sigh.

“Y/N…I don’t want to act like it didn’t happen. I know that’s what is easiest, but I meant what I said. The good parts, not the shit about you sucking at your job. You’re the best at your job.”

Finally meeting his eyes, the corners of your lips curve up just a bit.

“But I don’t expect you to feel the same about me.”

“Henry…”

He shakes his head and throws the ball for Leo after the pups persistent whimpering. “I’m not going to make things hard for you. Filming is almost over anyway and if you want, I’ll try to bother you as little as I can. I’m sorry I’ve been an ass, it’s just…you like everyone around here except me, but I’ve liked you more than anyone else since the moment we met. It’s no excuse--”

“It’s ok.”

He looks at you. “It’s not.”

“It is.” Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm. He stares at the touch you give him as you continue. “I didn’t have a good reason for treating you like I hate you, not really.”

“So, you don’t…hate me?”

“…No.” You look away in shame. “And I have a better explanation for that.”

He blinks, clearly relieved that every horrible thing he figured you felt for him was not, in your heart, the truth. “You don’t owe me one.”

“I slept with my boss once,” You rush out. “And, um…got the same warning as I did with you: sleeps with the other women he works with, will try to do the same with me. He did and I let him because I thought he liked me, but…no. All it did was make me feel like an idiot in the end.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I made a mistake.” You shrug. And suddenly, admitting that out loud, confiding in someone, knocks some of the painful gears in your head loose. You’d never told anyone the truth about your past. “Look, this is going to sound really odd but,” You swallow. “…Don’t stop bothering me.”

“Wait,” He turns his body fully to you. “What?”

Your lips thin, but then you smile, inch up on your toes, and go to kiss his cheek. All you wanted to do was provide a little reassurance, to let him know that you now forgive every misunderstanding between you, but the kiss lands a little too far to the right and covers the end of his mouth.

Immediately, you pull back a few centimeters and feel heat flushing your cheeks, but Henry tilts his head the slightest. He takes a breath, giving you a chance to pull back further, but when you make no move to abandon him, he connects your lips again.

It feels good. He feels good. So good it shocks you how much you don’t want it to end. And when you part your lips and his tongue touches yours, you can’t stop your hands from sliding up his chest before roping around his neck and tugging him closer. Only then does he greedily grab at your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh through the fabric of your t-shirt.

Leo’s bark separates you minutes later, though you’re reluctant to allow it. You glance at the dog, chuckling at his rapidly wagging tail as he watches the scene before him. But when you look back to Henry, his eyes are already glued to you, their hue a little brighter and a small smile on his face.

“I’ll bother you as much as you like,” He says and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind your ear.

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*reposted for tag testing reasons.

441 notes · View notes

reidswritings · 4 years ago

Text

everything changed then

word count; 5.1k

warnings; 14x15 spoilers!!!! curse words, gun violence (i think that's it??)

author’s note; this is my first spencer fic and im feeling really good about it so like, i hope you enjoy!!

She wasn’t sure of the events that led her to the current situation. Or, you know, maybe she was— she wasn’t dumb. No in fact, other than Spencer, she was probably one of the smartest people on the team. Regardless of whatever the reason was, she was still there. She was in a terrible, terrible situation.

What was once a car chase turned foot, had quickly turned into a hostage situation. A standoff between three FBI agents (JJ, Spencer, and Y/N) was cut short when the villain with the psychopathic tendencies forced all three to toss aside their weapons. He then forced an innocent hostage to lockdown the small shop. The innocent woman, who doubled as a mother and the judge who had locked the unsub away, with the other gun, pleaded with him.

“Please, don’t hurt her. I don’t know how they found us, I didn’t call them!” she was nervous, her hands shaky. Y/N, ironically, could feel the anxiety flowing from her own body. She was supposed to save them, save them all, and yet, here she was barely able to breathe as the potentially deadly weapon was trained on her boyfriend of three years. “Please, just let her go!”

“Melissa, we haven’t finished our little game.” The nasty man sneered at her, still holding the blonde against him while pointing his gun at Spencer. The three agents, shared a look. It was clear between them that they weren’t getting out without setting the man off.

Casey forced Y/N down first, noises of protest coming from both her and Spencer. He had pulled her arms behind her back, more rough than needed, and wrapped her wrists in multiple layers of duct-tape. The tape pulled harshly at her skin, no doubt leaving behind a couple of nasty bruises. JJ and Spencer not far behind her, instead, Casey forced Melissa to do so.

Spencer, trying to relive at least some of the tension, said, “Don’t worry, it's gonna be okay.” While Y/N knew that he was talking to the judge, she felt the undertones of his promise.

don’t worry. it’ll be okay. we’ll get out of this, promise. nothing will happen. She knew that it was meant for her too.

“Hurry up!” Casey stressed, gun pointed at the stomach of the blonde who was barely holding it together. “Get over here. This is all your fault. I told you it was an accident, that—that Mark was the one who forced me to do it.”

The three tied up cops shared a look. This was bad, really really bad. Casey continued. angry, “But you wouldn’t listen! You just sat up there looking smug and superior. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not. You’re just as capable of hurting someone as anybody is.”

With too much force, Casey forced the young blonde to the ground, causing her to cry out as well as causing Y/N to move to her knees. He then pointed the gun back at Melissa, Y/N let out a noise of discomfort before saying, “C’mon, C-Casey, you don’t want to do this.”

A smirk playing on his lips, gross and unattractive, he looked to Melissa and ignored Y/N’s pleas, “Well, here it is, judge, your moment of truth.” In his outstretched hand was the gun that Melissa had previously tossed aside. She took it from the unsub’s hand, Jennifer’s eyes going wide at the sight. “Shoot her. Or i’ll kill your daughter.”

No one moved. No one breathed. No one spoke a word— that is until JJ’s voice rung out, breaking the silence. “Come on. She’s got nothing to do with this, okay? Just let her go.”

“Shoot her!” It was forceful and loud and dangerous all at the same time. Spencer and Y/N were stunned into silence, JJ spoke again, “Casey, she’s not a part of this. Okay?” She was trying so desperately to get everyone out with out any injuries. She was brave and Y/N admired that about her good friend. “You have no reason to hurt her. Just let her go.”

Y/N knew it was wrong as soon as the words passed her good friend’s lips. She watched with an anxiety filled heart as Casey’s whole demeanor changed, he snatched the gun from Melissa’s hands and stomped over to where JJ was sitting. He knelt down to her level and roughly grabbed a chunk of her beautiful blonde locks. Spencer moved forward, like he was going to say something, something that would aggravate the gunman even more. Y/N silently pleaded with him to stop, to just say silent— stay safe.

However, Y/N beat him to it. She didn’t care if the fire was on her. She’d rather that than on JJ or Spencer or an innocent bystander. “Leave her alone.”

Her voice was harsh and threatening all at once. In all the years that Y/N had been on the team, no one had ever heard her talk like that. Then again, Y/N was always cautious enough to never end up in a hostage situation.

It was then Casey pointed his gun at Y/N—Spencer’s heart stopping— “I wasn’t talking to you.” It was clear to the room that he was directing that to both girls. He then, without anymore aggravations, violently released JJ before standing up, gun still trained on Y/N, and backed up to the blonde who had the unfortunate job of working in this shop on this god-awful day.

“Get up! Now!” He pulled the young girl up, tossing her into the counter next to Spencer. Her body flung into the counter with such force it knocked down a mirror, shattering. A gun shot rung out and Melissa and the unnamed worker both yelped— one in fear and the other in pain.

Y/N watched as Spencer slowly moved over, trying to see the young girl, only to be stopped by a shout and a gun in his face. “Do not move!”

If Y/N’s anxiety ridden heart was in her throat before it was now jumping from her mouth and onto the floor. She didn’t understand why she was on the verge of loosing her breath. She had seen a gun pointed at her boyfriend before. It wasn’t anything new, it happened. It came with the job. Maybe it was the fact that she knew there was no getting out of this without injury and pain.

Again, Casey’s focus was on Melissa, “New deal.” Gun in her face, gun in his hand, offering. All three agents watching helplessly. They were out of options. This was really fucking bad. “Now you need to kill one of these three.”

Y/N’s heart calmed slightly as she watched the scared brunette take the gun from the wild man’s hand. She could do this. She could talk her down— this she could do. Melissa turned to the three, gun pointed at the floor before focusing it on Spencer.

“Melissa— Melissa, you don't want to do this. I know you don’t, you can stop this. Just put down the gun. Please—”

“Shut up!” Casey’s voice was raw. It was clear his patience was running thin. He was going to snap. Back to Melissa, he asked, “Who’s it gonna be?”

Her eyes locked with Spencer’s then with Y/N’s, they were sad and scared, “Please. Please, I don’t want to do this.”

“Focus, Melissa!” Loud and angry. The gun shook with his words.

“Please,” she begged, it was no louder than a whisper. Y/N could feel herself loosing hope, maybe she was wrong. Maybe she couldn’t do this.

“Judge, you gotta decide. That’s what you do right?” He was calm, now. Way, way too calm. “Decide life or death with a flick of your gavel.”

The gun in Melissa’s hands moved from Spencer then to the floor and then to JJ only to go back to Spencer in the end. And Y/N was going to lose it. She was ready to do something, anything when the phone rang. Hope flooding her veins again. Help was here. They would get them out, without any damage. Right?

Y/N let out a breath, one she wasn’t aware she was holding, when Spencer spoke. His voice providing her with a much needed feeling of ease. “Answer it. Casey, answer it.”

“Shut up!” Melissa’s gun was still trained on Spencer as Casey yelled at her, “Pull the trigger!”

Melissa cried out, terrified. Y/N opened her mouth, the words flowing out before she could stop them. “Please, please don’t do this.”

“Shut up, everybody, shut up!” Casey was nearing his end, he was snapping. He lunged forward, ripping the cord from the wall, the insistent ringing stopping with it. “Focus, Melissa! Pull the trigger.”

JJ shared a look with Spencer then looked to Y/N, before trying one last time, “Casey, if Melissa won’t play, I will.” The beautiful blonde moved to her knees. She was determined to take the heat off Spencer. She couldn’t lose her best friend— she couldn’t let Y/N loose the love of her life.

Jennifer was standing now, everyone sharing a worried look. Casey trained his gun on JJ, moving it from Melissa. Small victories.

“Truth or dare, that’s your game, right?” The beauty shrugged, like it was nothing off her back, “I’ll play.”

“JJ—” Y/N started, but cut herself short when Casey pointed the gun at her again. “Melissa, the weapon— give it, now!”

“Casey,” Spencer began and Y/N felt her eyes close, hope slowly draining away again, ‘I know what its like, to be wrongly accused, sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Casey laughed, though no humor was held behind it, “Bullshit. You went to jail?”

Spencer nodded and Casey laughed again, “Yeah, I’d like to see that, pretty boy.” He then moved over to JJ and Y/N’s mind was running a mile a minute trying to fix this. Trying to find a way to get them to safety. Trying, trying and failing.

“Alright, agent. . .”

“Jareau,” she supplied and Y/N could hear the underlying fear.

“Agent Jareau,” he repeated, testing it on his tongue, “truth or dare?”

“Truth.” she was calm, but Y/N could tell that her good friend was just trying to put on a brave face.

“If I think you’re lying or stretching the truth in the slightest, I’ll kill him.” His gun was pointed at Spencer again and Y/N felt herself gasp loudly. JJ nodded solemnly and the wild man continued, “you ever shoot anybody before?”

“Yes, I have.”

He was sick; he laughed, “You enjoy it?”

“No.” Y/N felt like she was going to throw up. She couldn’t, this was too much. She couldn’t believe this was how her day turned out. She watched with a heavy heart and tearful eyes as Casey’s face morphed into anger. She knew JJ had messed up. He turned, annoyance heavy on his shoulders. Before any of the highly trained agents could make a move, Casey pointed the gun in Spencer’s direction and fired, screaming out. “Liar!”

Both Y/N and JJ gasped, but Y/N was the only one to yell out. “No!”

Panicked, JJ’s wide eyes moved from Spencer’s uninjured form to the man with the gun, “No, no, no. I’m not lying. Okay? I’m not lying. The people I shot, I had no choice, but I did not enjoy it. I didn’t. Okay, you asked and I-I told the truth. Okay, I told you the truth, so, uh— now, it's my turn. Right? That’s how this game is played, we take turns. Truth or dare?”

Casey slowly lowered his gun and Y/N watched helpless. “Truth.”

“What’s it gonna take for all of us to walk out of here alive? For this to end peacefully?”

Casey scoffed and trained his gun on JJ again, angry, “I ain’t going back to prison. My turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“I want you to say something you’re afraid to say, that you’d never tell anybody. And you better make it good, ‘cause if it's not, it's gonna be the last thing you ever say.” Y/N was out of hope. She could feel her walls breaking down, she could feel the few tears that had escaped her closed eyes. The gunman continued, shaking his weapon, “What’s it gonna be?”

JJ shook her head, voice watery. “There are only four people I trust in this world.”

“Boring.” He had snapped. This was it, his breaking point; he moved the gun back to Melissa and pulled the trigger, the bullet entering her leg. She yelled out and collapsed to the ground. Casey brought the gun back to Jennifer, “Next!”

“Um. . . My. . .” she was struggling, “My baby I lost, I, um—” Y/N’s eyes opened, trained on her friend, watery and blurry. “I wanted to name her Maggie.”

“Wrong!” He wanted more. He wanted her deepest secret, “Come on, you can do better than that!”

“Casey.” Spencer’s voice rung out, warning.

“Shut up!” The dangerous man rushed her then. His hand attached itself to JJ’s arm and shoved her down to her knees with force, gun eye level to the blonde, “Last chance. Something you would never say aloud, not even to your partners here. Your deepest, darkest secret. Impress me or I kill him.”

“JJ,” Y/N’s broken voice was no louder than a whisper as she begged her friend to save her boyfriend, “please.”

The blonde shared a look with both of her friends as Casey yelled again, “Come on!”

JJ’s eyes and voice were watery as she spoke. “Spence, I, uh, I’ve always loved you.”

It was like a punch to the gut. She felt like she was a balloon and all the air had escaped. She didn’t believe what she was hearing spill from her best friend’s lips. In a broken whisper, Y/N asked, “What? JJ—”

Spencer had turned to the blonde, his face that once held anger and confusion now held a look that Y/N couldn’t quite place. The blonde continued on, crying, ignoring Y/N’s cries, “And I was just too scared to say it before. And now things are just really too complicated to say it now, because I have Will and the boys and you have Y/N— I’m sorry, but you should know.”

Y/N’s blurry eyesight shot to her boyfriend, trying to see his reaction. And what she saw broke her heart in half. He smiled. He fucking smiled. He had a fucking smile on his lips and he was looking at JJ how he usually looked at Y/N. And maybe that was what hurt the most. Seeing the far away, lovestruck look in his eyes.

Casey broke the heavy silence, his laugh was loud and bitter, gun lowered, “Hot damn. That’s what I’m talking about. Now those are some last words right there, but not good enough to save your life.”

Casey leveled his gun on JJ’s forehead again, ready to pull the trigger. Y/N cried out, eyes slamming shut, she couldn’t watch this. Sure, her best friend had just admitted to having feelings for her very own boyfriend, but she was still her best friend.

A gunshot filled the room. Y/N yelped, crying harder, opening her eyes after hearing a thud. Only, JJ was fine and Spencer was holding a gun, panting, keeping eye contact with the aforementioned blonde. Spencer had moved to cut his girl free first, helping her stand. Then he moved to the blonde who had just confessed her undying love for him.

The brokenhearted girl watched as her boyfriend carefully cut JJ free, an unspoken conversation seemed to be flowing through them. Spencer had a look of peace on his face as Jennifer turned to look at him. It was like they had forgotten that Y/N was in the room, heart breaking.

Spencer opened his mouth, to say something. To fix it, Y/N hoped. But before he could get the words out, the back door burst open, their team rushing in, and the spell was broken.

The two moved away from each other. Y/N watched as how her boyfriend seemed to remember she was standing right there. She watched as he turned to face her, reach for her. She watched as he moved to comfort her.

But before he had the chance, she ripped away from his gaze and left him standing in the small shop. Left him standing in the place where their relationship died.

—

Six weeks had passed. Six weeks of sitting across from one another. Six weeks of stolen glances and regretful eyes. Six weeks of Y/N wishing, longing for Spencer. Hoping that he would come back to her and just say he was sorry.

Sorry for pushing her away. Sorry for giving the heartbroken girl the impression that JJ was his girl. Sorry for making her feel like she was a second choice; for acting like nothing ever happened; for everything.

She he’d been held up in her apartment, surrounded by all the things that reminded her of the pretty boy (apart from work, she barely left. and to say the team was very worried about the young girl was and understatement). Ironic, right? All she wanted was to forget about the curly haired boy and yet, he was all that plagued her mind.

Y/N was surrounded by boxes, some taped shut and marked with what was inside; others only half filled, things hazardously sticking out the top. The memory that all the packages brought was a stab to her heart and a kick in her stomach. How dare they still be there; unmoved and happy.

The once happy couple, who were together for almost four years, was all set to move in together. Y/N could almost imagine Spencer in the new, bigger and better, apartment all by himself. She could see him waking up before the sun and pouring himself a cup of too sweet coffee and re-reading books he had already read. She could see it all.

She hoped it was lonely, that it held the same sadness that she was feeling. She hoped that he was just as miserable.

She knew he wasn’t though. He couldn’t be. No, he couldn’t be. . . right? He had JJ now. He was happy now; he finally had what he always wanted— the pretty blonde girl that he had been in love with since day one. Day one of the BAU, day one of friendship, day one of birth— the girl that he was always meant to be with. Y/N wasn’t stupid, she knew how much she paled in comparison to the very beautiful girl.

She could only imagine all the times that Spencer had wished that it was Jennifer Jaraeu instead of his loser of a girlfriend. She imagined all the fantasies that had to be playing in his mind every time they kissed, every time they laughed, every time they touched, every time they made love.

Maybe that was what hurt the most; knowing that he had always wanted it to be her. The blonde. The beauty. The brains. The everything Y/N was not.

A very loud ringing broke Y/N away from her intrusive thoughts. Again. She had thrown her phone across the room (not literally, of course. She had just dumped it on the counter along with everything else that she didn’t want to look at). She knew who it was; JJ. It had to be— everyday for the past month she had been calling, trying to apologize, explain, salvage what was left of their friendship. Jennifer had left voicemail after voicemail and text after text, trying to get the heartbroken girl’s attention.

It wasn’t like Y/N was completely ignoring her old friend—no, she wasn’t that much of an asshole—, she would read all the texts received and listen to the messages (which actually, when she thought about it, that was probably even worse. maybe she was the asshole she tried so hard not to be).

She even talked to her during cases (of which there had been two since the incident), but the second JJ had brought up anything to do with Spencer or what had happened, Y/N retreated into the shell she had created for herself. Though it wasn’t a perfect situation, it worked. It worked for her and that’s all that mattered.

What she didn’t expect though, was a knock at her front door. She had considered ignoring it and letting whoever was at her door think she was out or asleep. Or literally anything else that would excuse her not moving from her pathetic slumped position.

The knocking sounded again before his muffled voice flowed through the door, stopping her heart. “Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

She sighed (he did too). Her heart was in her throat (so was his); she hadn’t seen him outside work for longer than she cared to admit. She stood and felt her body drag her to the wood that separated her and her pretty boy.

And before she knew what was happening, Y/N was swinging the door open, Spencer was standing before her— distraught.

“Why do you look like that?” She asked, deadpanning. There’s that asshole bit rearing its ugly head again. It wasn’t fair that he looked so strung out, he did this. This was his fault. Her hand was resting on the door, barricading him out and her in.

“What?” Genuine confusion crossed his face and Y/N almost felt bad. Almost. “Y/N, we haven’t talked in weeks.”

“We talk at work.” Short and unforgiving. He sighed at her words, running a very gorgeous hand through his curls, breaking apart a few. A part of Y/N, a very, very small part, wished it was her fingers pulling apart his crazy mane. She missed how soft his hair was, the way he smelled. She missed how with just one touch she could feel all of the stress leave his body. She missed how he looked at her. She missed it all and she hated herself because of it.

“Don’t be so obtuse.” The regretful boy started and Y/N could feel her heart breaking all over again, “I mean, for real. . . Y/N, I miss you— I miss us.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” A knife to his heart, she could tell. Good. He deserved this; he deserved to hurt just as much as he had hurt her.

“That’s not fair, she—”

“No,” the heartbroken girl began, a sadness in her voice. “you don’t get to decide what’s fair and what’s not— especially when it comes to my feelings, Spencer Reid.”

He was still standing in the hallway, eyes begging to be let in. The pleading didn’t go unnoticed; maybe that’s why she found herself opening the door and dropping her arm, watching as he moved inside.

He was still her boy. Her beautiful boy. No matter what he or JJ had done, Spencer Reid was still undeniably hers. No matter what she was still under the spell of his gorgeous browns.

The sad boy followed her into the living room, taking in the scene. He felt his breath hitch as his eyes swept over all the boxes and the mess that covered the once happy apartment. He could just about throttle himself; he couldn’t believe he had let this happen. That he had let it get this bad— he was such a fucking idiot.

Y/N watched as his curious eyes took in everything before him, committing it to his never forgetting memory. She knew that, regardless of anything, he would always come back to this moment. She knew that he would always blame himself. Spencer Reid had such a big heart and that was probably his one and only fault. Regardless of any hurt he may have caused her, she knew deep down that he hadn’t meant to. He would never intentionally hurt anyone, and maybe that’s why she asked her next question:

“Why are you here, Spencer?” She had pulled his eyes back to her.

Swimming in regret, he said, “I want to fix this.” Y/N had begun to shake her head and opened her mouth but he cut her off, continuing, “Please. . . Y/N, tell me how I can fix this.”

“I-I. . . Spencer, I don’t know if you can.” Heart breaking more than she thought possible.

Then, he did something she would’ve given her life to never see.

Spencer got down onto his knees, now eye level with the girl on the old couch. He placed a hesitant hand on her knee and squeezed. When Y/N met his gaze, she felt her heart break its final piece. His eyes were glossed over with unshed tears and when he spoke his voice was wet with the cries he was trying so hard to push down. And Y/N hated it.

“Y/N. . . please,” he was begging. Begging to be heard, to be forgiven, for her. Just begging.

Against her own wishes, Y/N’s hand reached out and pushed back the hair like she had been wanting to since he showed up at her doorstep. “Spencer, I— There’s things we’d have to talk about— questions I have. I-I can’t just jump back in, we have to talk about—”

“Then ask me.” The crying boy rushed out, sniffing. “Ask me anything.”

Y/N sighed. Did she really want to do this right now? Could she handle this?

“Do you love her?” It spilled from her lips before she knew what she was asking. She didn’t regret it.

His answer spilled from his too, “Yes.” Maybe she did.

Tears spilled from her eyes and she struggled to hold down a sob. It came out as a watery laugh and she stood up, forcing his hands off her body. She closed her arms around herself, another barricade from the boy who refuses to stop breaking her heart into a million little pieces. He stood up too, reaching a hand to connect them together again but decided against it, too afraid of being rejected.

Her mind was running a mile a minute. She was kicking herself for trusting a man who was so clearly into another woman— a married woman. She was so angry that he led her on for so long. She wanted to throttle him; she could’ve too, if she really wanted to. As much as she wanted to, she knew her body would never do it. As angry as she was, her body was still irrevocably in love with Spencer Reid.

“Then why are you here?” It was dangerous. She half wished he wouldn’t answer, she didn’t know if she could handle the answer.

His reply was slow to start, she wondered if he had even heard her, “. . . Because, I love you, too. I love you differently.”

“What?” She was tired. So, so fucking tired.

She felt his hand place itself on her shoulder, she didn’t react. She didn’t move, didn’t lean into it. She just froze and waited for his response. Spencer surprised her for a third time. His hand moved down to her elbow, turning her around gently before starting his monologue. Her eyes stayed glued to the ground as he spoke.

“Y/N, I’ve known JJ for over 14 years. When I first met her, sure I wanted her to notice me,” he paused to laugh before continuing, “I even tried to take her on a date one time. . . she ended up inviting Penelope. . . I was mortified. . . that’s not my point. Hell, I don’t really know what I’m saying. I tried for so long. I tried to get her to notice me, but then she met Will and then she had Henry and everything got so complicated. And I realized, Y/N, that I had to let her go, and then I met you and everything changed.”

Y/N’s eyes finally met his brown ones. She echoed him, “Everything changed?”

Sappy and clumsily, he laughed, “Yeah. Y/N, everything— everything changed. Suddenly, instead of wondering what Jennifer thought I was thinking about you— thinking how to talk to you, what you liked, if you liked me. God, I was so into you back then. . . I still am. I won’t lie to you, Y/N, I never have and I won’t start now. Yes, I love JJ. I think I always will, it’s just different. I love her, but I’m in love with you. And I always will be, I-I mean, you’re my girl.”

During his confession, Y/N had moved closer. She had hesitantly placed her hands on his chest, where they belonged— she realized. “Spencer. . .”

His eyes were soft as they gazed down at her. They held love— the love that she had seen focused on JJ all those weeks ago. He brought a hand up to her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. It felt like it was forever, them just looking— gazing, falling back in love. Then, she watched as her boy started, very, very slowly, to lean down. She felt his lips just barely brush against hers, his breath fanning her face as he spoke. “Y/N, please.”

And that was all that it took. The desperation in his voice was what made her finally, finally, connect their lips. It was just as wonderful as she remembered. His lips fumbled lazily against hers; she could feel the love though the sloppy kiss. He had brought his other hand up, fisting her hair into a messy bunch. Her hands pulled him closer, her lips spreading as she felt Spencer’s tongue dart across her lips, asking to be let in. His name fell from her lips in a hungry manner, she wanted him. She needed him. The only sound in the small apartment was their moans and the noise of them reconnecting. In between kisses, Spencer managed to sneak in the few words Y/N was sure she’d never tire of hearing.

“I. . kiss. . love you. . . kiss kiss. . so much. kiss. . .Y/N.” She had smiled against his lips, feeling like everything would be okay. While she knew they had more than enough healing to do (both together and apart), she also knew that she wasn’t going to lose him anytime soon. And that was all that mattered, because the rest would figure itself out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #spencer reid fic

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years ago

Text

And so finally here it is, the fourth and final part of this series.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut. One scene contains memories back to an emotionally abusive relationship (not between main characters). This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up). Also features a PROFOUND misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s work.

Summary: Can you and Timothée make a life together?

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

READ THE PREVIOUS THREE CHAPTERS HERE,

this is the final part of this series.

August, 1953

The days are spent like this, one much like the other, settling into life without either one of you ever really noticing. The future is never mentioned more than a few days ahead and all plans are made for the day only.

But without really meaning to, you both make a home out of villa Marguerite.

Timmy buys a vespa from a man in town. It’s rusty and old but steers easily. His sore feet thanks him for no longer having to walk up and down the long hill each time you’ve forgotten to buy something in the village, instead he now just swings his leg over the saddle and swiftly sets out to buy it for you (“unpitted black olives, please”).

Each night you insist on doing the cooking, telling him you find pleasure in it; and well, who is he to deny you anything that brings you joy? So each night you cook and after the food and the wine shared on the terrace he goes back inside to do the dirty dishes. With shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows he sets to work, going over each utensil with great care. Louise snickers at him most nights, tells him there’s no need, that it is her job; looks at him with a knowing smirk he can’t quite translate to meaning. Still, he does the washing up. Wants to do it. Loves the domesticity of it, you cooking; feeding the both of you, and him cleaning after; helping out.

One afternoon as the sky above shifts in shades of pink and lilac Timothée and Marco sit by the square, playing chess. Marco is winning, a habit he has when they are playing together. Timothée in turn is trying not to sulk, something he spectacularly fails at, which is entertaining Marco to no end.

It is not the losing that has got him in such a terrible mood.

You have had to go back to London for a few days, (“there are papers that need to be looked over and signed”).

“Honestly” Marco says, as he takes Timothée's queen. “Why don’t you just tell her you are crazy about her?”

“Afraid that ship’s sailed, mate” Timothée mutters, taking one of Marco’s pawns, a small victory indeed when one has just lost his queen. With his head resting on his folded arms on the table he observes the chess board in front of him with vague interest, trying to figure out Marco’s plan of action.

“Why’s that? She has clearly not kicked you out of the house so she must be somewhat fond of your sulking ass?”

Timothée snorts. “Fond? How nice, the word we save for people we can’t force ourselves to love”.

“Then why do you stay there? Leave. Find another woman, let yourself heal.”

Timothée’s head snaps up, and for a second he’s stunned silent. “No” he says eventually, but not after having first considered the idea. “ No, I can’t do that” he says. It is not as if Marco had suggested something impossible, like walking on water or turning water into wine. Timothée could leave. He could go back to your home, pack his bags and take the first train back to Paris. It would not be an equal action to that of the resurrection. Marco moves his queen across the board but Timothée isn’t looking, has his mind somewhere else; far away. For the first time he truly ponders about the option to leave. To start anew; to forget he ever met you.

But he doesn’t want to.

It’s as easy as that. Living with you, sharing space with you; why would he ever leave that? Even if he’ll never get to kiss your soft lips again he’d still stay. As long as he sees you in the morning, unguarded with tousled hair; drinking coffee he’s made you; as long as his days end with a meal shared with you, drinking wine and talking.

Marco waves a hand before him, a sly smile on his face, “your turn, Romeo”.

Timothée rolls his eyes and moves his king out of Marco’s queen’s way.

“And shack mate” Marco says, a broad smile on his face as he knocks Timothée’s king over with his knight. “Next time maybe keep your focus on the game” he adds, winking at him.

“Oh you fucker” Timothée grumbles, taking a swing from his wine glas.

Later that night as he walks home, having drunk much too much to drive, he hears a small, injured whimper. He stands very still for a moment, trying to ignore all other noise, before he hears the sound again. Following the injured mewling he soon discovers the source. It’s a kitten. Looking not older than a few weeks old and tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand, with fur completely black from head to paw and eyes shining yellow in the night. It looks strangely like a very small panther. It looks slightly worse for wear as well. Skinny and small and with uneven fur. The kitten looks up at him, opens its mouth and lets out the same whimpering sound once again.

Timothée stands up, presses the small animal against his chest to keep it warm, and takes him home. He lets it sleep in his bed and it curls up beside him and the next day he takes it to the vet; who informs him that the creature, all though underfed, is in perfectly good health.

When you come back from London the next day, face more strained than before but seemingly happy to be back, Timothée tells you the story.

“What have you named him?” you ask, scratching the purring kitten behind his ear.

“Well, I thought that maybe you should be with me on the decision” he says, watching you pet his newfound friend.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Timothée begins, suddenly shy. “I was thinking maybe Chopin?”

You smile at him, with genuine fondness in your eyes, and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Chopin it is. It was very good of you to save him, Timothée”.

And something like hope blooms in his chest.

That night as he lays in bed, Chopin sleeping on his chest, he reflects on his conversation with Marco and the words ‘let yourself heal’ comes back to him. The words had startled him, confused him, and maybe even shocked a little. He ponders over the words, the meaning and the implications, and decides that no. He cannot heal.

Because he is not wounded. He had been, after you left Paris that spring, he had been a wounded thing; a child who flew too close to what he wanted, only to find his wings melting and his body falling down into the sea.

But he wasn’t wounded anymore.

Through the other side of the wall he can hear how you walk around your room, going through the nightly routine. He hears the squeaking sound as you lay down on the big iron bed. Chopin purrs on his chest and Timothée closes his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

There’s no use in thinking ahead, he decides. What will be, will be.

September

Late one night Timothée is playing cards with some new-found friends.

Marco had finally given in and arranged a jazz night to Nathaniel’s and Timothée’s great joy. The Milanese jazz band consists of five free-spirited and unbound vagabonds. When they play the whole village square dances. After their performance Timothée, Nathaniel, Marco and the musicians sit down to play cards. The night passes and the rum flows as easy as the conversation. The room is quickly filled up with cigarette smoke and wild anecdotes of past victories. The musicians, although a cheerful lot, have not got much to bet with, so the stakes are kept low and the spirits high.

So how exactly it came about that Marco lost the old piano in the bistro to Timothée no one can remember the following day, for the details are blurry and stained by drink. Nevertheless, as they wave the five musicians off the following morning, it is clear to them both that Marco owes him a piano.

“Ridiculous” Marco grumbles, his Italian accent clearer when aggravated, as he and Timothée push the piano up to the truck. “You can’t even play the damn thing!”

Timothée snorts, “I can learn!”

“Oh really?” Marco bursts out, sarcasm heavy in his words “like how you’ve ‘learned’ Italian you mean?”

Sweat runs down his back, the afternoon sun is bearing down on them and the heat feels like a physical pressure against his skin. “I speak perfect Italian, thank you very much” he defends himself.

It is Marco’s time to snort, which he does with great satisfaction before announcing “speaking French while putting on an Italian accent is in fact not speaking Italian at all”.

His head is pounding; but he is in a good mood and so he laughs. With much effort and even more grumbling from Marco they manage to load the heavy thing inside the rented truck and after having driven it up the hill they carry it into the villa. Deciding to place the instrument in the drawing room they lean on each other’s shoulder for a bit, trying to catch their breath; laughing.

He offers the older man a beer, but Marco declines; has a business to get back to.

So Timothée steps out into the burning sun on his own, the stone floor of the terrace scorching his bare feet. The world feels peaceful in all its golden glory. He can hear the rhythmic waves of the ocean far below, the radio playing in the kitchen; the seagull’s calling in the sky. He takes a deep breath and tastes the salt of sea water on his tongue.

His oil paints and canvas are still where he left them yesterday, a half-finished attempt of a sunrise pictured on it. On the table stand a vase with bright blue hyacinth and blood red poppies that you must have picked.

For a few minutes he just stands there, soaking in the sun. With unhurried fingers he starts to unbutton his white linen shirt. Removing it he lays it on the sunchair beside him and his trousers soon follow suit. Turning away from the sun he walks down the hot stony steps by the terrace and down to the private beach. It’s a long walk down, but he feels a great need to wash himself clean of the sweat, the dirt, the booze from last night.

With his eyes glued on the steps in front of him he makes his way down, and only as he jumps the last hot stone does he rise his head; and he sees you. You are already out in the water, swimming on the spot, your face turned towards the horizon. He clears his throat, not wanting to pry on you, nor does he want to scare you. He fails, as you turn around, startles, and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward, shifting from foot to foot, aware that he is only in his underwear. “Didn’t know you were here”.

“’s alright” you say, sinking down into the water slightly.

Knowing not where else to look he looks down at the ground, spotting with surprise a white towel thrown on the sand, next to your dress. It is only then he realizes that you are completely naked.

“Mind if I take a swim as well?” he asks. He’s almost certain that you will ask him yes; tell him to wait until you are done but you just shake your head.

“Hop in” you say “the water’s nice and cool”. And so he asks you to turn around, so that he too can rid himself of his last remaining piece of clothing before walking out on the jetty and jumping down into the deep water.

Swimming out to you he keeps a few meters distance out of respect. The water is still somewhat clear, and he doesn’t want to peep, even by mistake.

And so there, wading in the water, avoiding the others eyes, you both watch as the sea and sky in front of you slowly turn from vibrant blue to lilac as the sun begins its journey down the horizon.

“I, eh, I won a piano” he says eventually, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence. You turn to him, wading the water, surprise written on your face. “A piano?”

“Yeah, put it in the drawing room, hope that was okay?”

You laugh, the sound clear and bright and something flutters in Timothée’s stomach like the wings of a butterfly. He tells you the story of how he came by it and you laugh some more and he can’t help but smile at the sound, can’t help but stare himself blind at your beautiful face.

You swim on the spot and you talk; about everyday life, how you both think Louise has fallen in love with a baker in the village, about Chopin scratching on the furniture, about the pasta you had for lunch. About life in all its domestic simplicity.

You’re looking at the sun. It is the golden hour and it has painted you golden as well. You seem to shine in the light, laughing at something he’s said as you wade the water in front of you, the water golden as way; a reflection of the sky above. It hits him almost with brutal force, how beautiful you are. He looks at you thinks; Aphrodite, who entered the world fully formed, born out of sea foam, the goddess of love and beauty. You blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly and his chest feels too tight, as if something inside where his heart should be is taking up too much space

Without either one having realized it you’ve swam closer to each other. You are so close that he could easily reach out and touch you; could easily lean in and taste the saltwater on your lips. You are looking at his mouth and he is wondering if that is what you want him to do but he is not sure and because he is afraid to ruin the tender friendship you have built by blundering in - he doesn’t. And you don’t either.

‘But, we used to be lovers’ he thinks. His body used to know your body like it was a continuation of his own. And perhaps that is why it hurts so bad to be parted from you.

“I should get back” you say in the end, avoiding his eyes. “We haven’t even had dinner yet”.

“Alright” he says “I’ll come join you in a minute”. He turns away from the beach, leaves you to get out of the water and get dressed in privacy.

Later that night there is dinner, and drinks, and your bare feet as you dance in the dining room to a jazzy tune, a glass of sangria in hand as Chopin runs circles around the hem of your dress. Later there is laughter as Timothée tries to teach you poker, something you turn out to be disastrously bad at.

And later somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

One day is much like another. You wake up in the morning and Timothée makes you coffee and you share it on the terrace. Then he paints and you move through the house; going through the things that need to be gone through, doing the tasks of the day. You read your correspondents and write your letters back.

You set out to the market, chat with the vendors. You learn their names and their stories and in turn they share their family recipes for the perfect pasta vongole or ratatouille. You buy your vegetables and bread, your fish and meat, your wine and cheese, excited for the dinner ahead.

Sometimes you go to the tailor and you share a cappuccino in the sun with Claudette, the old woman running it. You chat about clothes, of fashion in the past versus the fashion of now, about the passing of time. She tells you about the war and the occupation. Of the rationing of fabrics and how she has learned how to make each cut of cloth work - wasting nothing.

In her store you pick out a light floral pattern chiffon and Claudette turns it into a beautiful summer dress, so light and different from the heavier material you wore in London.

You buy handmade pottery from the woman in the square. Big pots and jars and urns that she’s crafted with her own hands and with handpainted flowers and patterns on them; made by her sister. You keep olive oil and flour and flowers in them, and place them around the house in their rightful place.

You go to the beach and you collect seashells. Bringing them with you home you tie them up on strings and you hang them by the terrace door and with each dust of wind the gentle noise of the seashells rattling against each other can be heard.

You don’t talk about the future and never plan ahead. You are not together; just two people living in the same house after all.

You watch him, laying on some faded old sheets on the terrace floor, soaking up sun. Timothée approaches sunbathing the way he does everything else in life; with reckless abandon. Despite Louise’s warning words that he’ll burn his pale skin he lays under the scorching sun for hours, wearing nothing on his skin but white bathing shorts. His nose has already turned an angry pinkish colour that will surely change to red soon. Beside him lay an open book, Robert Graves - The Greek Myths. His half-finished landscape painting of today lay abandoned on the table.

In the kitchen you hear the clattering of dishes as Louise does the washing up after lunch. She’s singing along to a tune on the radio and without looking you know that she is dancing.

Walking back into the house, up the steps and into your bedroom, you lay down on the bed. The bedchamber had been your aunt’s at one point and her style still lingers over the room like her old perfume, a bottle of which still lay on the antique vanity. A comforting presence.

Staring up at the white ceiling you’re trying to put a name to the feelings you’ve been having lately.

It feels, you decide, like you’re playing a game with the past and you’re not sure you’re winning. Going back to London had been a mistake. You had walked the same old streets, dined in the same old restaurants and met the same old people as you had when you lived there with Freddie. It had been a mistake to go back, and hear all the tittle-tattle gossip of the divorce, of your absence from the London scene. You had sat there, in the great white dining room of The Luxembourg, you’re back straight and poise perfected, and the gossiping tongues around you had played in your head like an orchestra. You had seen your dinner companions mouths moving, but the words all seemed distorted and slow, coming to you as in a haze. Your face feeling strangely taut, as if you were wearing a mask over your own skin, unable to move the mask's features.

The only success of the journey had been that it made you all the more certain of your decision; to sell the Mayfair flat and rid yourself of the London scene once and for all.

You had visited your parents as well. Had sat through a luncheon with them and calmly listened to their grief and despair over your split from Freddie. Had heard their praises and glorification of your former husband and you had kept quiet all the way through it, poking at your food and feeling rather sick.

In London baron Freddie Fairfax was a constant presence even in his absence.

Your marriage had consisted of days filled with silence. Days spent apart, seeing different people; living different lives. Thought not at all really, since it was all in the same small social circle. Any secret relieved between friends between crystal glasses of wine at lunch would not stay secret for long. By cocktail hour it’d be known by one and all of the tight-knitted, blue-blooded social circle you called friends. Any secret shared to a confidant would reach Freddie’s ears before the sun set, no matter how much time you spent apart; dining and drinking in different restaurants.

The evenings, if shared just the two of you, would either be spent in total silence; during which you would turn on the radio just to fill the space between you. In the night he would touch you, move in and out of you with sharp thrusts as you pretended to be somewhere else, his grunts filling the only sound in the night.

Or, if he was in one of his moods, the evenings would consist of him leaning over your shoulder, wherever you turned. Breathing down your neck. Always ready with a comment, a sly remark on your clothes, your face, your figure; you’re thoughts and opinions. On the things you said, or on your defeated silence. He never asked you any questions about yourself, had no curiosity about who you were or what you thought. The only exception was when he interrogated you about the men you conversed with, or at times about your female friends; how long you’d known them, if they were dating anyone. How attractive he found them.

Your feelings were his to toy with, because in his eyes you were his plaything to do with as he pleased. Because to Freddie love would always go hand in hand with possession and to you love would always mean hunger.

Hunger for something gentler, warmer, and altogether different. Hunger for someone else.

Pictures of dark curls play in your mind. Timothée, his eyes furrowed and a pencil in his mouth, looking at the canvas in front of him with great concentration. Timothée, with blue paint splattered on his pale cheek, the sun shining in through the dirty windows of his artist flat, illuminating him.

Timothée who had slowly helped you put yourself together again when you fled to Paris; thought he’d never asked for glory for his role in the mending of your heart.

Nevertheless, he had. With great care and gentle hands.

Once in Switzerland you had gone with your father to the horologist. Your father was to have his watch repaired. You had watched the horologist with great interest as he sat down by his desk, thick glasses resting on his nose as he opened the back of the clock. The old man had furrowed his grey brows and with great focus and piety set to work with repairing the complicated machinery of the timepiece. Putting it together with the expertise of a mechanic who not only knows how each fragile piece works but why.

That’s how you imagine Timothée loving you; with great precision, knowing just how every piece of you fit.

And so maybe in the end that is what love means to you; not hunger, but being understood.

The windows are all wide opened, but no breeze makes its way inside and the room remains boiling hot under the late summer sun. The warmth feels like a heavy blanket covering you as you lay there in bed, just taking in the sounds of the house. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the seagulls screeching in the sky, the far-away sound of Louise singing in the kitchen and further away still; the ocean.

The bedchamber remains stuffy and hot.

Sitting up you reach for the cigarette package on your bedside table, discovering that they are Lucky Strikes; instead of your usual Gauloises. Timothée’s cigarettes then. You must have taken them by mistake. Grabbing the package you walk down stairs and out on the terrace again, where Timothée lay where you left him, sprawled out on the floor, the tip of his nose now bright red.

“You’re burning yourself” you tell him, throwing the cigarette package down on the ground beside him. Timothée lifts a hand to shade his eyes, otherwise blinded by the light. He looks at you with a lazy grin, before moving on the sheets to make room for you. Keeping his eyes on you he pats the spot next to him on the floor and so you lay down beside him.

“Think you have my Gauloises” you say, the entire world orange as the sun shines through your closed eyelids. “Must have taken your Lucky Strikes by mistake”.

Timothée hums, before rising and moving into the house. A minute later he is back with your package of cigarettes and an ashtray. Handing you the cigarettes he then helps you light up with his precious silver gift, his dark curly hair falling down his face as he does so. He smells of seawater and turpentine and as you lay down on the ground beside him on the ruffled sheets you feel like you can breath again.

Laying there under the sun you smoke and observe him. His hand with their specks of blue paint left from his work this morning, his legs slightly spread, his chest slowly moving up and down with each breath. His eyes are closed, and the ghost of a smile still plays on his lips. He seems at peace.

You wonder how long this fine line you both have been walking is going to last before one of you tumbles. The fine line between lover and ex lover. You wonder what will happen next.

Or perhaps this is the way things will always be. Each day lived out ad infinitum, one much like the other. A foolish thought; a childish one. For sooner or later he will take another lover, find someone new to cherish. Someone in no need of healing. And you think of Lucy, and her laugh as light as the bubbles in champagne, her easy charm and carefree personality.

You’ll wonder if he’ll take someone home with him one day, make her love to her in the room next to yours. Where he’ll learn her body like he once knew yours .

You wonder if you’ll do the same.

***

October

The days are cooler now, still pleasantly warm but not intensely so, and most of the tourists have left the stony shores; leaving the whole village less crowded and easier to move through.

For two weeks Timothée goes back to Paris. He sits in the street and paints the people he sees in their everyday life; reading newspapers on the park benches, friends sipping cappuccinos on rotting chairs outside the café, old women choosing their bread with great care at the boulangerie. He adds no drama or sensationalism to the scenes, but settles for painting the people in all their simplicity and its realism.

He visits his art dealer, who with great astonishment accepts nine landscape paintings and a handful of sketches. “No portraits then, monsieur?”

And Timothée tells him no. He is waiting for the perfect model for the job.

He goes to his artist studio, and is surprised to find that it feels less like home than before. He doesn’t linger for long, and when two weeks are up he books a new compartment on the Blue Train, treating himself with a first class ticket this time.

On his way to the station, his bag slung over his shoulder and a package of new pots of paints tucked in underneath his arm, he walks by a bookshop. Casting an eye at the shop window he stops dead in his tracks. A placard with William’s face stares back at him through the window, his mouth twisted into a wide smile and his hair styled neatly.

Timothée walks into the store and five minutes later he walks out with a freshly printed copy of ‘A siren calls’ in his hands.

He borders the train, lays down in his train compartment and he begins to read. And through the entire journey home he reads.

Villa Marguerite is much the same when he returns from Paris. Chopin greets him as he hears him come in, happily accepting scratches behind his ear as an excuse for his absence. Placing his bag and his paints on the floor, but book still firmly in hand, he walks out on the terrace in search of you, but finds it empty.

Walking upstairs he knocks at your door and upon hearing you call ‘enter’ from the other side he steps inside.

You are laying on your stomach on the bed, wearing your silk canary yellow robe, flipping through a copy of Tatler, the gramophone in the corner playing Chopin. You look up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

He clears his throat, unsure how to approach this any other way but straight on. “Have you seen this?” he says, and raises the book for you to see.

“Oh that” you say and sigh. “Yes, he wrote to me informing me of it weeks ago”.

“You knew?” he says, astonished.

“That William’s great piece of literature was going to be about me” you flip a page in your magazine “of course I did.”

Timothée leans against the doorway feeling like the air has been pushed out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at him again, and again with a surprised expression on your face. “I didn’t know you wanted to know that” and then “is it any good? The Tatler’s reviewer calls him the new Fitzgerald”, you nod down to the magazine in front of you.

Timothée hesitates, unsure how to respond. “It's, well yes I suppose it’s alright. The prose is quite stunning, if not slightly overworked”.

“But?” you say, sensing an objection.

“He’s made a caricature out of you”.

“He’s written me as he saw me, just as you’ve painted me as you saw me. And you’ve both sold your works for money. On this, if perhaps on this only, you are the same”.

Again he is stunned. Then, voice slightly shaking with held back frustration, he says “please tell me I’m closer to the real you then this” and he holds up the book again “this rubbish. He’s made you out as this, this…” he wrecks his head for the right word before finally settles for the obvious one “siren. This woman he can’t help but love but his love for her is standing in the way for the life he wants to live of unbound pleasures. A siren that keeps calling him back from his path on the search for perfect bliss. This siren that drowns him with her love”.

Silence for a heartbeat, then “you were”. He blinks, and you continue “you were closer to, as you refer to it, the real me. But that doesn’t make his interpretation of me any less real. Like I said, I’m sure that is how he sees me”.

“Well he’s dedicated the book to you”

“That’s sweet”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be. Before it could be up for assumption who the book is abou. Now it’s crystal clear for everyone to see.”

“You don’t think he’s meant that as a compliment?” Standing up you tighten your silk robe around you. “I think so. I think he’ll consider it a great honour to have a book written in your honour, no matter the subject matter”. You walk past him “but never mind, let’s have drinks on the balcony upstairs, I think it’s going to rain tonight”.

“You never talk about Freddie” he states. It is late at night, rain dipping against the ceiling above, and they are sharing a bottle of wine.

“There’s not much to talk about” you say, avoiding his eyes, eyes set on the rainy scenery in front of you.

“He was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

“There are others who’ve had it worse.”

“Doesn’t make it less cruel” he says. Feelings are fighting with each other in his stomach, like a nest of vipers they twist and turn inside him, fighting for dominance. Feelings of anger, empathy, sadness and love.

He walks over to you, and sits down on the bench beside you, his warm hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes, looking ready to weep.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie, I really am” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, moves his arms so that he holds you to his chest instead. Soon you let yourself cry. He holds you to him, his chin resting on the top of your head and as far beneath you the waves are crashing against the rocks and in the chill evening air he keeps you warm.

He holds you for the longest time and somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

An early morning some days later you walk out on the terrace. It is decidedly cooler outside this morning and the air feels crisp in your lungs and pulling your robe tighter around you you sit down by the laid table.

Timothée sits hunched over a book, a cigarette in hand, a cup of black coffee next to him. Despite the morning chill he’s only wearing his usual paint-stained linen trousers.

“What are you reading?” you ask, pouring yourself coffee into a small, porcelain cup. His eyes are still on the book, brows furrowed, and so you look around, take in the scenery around you; the cerulean blue sky stretching out over a landscape of hills and pastel coloured villas, and further down - the ocean.

“Nietzsche”.

“It’s too early for Nietzsche”

“I never went to sleep” he answers.

You try to keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you, but despite your might they dart back towards the tussle of brown, curly hair on the other side of the table. He’s hunched over his book and it is hard to tell, but you think you can see shadows of blue underneath his eyes. He looks tired.

“And what does Nietzsche have to say?”

“Well” he starts, before going on to read from the page. “Nietzsche claimed that the exemplary human being must craft their own identity through self-realization and do so without relying on anything transcending – such as God or a soul. This way of living should be affirmed even if one were one to adopt, most problematically, a radical vision of eternity, one suggesting the eternal recurrence of all events.”

“What does that mean, the eternal recurrence of all events?”

“That the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space”.

You stay silent, contemplating this momentous new idea.

“You know, scientists say that we are made out of stardust” Timothée says.

You don’t follow his train of thoughts but you go along with it and ask, “how could that be?”

“Well, everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us still. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes. When stars get to the end of their lives, they swell up and fall together again, throwing off their outer layers. If a star is heavy enough, it will explode in a supernova. The brighter the star; the faster it burns. So you see, most of the material that we're made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. And so, we have stardust in us as old as the universe, and then some that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

You stay silent for a while, him with his eyes stuck on the page in front of him, obstinately avoiding your eyes and you; eyes fixed on him, sipping your coffee.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Timothée” you say in the end.

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbones delicate like fine china, now tanned after months spent on the riviera. The sun is shining down on the both of you by now, and through tousles of dark curls you can now clearly see the dark shadows underneath his eyes. The wind whistles through the cypress trees.

“Just that there is nothing new under the sun” he says after a long silence. “And I guess that I’m trying to talk to you about destiny; how we are born, and reborn ad infinitum. Again and again and again our dice are cast, casting out our roles in life. We all have our parts to play. Parts that we are destined to play, and they are decided for us. It is beyond our control.”

“And what do we learn from this?”

“Amor fati”

“To love one’s fate?”

“To love one’s fate”.

***

One afternoon Timothée wakes up from a nap on the terrace. He opens his eyes and for a moment he’s blinded by the light, seeing only silhouettes in front of him. Stretching out his arms and legs, his body stiff from laying on the terrace floor, he groans. His limbs feel heavy and numb and his mind is unusually quiet, as it has a habit of being just after he wakes from slumber. Closing his eyes again he lets the bright sunlight turn the world white behind his eyelids.

Above him the seashells you’ve put up tinkle in the soft breeze. From way down below he can hear the ocean, steady today in this fine autumn weather. But he can hear something else as well. The clinking of a piano being played. Standing up, as in a haze, he follows the sound.

Walking into the house, past the tinkling seashells and white curtains, through the kitchen and hall he follows the sound into the drawing room.

You are sitting by the piano, playing Für Elise with unpractised hands. The sun is coming through the large windows, lighting you up, painting a halo atop your head.

“Can I paint you?” he asks, for the first time in months.

Your fingers fumble with the piano chords for a second before carrying on, showing no other signs of having heard him. You continue playing until the piece comes to an end.

Then, in the silence, your soft voice.

“Alright”

***

Someone has dug out an old Fletcher Henderson record and the music is blaring from the gramophone as people dance to the old jazz music, one woman has gotten up on the table and is stamping her bare feet along to the rhythm, twirling her dress and swinging her hips. Others are standing in groups, laughing and chatting; cocktail glasses in hand. Others still are sitting by the table.

You can’t tear your eyes from Timothée as he sits leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the railing and head thrown back in laughter. The afternoon light has turned the entire world golden, but Timothée seems to have been more blessed by the light than anybody else; as if he had been picked out and touched by Midas himself. He seems to shine as he laughs with his new-found friends, cheering them with a glass of cheap wine. They’re discussing new revolutionary ideas and he laughs as they clink their glasses in celebration of their own drunken brilliance. He’s wearing his nice white dress shirt and suspenders. The first couple of buttons are undone at the top, and sunkissed skin peeks through. His hair a mess of sea-salt curls, falling over his face, and pearls of water falling from his skin like little stars; the party having gotten back from a swim just moments before. They are mostly Timothée’s friends, though some are yours. Locals, whom you’ve befriended during your time here; with the added number of guests being a couple of british and dutch backpackers Timothée met up with on the way back to the villa.

You look at him, carefree and golden in the sun, and you know the image of him like this will stay with you forever – that you never will see anyone or anything this beautiful again. You don’t think of rebirth, or of reincarnation - of lives destined to be lived over and over again until the sun finally implodes and swallows you all; thus setting you all free from your destinies. You don’t think destined, star-crossed or fated.

Or of amor fati.

Instead you look at him and you think of immortality. Of gods and heroes of the ancient past and of all the holy creatures legends say has roamed the earth since there was anything to roam. You watch him in the golden afternoon light and you think of Achilles and of Apollo and of the archangel Gabriel.

(And you understand why the ancient Greek believed in heroes and god amongst men. You believe as well.)

On the first day God created light.

And so, the scientists say we are all made of stardust. You watch the golden boy in front of you, seemingly shining in the sun, and you wonder to yourself if perhaps the stardust he was made of ever really settled into human skin.

You have never felt more blue, like a sea creature dragged up to the surface against its will; but he is half boy, half ethereal creature. Something Holy. You can almost see it; heavy white wings sprouting out between his shoulder blades, casting a great shadow beneath him, wherever he goes; a golden halo atop the mess of curls on his head. There, at the table under the golden mimosa tree, he throws his head back in laughter again and the sound rings clear over the music, over the other’s voices.

His eyes meet yours where you stand in the shadow underneath the roof and the laughter seems to die in his mouth.

On the third day God created the seas.

The sun goes over the horizon; the golden hour has passed, and everything is set in shadow. You keep your eyes on each other while the rest of the party roars on around you. Their laughter, the clinking of their glasses and the loud music falling on deaf ears as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

The sun has set, and the boy in front of you is no longer golden for you are all in shadow now; you are both human again.

Yet you still swear you can see the faint light of a halo atop his head and you can still feel the heavy weight of saltwater inside your lungs, taste it on your lips.

Eyes still fixed on his, you raise your glass to your lips, and you drown the last of your red wine. You can feel a drop slip from the corner of your mouth and make its way down your chin, your throat, your chest; down on your white silk dress. You put the glass down beside you and turn away from his gaze, walking away from him.

On the fourth day God created the moon and the stars.

The deep steps down to the water are wet from the passing tide and you move your feet carefully forward as you make your way down to the water. The sounds of music and laughter are soon replaced by that of waves. Passing by the old wooden jetty you walk down to the small piece of stony beach by the rocks. And there you stand. In front of you, a landscape of water so dark it appears black, and reflected on it from the sky above, the moon and the stars.

You hear the creaking sounds of someone stepping on the jetty.

And on the sixth day god created mankind in his own image.

Timothée stands in front of you, hands in pockets, his shirt undone and suspenders slightly astray; looking at you with such intent that you swear there’s thunder in the air, though the sky remains cloudless. Slowly, as if giving you plenty of time to retreat, he moves closer. Then, with his hands holding on to you, he kisses you. It is saltwater and sweet wine. It is red hot and wet and slow, until both of your breaths come heavy and your hands are fumbling over the other’s clothes. You tumble back against the flattened cliff wall behind you and you’re pulling him closer to you, tugging at his clothes until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. Your hearts as close to each other as can be.

Your hands fumble with his zipper until it finally comes undone, and lifts up the skirt of your dress, pushing down your underwear until they fall at your feet. Hooking your leg around him you struggle for a second with finding the right position. Then, with a jagged thrust he’s inside you and you suck in a sharp breath. “Careful now” you moan in his ear, your arms around him holding onto him tightly. “It’s been a while”.

The reminder seems to soothe him, and the thrusts become slower, more dragged out but deeper too. His hands become gentler, less rushed, but still firm as he holds on to you; each hand pressing into the smooth flesh of your thighs. Your arms are clinging onto his shoulders, painted red nails digging into his back, your own back arched from pleasure. Moans and whimpers are falling from your lips and into his ear; his hair, still wet from the earlier swim, feels cold against your cheek.

There, in the dark; the night only lit up by moonlight, with waves crashing against the stones beneath your feet, he moves in and out of you and the air itself tastes of seawater.

You lean down and kiss his exposed tanned collarbones peeking through his half-opened white shirt and as you gently bite down he hisses and fumbles with the pace for a second, before regaining his posure; pressing you harder up against the wall again.

“That’s right” you moan, hands clutching onto his shirt and your head thrown back. “Fuck, harder!”

And he does.

And when you come it is white-hot bliss. Like the invisible strings holding together reality are all pulled out and you tumble through existence; unsure of where anything ends or begins.

Except that maybe the answer to both of those things are Timothée’s ragged breaths as he fucks you with feverish pace. Maybe there is where it all ends and begins. He comes in a whimper, your hands in his hair, his face in the crook of your neck.

And there you both stand, holding each other; fighting for air, as the waves crash around your feet.

***

You’re in the market and nothing feels real to you.

It is like you’re watching it all happen on film in front of you, the vendors shouting out prices and shoppers picking out their vegetables. It is like you are watching it all happen very far away.

The sun is high in the sky, and it is unusually warm for a day in late october. Your skin is clammy and your palms feel sweaty; yet you feel strangely cold. And you are trembling, feeling certain that if someone were to prick you with a needle right now – you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You see the people moving, arguing over prices of leek one moment and laughing the next. People carrying wicker baskets filled to the rim with ripe fruit and vegetables. It is like they all move in slow-motion, the sounds they make muffled and far off.

You step away from the crowd but when you turn around you walk straight into Timothée. He stumbles backward a step, unprepared for the collusion. He says something, swears perhaps, but you can’t hear him. There’s a ringing in your ear and the ground feels unsteady underneath your feet, the sun glaring down at you.

Then his hands are cupping your face, and you see him mouthing your name. He looks at you, eyes full of worry. He takes your hand, leads you away from the market and into the ancient church. His hand warm in yours he leads you down the aisle before turning into one of the box pews. You sit down beside him and he takes your hands in his.

“Your hands are cold” he says, before lifting them his his lips to kiss them.

He had been inside you just hours ago. You had cleaned up as best you could, before walking up the stairs again and re-joining the party. You had retired early, claiming a headache, while Timothée stayed out on the terrace with his friends. In the morning you had risen before him, heading down into the market before breakfast.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” he asks and you want to laugh. Because the question is so precisely what has been on your mind ever since last night.

You think of the ocean; the way it can carry you or drown you depending on its whim. You think of the seawater in your veins, of lungs heaving for air. You think of never ceasing, impossible blue. Of bones engraved with memories from the past. And how all of this is who you are, that it is not a temporary blueness.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” you ask back.

“I don’t know” he says. The church is cool and drafty, despite the warm weather outside and his hands around yours feels warm and safe. It wakes an unholy sort of wanting inside of you.

“Ask me who I am” he says.

“Who are you?”

“Someone that loves you.” His voice is low. You are not the only two people in church, a few rows ahead there is a woman praying and at the front two priests are conversing with one another. He continues in his soft voice, “I can’t promise you perfect happiness forever, no one can, and frankly; I’m not sure that is what you really want either. It’s perhaps what you think you should want, but that’s not the same as actually wanting it. I think part of you loves your melancholia”.

“Well then, what can you promise me?”

“I promise you that on the days you feel like you’re drowning I will keep us afloat and I’ll hold you until it passes. I’ll keep you warm”.

“And you don’t wish I was more yellow?” you ask, voice sightly trembling.

“You know, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’ve never felt the need to change its hue, despite its darkest blue”.

“It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy” he says, and kisses your hands again.

***

On the balcony floor outside your bedroom you both lay that night, spread out on sheets and plush pillows you’ve carried out. You lay there, your head on his stomach, and stare up at the stars. Neither one of you is wearing a thread of clothing, but you are both tangled up in sheets. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside you and in Timothée’s hand his book on Nietzsche’s philosophies.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Do we have a free will or is it as Nietzsche believes, that the dice have already been cast far before we’re born, leaving us to live out our stories without the ability to ever change the outcome. Leaving us to simply accept our fate; to love our fate”.

“It sounds terribly defeatist to me” you say

“Or brave” Timothée says, “I’m really not so sure which. Perhaps both.”

“So you agree with him? You agree with Nietzsche? We are not ourselves in charge of our lives?”

“No, no not at all” he objects “I don’t believe he’s right. I’ve made my own choices in life. I’ve created my own mistakes and fortunes. And my fate has never been to love you, I’ve done that intentionally.”

You love me on purpose?

Yes I love you on purpose. I chose it, I chose you”

“I chose you too”

*****

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee fanfic

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honeybeezx · 4 years ago

Text

Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 3

Author’s Note: Guys, gals, and non-binary pals, I give you more Prince Oberyn. This chapter really focuses on him and reader but I promise we'll get to Ellaria soon :) For now, enjoy our favorite prince!

Summary: Oberyn visits you at King's Landing

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: mentions of death

———————————————

“And he was pleased?” Tyrion asked as you both sat in the peaceful library of the palace. You sat in the window sill, Tyrion at a desk not far from you.

“He was.” You confirmed. A little too pleased, but Tyrion didn’t need to know that. “The prince is certainly...passionate. He doesn’t hide much does he?”

“No...it’s an asset for him rather than a weakness. He has no secrets so there is nothing for us to exploit as an advantage over him should we have ever needed one.” Tyrion said, sighing as the wheels of his mind began turning. You could always tell when he was deep in thought. His brow furrowed and he looked somewhat distant. “We do have his passion for revenge to use against him though. He wishes to seek revenge for his sister. If we can direct that revenge towards The Mountain rather than towards my father, we may escape this wedding with all Lannisters in tact.”

“You say that as if it were a good thing.” You snipped. Tyrion eyed you with contempt.

“They are still my family. As often as I think about throwing Cersei and her demon of a son in a dark cell somewhere, they are my blood as well as king and queen regent.” He reminded with a chastising tone.

You gruffed and turned your head to look out onto the city. It was aggravating when he looked at you as if you were a child. You loved Tyrion, but sometimes his intelligence and the fact that he was a bit older annoyed you. “All I’m saying is that your sister and nephew are not the most empathetic of people. They don’t rule, they just seize power. They’re no king and queen...just tiny people wanting to feel big.”

“Your choice of words wounds me.” Tyrion teased.

You rolled your eyes and gave a small chuckle. “You are twice more human than anyone in your family and you know very well that your stature does not diminish that.” You were more scolding him than complimenting him. He knew you better than that. He gave a small chuckle, amused at your annoyance only to annoy you more.

“You are very kind to say so. I wish Cersei had your compassion. It seems nowadays she points out my stature every chance she gets.”

“It’s only because it’s her only weapon against you.” You reminded him.

Tyrion gave a small chuckle. “Let’s pray she doesn’t have one against you. Your little bit of theater upon our arrival has already put you on her bad side-“

“I don’t care what side I’m on.”

“Well you should.” Tyrion retorted. He tensed before taking pause and sighing. The pressure in his shoulders subsided as he calmed himself. “You forget that Cersei is queen regent and her son is a tyrannical king. You are skilled with a bow, but you are only one person. Cersei has an entire army and she will not hesitate to use it if you push too far.”

You were finding that King’s Landing was your least favorite place on earth. Before you could pick fights with whomever you pleased and you could get yourself out of them before anyone could inflicting any harm upon you. Being silent around someone who made your blood boil was proving difficult. How could one city harbor so many people you despised?

Before you could respond, a guard promptly entered the library, looking frantically between the two of you before his eyes settled on Tyrion. “My lord, Prince Oberyn has arrived at the palace and is waiting in the gardens.”

“I should have known he’d visit sooner or later.” Tyrion sighed and got up from his chair. He was about to leave when the guard blocked his path.

“Forgive me my lord, but his request was for the Silver Hawk specifically.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as both men eyed you curiously. “Well don’t look to me! I didn’t invite him in.” You quipped, out of defense. You knew exactly why he was here. He wasn’t going to kill you. No, he’d be too bold to do so right in the king’s palace as a guest to the royal wedding, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t threaten you.

“It seems our little hawk has made a friend.” Tyrion teased, but looked to you for further explanation.

“I have done no such thing.” You huffed as you strapped on your bow and sling of arrows, as if to prove a point. “If I had to guess, he wants me to shoot for him. Apparently, his brother told him of me and now he wants to see if the rumors are true.” You lied. He was here to threaten you, or worse, tell Tyrion about your temper while with him and his paramour in the brothel. He had just scolded you for not taking heed with the queen regent, you didn’t need to hear it again over Prince Oberyn.

“I’m sure that will go over well.” Tyrion laughed. “If you don’t want to show him you don’t have to. But you must decline him politely if that is your decision. Be cordial, but you are not entertainment.”

You smiled at your friend. Sometimes you wondered if anyone else understood you so well. “I suppose I must break it to him gently then. Maybe I’ll offer him a girl as compensation.” You laughed, though you weren’t so sure he wouldn’t hold you to that.

———————————

It was sunny outside, far too sunny for your liking. Your leather armor did not suit the beating sun. You felt beads of sweat down your back, but you ignored it. You weren’t about to meet the man you offended armorless, knowing full well that he kept a dagger on him.

You wondered the gardens a bit, but he was nowhere to be seen. You kept your eyes peeled for a flash of yellow or gold, only to be deceived by the bright flowers that surrounded you as you walked the stone path.

You finally came upon the beautiful pond that marked the middle of the garden. It was captivating, tranquil. Lilly pads with little white flowers blooming on top, and little fish swimming to the top of the water only to sink bellow its depths once more, it was enough to put you at ease, if only for a moment. Not able to resist, you let your hand skim along the surface. The cool of it sent goosebumps on your skin, what you wouldn’t give to dive in, just for a bit.

“It’s beautiful is it not?”

You shot straight up and turned at the sound of the accented voice. Sure enough, Oberyn was behind you, giving a small smile. How long has he been there? Was he watching you this whole time? He approached slowly, hands at his sides, the very picture of calm and confidence. Confident you were, calm you most certainly were not.

“It is.” You agreed, trying to remain composed. “I confess I didn’t know it was here until just now.”

“The palace seems to have many hidden beauties.” He charmed with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, if only to have an excuse to avoid his gaze. “Prince Oberyn I already made it clear I-“

“I’m here to apologize.” He interrupted. His features softened. It amazed you how he could switch between the sultry, arrogant prince you thought him to be to...this. He just seemed like a man, not the prince of Dorne. “Well partially.” He laughed as he looked up to the sky for a moment, before returning to you. “Ellaria and I, we do not hide our desires. You are a beautiful woman, we do not take such beauty for granted.” He explained, his brown eyes meeting yours.

Even then you still didn’t understand.

“But,” he continued, “we...disrespected you when it was not our intention, and for that, I give my sincerest apologies.”

Part of your job was to detect liars, and although you suspected Oberyn could be a very good one, you were confident you could tell when he was being deceptive. But now...Well...You figured it would be hard for a man who was prideful and arrogant by nature to feign sincere regret. But there was no give, no sign of false pretense or acting.

You turned away from him, looking out into the water to clear your thoughts before replying. His gaze did not make it easy.

“Perhaps,” you began hesitantly, “I should not have threatened you before leaving. But I am not a prize to be wanted Prince Oberyn. I’m a soldier, and I’ve worked hard to be treated as such.”

Oberyn nodded and looked out into the water, his brows furrowed. You could tell he was thinking deeply about something, but you couldn’t tell what occupied his thoughts. “Men do not take you seriously because you are a woman?”

You eyed him in confusion. “Does that surprise you?”

“We do not define people by their gender in Dorne.” Oberyn stated simply. “Women are treated equally, they are no less capable than any man. A person is defined by their character regardless of gender. Though I should not be surprised. Women are mistreated in many places, and each time I encounter it, it breaks my heart. I think of my girls, and my sister, Ellia.”

“You have daughters?” You asked, surprised .

Oberyn smiled fondly. “I have eight daughters.”

“Eight daughters?!” You quipped before forcing your mouth shut again. Your mind raced, trying to imagine Oberyn with one daughter, but eight?! “How you and Ellaria manage to leave Dorne at all with eight daughters is beyond me.”

“They are all strong, fiercely independent women, but I worry about them. The thought of something happening to them fills me with dread. The acts of men are far too often evil, especially when women are concerned.” This particularly bothered him, and for some reason, it surprised you. You took him as the sort of man who only used women for pleasure, after all, that is what brothels were for. But the way he spoke of his children...well...no one could fake that level of sincerity, of gentleness. “They are safe in Dorne, but they all have a desire for adventure, to see lands beyond their own. I curse myself for giving them that particular trait.” He laughed.

You were stunned. Life in Dorned seemed so far removed from the life you’ve known. You had to fight for respect, to be taken seriously. Anyone who looked down on you as some little girl could be quickly silenced with a good aim and a sharp arrow. In Dorne, it seemed as if it were just given so long as the person were of good character. It seemed so simple yet imagining having such an attitude was difficult.

Not only that, but you were shocked to find that the prince seemed to agree with his land’s attitudes. It was only yesterday you thought of him as a prick who only saw women as objects of pleasure only to find that he was suddenly very open-minded and accepting.

It seemed far too good to be true.

“You are lucky to live in such a land, and your brother is wise to rule with such upstanding morals. It seems like a lovely place.” You complimented, trying your best to imagine Dorne.

“You’ve never been?” Oberyn asked curiously before you shook your head in reply. “You would like it. It is the very opposite from the North. It is warm, but lush and green. It is vibrant and warm, much like its people. Though I think you may faint from the heat with all your armor.” He teased.

Once again you rolled your eyes. “My armor protects me, especially here. No one knows who is a friend and who is a foe in this city, it’s maddening.”

“Which is partially why I am here,” Oberyn explained, looking back over to you. “Ellaria and I....we at least want to offer friendship. King’s Landing is a dangerous city, everyone needs allies. I saw you when you arrived that day, in the palace. I thought you were going to take off Cersei’s head.” He chuckled, only earning him another glare. “I do not mock you.” He clarified, still keeping a light tone. “I found it...Refreshing to see someone talk to Cersei like the queen regent she is not.”

He made it very clear that he wants to kill any Lannister that he sets his sights on.

Tyrion’s words echoed in your head and you remember the story of his sister. You didn’t dare bring it up. Not only was it none of your business, but the less he knew you knew, the better. This was the Game of Thrones, and you were a spy in the middle of it all. Friendship was not a thing you could afford, but it could be a thing you could fake.

“I’m a friend to anyone who hates the Lannisters.” You sneered while you lied right to his face. “I am loyal to Tyrion because he is nothing like his family, but that is as far as my loyalties extend. The rest of the Lannisters are terrible people who will, at least one day, pay for their crimes.”

“I’m glad we share the same feelings towards them. The Lannisters took my sister and her dear children from me and my family. I did not come here for some boy-king’s wedding.” And suddenly the charm the prince once had melted so smoothly into a fiery lust for revenge, a fire fueled by his hate for the Lannisters.

It was like looking into a mirror to see the person you once were.

“You intend on killing one of the Lannisters.” Your voice was barely a whisper. You turned to him and his eyes met yours. It scared you to see how much hate there was in them. “Seeking revenge...it won’t bring you the satisfaction you think it will, Prince Oberyn.” You warned. You weren’t sure why you cared. He was a prince who could do as he pleased. If he had a death wish that was on him, but somehow you could not shake the overwhelming sense of dread and horror at the very thought of the handsome prince’s blood being spilled.

“And you know this how?”

Too close.

“Come now, Prince Oberyn. We only just formed a truce, can’t reveal all my secrets just yet.” It was a tease laced with a warning. You weren’t stupid. Getting you to open up only to use it to betray you later, it was the oldest trick in the book. You didn’t even tell Tyrion anything about yourself for ages, and you liked Tyrion. As far as you were concerned, the Red Viper was still a threat. In another life, you could maybe appreciate Oberyn’s charm and boldness, but with all the tension surrounding the tyrannical king’s wedding, there was no time for making true friends.

Not that you couldn’t fake it, for Tyrion’s sake. Oberyn was just a pawn in this game as well, a chess piece for Tyrion to have handy when the moment was right. But if he was going to attempt the murder of a Lannister, all that would be lost. It was now you wished Tyrion was here. You had a silver tongue, but Tyrion was much better at devising plans than you were. This was his game, not yours.

Oberyn laughed and beamed at you.

It’s like the warmth of the sun settles in his chest.

“You are very wise for so young a person.”

“Not as young as you think.” You retorted sharply.

“I meant no offense.” He found himself repeating this sentence the more time he spent with you. “It was a compliment, something you clearly are not used to receiving.”

“I don’t need compliments, I know my worth.”

Oberyn turned so his whole body was facing you. You held your ground, you would not break under his gaze again. “And what if people simply wish to compliment you?”

His voice was like honey. You were suddenly conscious of your chest heavily rising and falling, aware of how close the two of you were. There was still a respectable distance between the two of you, but if felt like every slight movement was a pull towards him. You felt like a fly being lured to a spider’s web. And you thought the size of the palace made you feel small.

“Then they are wasting their breath.” You pulled yourself out of it. Now it was you who hadn’t meant to be offensive. Oberyn didn’t seem offended, he only looked at you as if you were life’s greatest mystery. You could hardly blame him, you had given him a similar look before. “I only mean that words are precious and powerful things. People should use them wisely, in the right moments, at the right times. I don’t need compliments, so you don’t have to pay me any.”

Oberyn smiled and shook his head once again. It seemed like every word you said left him deeper and deeper in thought. “And you are the decider of when is the right time and when is not?” He refuted, challenging you.

And that flash of anger you felt in the brothel came back and settled in your chest, but you buried it. You were prepared now, you wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “I should be. I’m very rarely wrong after all”

Oberyn erupted into a hearty laugh, and even you had to crack a small smile.

“The Silver Hawk has a sense of humor! I was beginning to wonder if you were capable of smiling.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, but there was still a small grin on your face. “Don’t get used to it.”

But Oberyn was still smiling.

Good, let him think he’s gotten my guard down.

“You are a wonder, Silver Hawk of the North. I am glad our paths have crossed, though I wish it were not under these circumstances. If Tyrion should ever relieve you of your services, even temporarily, you must come to Dorne. You would be a most welcome guest and I know my daughters would be delighted to meet someone of your skill. They are trained warriors themselves, but none of them are archers. I’m sure they would love the lessons if you were willing.”

It was a pretty thought. Traveling more, exploring Dorne, even meeting his daughters intrigued you. But it was only that, a pretty thought. “Seeing Dorne sounds...intriguing. I always try envisioning your land but I’m afraid I lack such imagination. As for your girls, I would be delighted to meet such warriors. But I am loyal to Tyrion. He pays me well and I’ve seen more of Westeros in the time I’ve been in his service than I’ve seen in my lifetime prior to being in his service. And as a Lannister, he’ll always need protection...his family has too many enemies.” You explained. That, and very deep down, you would miss him and the rest of your crew too much.

“But you are only a person. Every person longs for freedom, no?” He asked, surprised by your answer.

“I am free.” You replied more sharply than you intended. You took a deep breath and tried calming yourself. But you were not some loyal dog. You knew that Tyrion would let you leave the moment you asked him. You wanted to stay.

But Oberyn didn’t need something to use against you.

“Tyrion doesn’t keep me chained. If he did, he wouldn’t have let me speak to you so freely. I can do as I please as long as I do not neglect my responsibility and duty to protect and help him.”

“So you are free when you are not needed?”

“When I am temporarily not needed.” You retorted but calmed yourself before you could feel the flutter of anger you were used to feeling in your chest when you talked to the prince. You weren’t sure he actually meant to insult you anyhow, he was just good at doing it naturally. “With all your respect, I don’t expect you to understand. You are a prince. I don’t imagine you’ve had to fight to live or survive. You fight for your country which is honorable. We just...fight for different reasons.”

Oberyn began to walk alongside the pond. You followed suit. You’d been looking for an excuse to explore the gardens anyways. He smiled as he took in the surroundings. “I admire that, your reason is honorable as well. You fight for yourself, you honor yourself. We may not be so different as I thought. I fight for my family, but I honor myself in a much different way. To you, Ellaria and I’s advances were offensive, and again we apologize, but to us, we are simply honoring ourselves by being completely ourselves. We do not shy from our desires, life is too short to not pursue the things you want...even if things may not always go the way you think they might.” Oberyn chuckled, giving you a small nudge. You let out another small chuckle.

He wasn’t so bad.

Still a threat, but not so bad.

“I suppose there is some honor in that.” You relented. “I would only suggest taking into account who you are talking to Prince Oberyn. This is King’s Landing. Making enemies here is as easy as breathing. You almost made one this yesterday.” You joked.

“I do not care about making enemies and I care less about what people might think...until today.” He grinned at you, and your reaction was to instantly turn away. No one has ever looked at you like that. There was a gentle fondness to him that blended far too well with his confidence. You had heard only a few stories that told of his skill on the battlefield, but there was a far greater danger in his tongue than his sword.

What we’re you to say to that? He seemed to care less about what even Tyrion, the right hand of the king thought of him.

“Tell me something Prince Oberyn, and speak candidly. Why are you so interested in me? You have seen woman warriors before, your own daughters even. I have shown you nothing of my skill and even less of who I am until today. So why?” You asked before you were even sure you wanted to know the answer.

“Because you are beautiful.”

Your jaw set. Was that really it?

“And, though you are not as forward as Ellaria or I, you have the same passion, that little spark in your chest. Why do you think our sigil is a sun?” He smirked, proud of his family, his name, and his city. If you were highborn and looked like him you imagined you would have the same gusto.

"It’s alluring and I want to more. Not many people have the pleasure of meeting you. You either steal their breath with your legendary arrows or you are guarding the Little Lion. We were curious about what lies beneath your armor.”

You wanted to scream, maybe even punch him, but you remained unmoving. So this was the game they were playing. Break the Silver Hawk to get to the Lannisters. What did he take you for? A nieve girl pining for her first love?

“But-“ he continued, “the more I speak with you the more confused I am. You are a mystery, Silver Hawk, and that is your strength.”

You took notes of that. Of all things, you would believe that to be true. When you really thought about his words, you could understand what he meant. If no one knew anything about you no one would have a way to hurt you.

“And you embrace your flaws, and that is your strength.” You noted. There was an understanding between you two, an odd connection despite differences.

“Prince Oberyn.” That voice was far too familiar to you. You turned to see the golden-haired queen regent, somehow glaring at both you and the prince at the same time. “Welcome to King’s Landing. I apologize for not greeting you sooner, looks like someone beat me to it.” The queen regent flashed one of her signature fake smiles your way.

“I asked for The Silver Hawk. If I wanted you I would have asked for you.” Oberyn retorted.

Maybe you liked him more than you thought. If you couldn’t talk back to the queen, you were glad Oberyn could in your place.

The queen remained composed, but you and Oberyn were not stupid. There was rage under the calm demeanor. If there was one thing you understood about the queen regent, it was that.

“Though we welcome you to King’s Landing Prince Oberyn, in the future, the King and I will be made aware of your visits.” She addressed the prince, but glared at you.

“With all your respect,” you spat, meaning anything but, “I follow orders from the hand of the king. And I do believe Prince Oberyn made it clear that his only intention was conversing with me.”

“You have nothing to fear today, Queen Cersei.” Oberyn added.

Today...you suppressed a grin at that.

“Prince Oberyn, since you are here you must let me show you around the palace. It’s been ages since anyone from the Martell family has visited and the grounds truly are exquisite.”

Oberyn said nothing, but looked to you.

Is he asking for my permission?

“I must return to Tyrion. No doubt he’s going on about how he can’t do anything without me.” You joked, earning a small smiled from the prince. You gave a small nod towards your new companion and an even smaller one to the queen.

You turned to leave, but Oberyn’s hand clasped around your wrist. Your wild, shocked eyes met his calm, collected ones. The prince placed a small, chaste kiss to your knuckles, looking at you and grinning the entire time.

Right in front of the queen.

“Until we meet again, Silver Hawk.”

Panicked, you turned away quickly and made a beeline back to Tyrion

It was sure to go over well the next time you were burdened with the company of the queen regent.

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#armor #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you x ellaria #oberyn x reader x ellaria #oberyn martell #ellaria sand #game of thrones #game of thrones fic #got #pedro pascal #prince oberyn #oberyn martell imagine

100 notes · View notes

quidfree · 3 years ago

Note

prompts,.,, fem tdbk and a date gone very wrong ? ❤️

ohhhh my god anon. pump this shit directly into my veins i love this whole premise let’s go. also all inspired by whatever the fuck horikoshi was doing in this

just so everyone is on the same page here, it is not a fucking date.

it’s lunch. a singular lunch. people do that shit all the time. even katsuki does lunch, sometimes. she went to that semi-shitty diner place with kirishima that one time when the food hall was shut because some dumbass first year exploded into goo or whatever. and todoroki does lunch, too- her and deku were on some shitty lunch date like a week ago, as evidenced by deku’s even shittier selfie of them having a grand old time doing whatever the fuck they do alone.

fuck, not a shitty lunch date. a shitty lunch. whatever.

the point is lunch is a normal non-date thing people do, and the fact katsuki and todoroki are maybe not the usual suspects for it is just circumstantial. it’s not like they planned it ahead of time, or made some big thing about it. they literally arranged for it in public, so obviously todoroki didn’t think there was anything weird about it. and there isn’t! they’re both going to be in tokyo on the same day, and todoroki’s always happy for any excuse to spend less time with her old man, and katsuki sure as fuck wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to avoid her hag of a birth-giver for a few blissful hours, so when todoroki had very nonchalantly gone ‘oh, bakugou, we could do lunch then”, it wasn’t like she had any real reason to tell her to go fuck herself. like, yeah, maybe a year ago, on principle, she would have, but even katsuki can only take so much trauma-bonding before she resigns herself to the reality that she’s stuck with half ‘n half for life, one way or another, and she may as well suck it up and approach civility because said moron is determined to ignore her open malice until she plays along anyways. they’re... you know, whatever. friends. or something. jesus.

the point being that it’s not a date, and the fact that she’s getting increasingly annoyed at her limited wardrobe is just because she would have packed more shit if the crone hadn’t insisted that they ‘pack light’ so they could get cheaper train tickets for less luggage. it’s just annoying that she can’t wear anything that’s not screaming holiday.

it occurs to her as she sits and scowls at her suitcase that her mother has been watching her from the doorframe for some undetermined amount of time, which is criminal mainly because she’s a goddamn hero-to-be and getting snuck up on by anyone is a blight upon her good name. she tries to disguise the ego damage dealt by glowering murderously in her progenitor’s direction.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“you know,” the she-devil says, cocking a hip, “if you want to borrow something nicer...”

“i wouldn’t be caught dead in your shitty clothes!” katsuki snarls, which prompts the witch to immediately scowl back.

“watch your damn mouth!”

“watch your waistline! no way in hell are we the same size!”

“why you little-”

the interruption at least reminds her that she is obsessing over her clothes ahead of meeting todoroki for lunch, which is so humiliating it kickstarts her brain again long enough to grab some normal shit and get the hell out of there.

on the walk she checks her phone again. the previous day she’d had to bite the bullet and make the first move, todoroki’s infamously terrible communication skills making themselves known once more, and their ensuing conversation had been so mortifying she’d nearly cancelled all-together.

to: Half ‘n half

Yo asshole are we still meeting tomorrow or what

I’m busy as shit

from: Half ‘n half

Yes. TS

to: Half ‘n half

What the fuck is TS

from: Half ‘n half

I was signing off.

to: Half ‘n half

SIGNING OFF ON YOUR OWN TEXT

YOU THINK I DONT KNOW YOUR DAMN NAME

from: Half ‘n half

[Pin attached]

Does here at 12.30 work for you?

to: Half ‘n half

Yeah whatever

Don’t be late

And don’t think I’m forgetting the fucking signing off thing

from: Half ‘n half

Glad you can make time for mockery in your busy as shit schedule.

the venue looks like some rich person shit, which she semi-expected, but it means a lot of people give her weird looks as she makes her way inside, probably on account of the shorts and t-shirt she’s wearing if not her general vibe. some old woman actually drags her purse to her, which makes katsuki sorely tempted to bare her teeth and maybe hiss for effect, though she settles for scowling and shoving her hands in her pockets. it’s 12.27, because she wasn’t going to be late but being any earlier would have given off some dubious impression that she’s eager to see todoroki, except now she kind of wishes she’d just come for 12.30 because if there’s some reservation bullshit she gets the feeling she’s going to start fighting with the waiting staff, and then-

“bakugou,” todoroki calls, from inside, raising a hand with unnecessary formality. “you made it.”

“course i made it,” katsuki grunts, absolutely not relieved as she by-passes the suspicious looking waiter to join her outside. “think i can’t ride the damn underground by myself?”

todoroki is wearing jeans cuffed at the ankles and a white t-shirt on top of which she’s thrown on an open button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and she looks casual and normal and incidentally kind of like they dressed to match, but the important part is that she doesn’t look dressed up at all, so katsuki was totally right about the non-date situation, and also isn’t the only one totally underdressed for the shitty venue.

“you look nice,” todoroki says then, completely shattering katsuki’s brief moment of reprieve. “i’ve never seen so much color on you.”

katsuki almost chokes on her own tongue, but the worst part is that the asshole seems completely nonchalant about the weird as shit observation, focused on her stool as she takes a seat on the balcony. which- what the actual fuck? since when does todoroki issue compliments unprompted- of the non-professional variety, at that? and what the fuck does she expect katsuki to say now- return the compliment? say thanks? is this whole thing some kind of exercise in psychological torture?

well, fuck it. she can’t look like a little bitch just because todoroki said something inanely positive. two can play that game.

“yeah. you look half decent yourself. did you hire someone to dress you for the occasion?”

todoroki blinks up at her in surprise, which is totally a win and would make her more smug if she could stop feeling so weird and prickly all over. for a dangerous moment todoroki seems on the verge of blushing, but miraculously the world rights itself and the usual deadpan persists, one brow quirking up in completely feigned ineptitude.

“there was a compliment somewhere in there, so thank you, i think. i thought we were past this vendetta.”

“we’ll be past this vendetta the day you burn your piece of shit hero suit,” katsuki retorts, back on familiar ground, and relaxes long enough to squint down at the menu.

this turns out to be a mistake.

“the fuck? is this whole thing in french?”

“oh,” todoroki says, after a beat. “that makes sense. i thought my english had deteriorated.”

“are you- you didn’t know? you recommended the place!”

“it was the nearest place to our hotel,” todoroki defends, now having the decency of looking slightly put out. “coq can’t mean what i think it means, can it?”

“that’s chicken, asshole,” katsuki hisses, flinging the menu down. “great, now we’re going to have to flag down one of the shithead waiters and ask for a japanese menu. excuse me! hey! yeah, i’m talking to- what the hell, did he just blow me off? hey, jackass! you with the shitty mustache!”

“sorry about that,” todoroki interjects, when mustache asshole turns an offended stare their way. “do you have the japanese menu?”

“we only serve the food in its authentic form,” mustachioed asshole says, with frigid self-satisfaction. “might i suggest google translate?”

“might i suggest my foot up your ass, you shitty-”

“that’s fine,” todoroki says, in a flat tone that implies otherwise. “we’ll make do.”

the waiter sniffs pretentiously as katsuki thinks about all the ways she could beat his ass into next tuesday, running an aggravated hand through her hair when the wind rustles it into her face. she’d half expect todoroki to suggest they fuck off elsewhere, but when she looks back her way she finds an ill-boding gleam of determination in her eyes despite the impassive set to her face, and it’s a testament to how fucked in the head ua has made katsuki that she feels a sort of sick thrill of recognition at the sight. todoroki’s in stubborn bitch mode.

“i’ll have this,” todoroki says, sure enough, pointing to the most expensive item on the menu. “and also this. and one of those.”

the waiter’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, and todoroki looks unfazed in katsuki’s direction, tapping pointedly at a sleek black and red credit card in her wallet. “bakugou?”

well, if endeavour’s paying....

“sure,” katsuki says, slowly, and then turns her meanest smile the waiter’s way. “i want the frog legs.”

mustache clears his throat, attempts condescension. “we don’t serve that here.”

“you’re a gastronomique restaurant,” katsuki says very loudly, as other clients turn to stare, “and you don’t have fucking frog legs? is this a joke? does this napkin say authentic french cuisine or am i hallucinating?”

“i can ask the chef,” the waiter demurs, casting a nervous glance at the muttering snobs nearby, and attempts an ingratiating smile. “anything else for you, mademoiselle?”

“what did you just call me?”

once the ordering debacle is over, todoroki slants katsuki what may well be an apologetic glance, vaguely contrite frown sitting pretty atop her usual dead-eyed stare.

“i probably should have read up on the place ahead of time.”

katsuki is well within her rights to chew her head off, she thinks, but food’s on the way and she got to yell at the asshole who gave her the once-over when she came in, so she’s feeling forgiving, even in the face of todoroki’s annoyingly doll-faced apology. the bitch really has to do the bare minimum and she looks like a fucking kpop idol.

“yeah, whatever. i always knew you were a shitty ops planner.”

todoroki, who is an asshole, looks relieved at her generous forgiveness for all of a second before she quirks a brow. “between the two of us, i only count one person who has actually spoken the words ‘shoot first, ask questions later’.”

“that was in a training simulation,” katsuki protests, outraged. “and you know damn well the actors were annoying as shit!”

“i did find them slightly too committed to the role,” todoroki concedes neutrally, which totally means she agrees with katsuki 100% and is being precious about it. katsuki scoffs.

“least the view’s decent.”

“the-“ todoroki starts, in weirdly confused tones, until she follows katsuki’s gaze outward and nods in understanding. “oh, the skyline. yes.”

what else katsuki could have meant she doesn’t fucking know: they’re sitting pretty in the middle of tokyo. the only thing the hellhole of a restaurant has going for it at this point is the cityscape.

todoroki stares out into the distance for a good long moment, and with the breeze her negligently loose hair whips this way and that, red and white blur where the two halves mingle. instinctively katsuki itches to braid it flat so it doesn’t tangle. if todoroki asked her she’d tell her to just cut her damn hair into a bob or something- it’s not like icyhot has any attachment to her princess hair, and she’s got the obnoxious bone structure to pull off any length. not that she’d mention this last part. or that she’s given it much thought. it’s just fucking obvious.

if todoroki could keep her mouth shut throughout the rest of the meal, it could be sort of nice. tokyo skyline, and companionable silence, and presumably edible food. worse ways to kill some time, and way less incriminating than anything that may be said otherwise.

“i think this is the part where we make small talk,” todoroki says instead, sadist that she definitely is, as katsuki grimaces feelingly her way.

“no, we don’t.”

“well, we don’t. but this is the part where we should.”

“i don’t even believe you can last a minute of small talk, icyhot.”

todoroki looks pensive, mismatched eyes thoughtful. “...how has your day been?”

“uneventful,” katsuki says, combative, and eyes her watch. todoroki does not give.

“this place seems nice.”

“you don’t even think that.”

“how have you been finding tokyo?”

“noisy.”

“the weather seems-”

“no.”

“you look nice.”

“you said that already, dumbass,” katsuki grunts, palms crackling with sweat, and does not at all read into the way todoroki makes a stupid little movement with her mouth that could ungenerously be interpreted as a pout.

“well, i meant it, so i’m saying it twice.”

“give it up, half ‘n half, just ask me about training.”

“...how is your training?”

“i did this thing yesterday,” katsuki starts, leaning back in her chair, and from then launches into a very technical and barely exaggerated retelling of the batshit insane stunt she pulled off with her quirk the day prior. todoroki’s focused attention is gratifying, in a totally platonic non-weird way- it’s just that her parents couldn’t very well follow why exactly said stunt was as insane as it is, but todoroki obviously can, and also there’s that thing with todoroki where pulling a reaction out of her ice queen act is admittedly more satisfying than most people. it has jack shit to do with the fact katsuki’s got a very minor complex about todoroki paying her her dues, and even if it did then that’s entirely fucking reasonable considering she still hasn’t forgiven her for the sports fest incident.

it is a little weird having todoroki’s sole focus on her outside of hero shit, though. it’s not like they really hang out one on one outside of school or work. it’s kind of- unnerving. yeah. unnerving, to be making prolonged eye contact, todoroki’s expression intent but not intense the way she gets in fight scenarios, frowning lightly because she has resting bitch face but apparently genuinely interested. it’s kind of a relief that todoroki asks questions- moves them safely into a conversation, so katsuki’s not just sitting there talking and sort of dry-throated. fucking waiter, leaving them water-less.

it’s fine. they talk about training, and quirks, and then todoroki pushes her hair behind her ears and leans forward to demonstrate on a small scale this thing she’s trying to do where she melts her ice and refreezes it in rapid succession so it causes what is essentially ice rain, but there’s logistics and shit that need to be worked out for it to work the way she’s thinking it might, and katsuki knows her thermal shit so they start scrawling maths over the napkins, and then bicker over the finer points of first year chemistry, so when the food actually arrives to interrupt them todoroki’s startled blink is weirdly relatable, like she also forgot where they were.

the waiter’s there and gone before they’re really recovered from the brief misplacement, which katsuki registers only when she looks down at her empty glass.

“goddamnit- how hard is it to bring us water?”

“they only offer sparkling,” todoroki says, gravely, then outpaces katsuki’s disgust by placing her hand over her glass, ice rising before she switches hands and melts it down. “tell me if the temperature’s off.”

intensely mollified and trying not to look it, katsuki sips it. “’s fine.”

“okay,” todoroki says, faintly pleased, and tilts her head to look down at her food. “i have no idea what any of this is.”

“moron,” katsuki snorts, except it comes out way fonder than it has any rights to, and from beneath the convenient curtain of hair todoroki’s smiling a little, so she hastily stabs a frog leg and gets to eating before anyone gets any ideas.

the actual meal goes okay-ish. most of the stuff todoroki ordered is extremely pretentious french cuisine, and todoroki secretly has the culinary adventurousness of a five year old, so it befalls katsuki to impatiently attempt every dish and pronounce it edible before todoroki will deign to brave it. she’s still trying to bully an unyielding todoroki into attempting the weird bird soup thing when there’s commotion nearby. it takes the both of them approximately three seconds to spring into work-mode; katsuki’s on her feet poised for a fight before she’s even consciously thought about it, scanning her peripherals, and she doesn’t even need to look to feel todoroki unconsciously covering her back, cool sting of air signalling her quirk at the ready.

the commotion turns out just to be some old dumbass choking, relaxing them both out of their stances as she falls back to let todoroki ahead. they’re both uber-qualified for first aid shit, but she’s self-aware enough to know even todoroki’s bland reassurances are usually preferred to her bedside manner. unfortunately, the whole entourage seems to be braindead, because they’re all crowding the old guy in a panic while he chokes, his wife in shrieking hysterics.

“oh, my god, he’s choking! he’s choking! sugar-plum, stay with me!”

“fuck me,” katsuki mutters, unethically thinking that she would personally prefer choking to being married to someone who calls her sugar-plum, but todoroki’s pushing ahead with implacable calm, so she trudges after her anyways.

“excuse me. excuse me. i need access to your husband.”

“who are you? don’t touch him! help! get this woman off my husband!” wailing hysteric yells, bosom heaving dramatically. katsuki is starting to suspect she poisoned him on purpose or some shit, because no way does anyone talk like that in real life.

“she’s a fucking qualified first aid provider, lady, shut up and let her through!”

thankfully, the woman seems on the verge of an outrage aneurysm, which drags her focus away from suffocating her choking husband to dramatically pointing at katsuki long enough for todoroki to duck past her and reach the guy as he turns purple.

“how dare you speak to me that way? who do you think you are?”

“ma,” chinless moron number one says, clearing his throat. “i think that’s one of those future pros from TV.”

“what?”

“you know, ma,” chinless moron number two adds, glancing nervously between them. “the one that explodes things. you know. from UA.”

katsuki takes great pleasure in watching recognition dawn in the old cow’s beady eyes, but in any event there’s a hacking noise and then the old man’s coughing out a bone into his plate as todoroki steps noiselessly back from the table.

“he’s fine now. enjoy your dinner.”

“god, that was gross,” katsuki says, as they ignore the woman’s sputtering and return to their seats. todoroki tilts her head.

“not really. if he’d thrown up it would have been.”

“not the choking guy,” katsuki scoffs, casting a glance back his way. “his wife. talk about theatrics.”

“she seemed more afraid of us than her husband dying.”

“for good reason,” katsuki mutters darkly, spreading out in her chair. “i hate civilians.”

“i don’t think she recognised us,” todoroki counters, pensive, and absent-mindedly takes a bite of the weird soup before she screws her face up like a betrayed kid. “oh. you didn’t say it was sweet.”

the look on her face thoroughly distracts katsuki from asking what other reason the pearl-clutcher could possibly have to be so terrified at the mere sight of them; instead, she chokes back a laugh, stifling a grin. “what are you, five?”

“i don’t think i like this,” todoroki says, mournful, which makes katsuki grin harder. she can’t help it- todoroki looking stupid is her kryptonite.

“then don’t pick a restaurant where you can’t read the menu, next time.”

todoroki’s midway to looking up, but for some reason her expression transforms instantaneously, which makes katsuki reflexively try to quash her amusement. todoroki always gets weird when she’s smiling.

“next time?”

motherfuck. obviously she didn’t mean next time like next time, she meant next time like- hypothetically, in the future, when todoroki’s on a lunch date with someone else. a lunch non-date. she’s just about stopped sputtering furiously long enough to try and express this sentiment when it occurs to her that todoroki seems- pleased, one eye soft sky-blue when katsuki accidentally meets it, and that draws her up short long enough that she ends up just muttering lamely to herself. fucking todoroki.

on the heels of this utter embarrassment, she downs the rest of her water, scowls in a neat 180 at everything in sight, and wonders for the first time in her life how the fuck extras get through dates. not that this is one.

it’s fine. they’re done eating, and no one’s died, and katsuki is no longer fifteen and thus mostly trusts her ego to lick its wounds and recover from the ordeal. even if they stick around for desert that’s only another half hour of this to endure. as long as todoroki doesn’t make any sudden moves they’ll be fine.

...the problem is, of course, that sudden moves are todoroki’s modus operandi. katsuki has not forgotten the bitch calling them friends on national television in the same breath that she was vociferously denying them being anything of the sort. in todoroki’s fucked up brain, they’re always ten steps ahead of whatever they actually are- considering katsuki’s come around to privately acknowledging she’d take a couple more stakes through the gut for the asshole, in todoroki’s world they're practically hitched.

platonically. platonically practically hitched. this is not a thing, goddamnit. no matter the weird looks aizawa’s been giving them, or utsushimi’s nefarious schemes, or the alarming cardiopulmonary condition katsuki’s been developing of late. she’s not some shitty yuri protagonist pining over the nearest female bishōnen in her vicinity.

admittedly if she was to pine over anyone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be some guy, but that’s besides the point, since pretty damn near every person on earth is just some guy by her standards, regardless of gender. the fact that todoroki is not one of said people is entirely irrelevant.

her internal irritation is so distracting that she misses the tremors nearby until entirely too late, by which point todoroki’s stupidly perfect brows raise an incremental fraction and she goes: ‘oh’.

when todoroki goes ‘oh’, some shit is about to go down.

katsuki turns slowly with an impending sense of doom, and sure enough, the sight that greets her is so nightmarish she seriously reconsiders whether the entire day has been just that.

“don’t freak out,” a giant building-sized deku booms, apologetically, as his hideous giant face stares at them. “it’s just a quirk thing.”

it’s probably a good thing katsuki has gone speechless with outrage, since it permits todoroki’s constantly composed ass to ask useful questions katsuki probably would have coated in a fair amount more threats and cursing.

“midoriya. i didn’t know you were in tokyo.”

“well, i wasn’t meant to be,” deku says/booms like a foghorn, as the restaurant clientele shrieks and stampedes behind them. his sheepish expression is even more punchable when magnified. “it’s a long story. it’s almost sorted out now, though. i just saw you guys from over at the NPA office and thought i’d come ask if you maybe wouldn’t mind lending a hand? i wouldn’t ask but there’s going to be a lot of cleanup and your quirks would be really helpful to-”

“we’ll do it as long as you shut the fuck up,” katsuki yells, to cut him off, massaging her temples. “the monologuing’s bad enough when you’re not about to burst my fucking eardrums, jackass.”

“oh, sorry! i’m trying to be very quiet but this body’s just hard to get used to- thank you so much for helping, i didn’t mean to come bother you on break...”

“it’s fine,” todoroki says, and then seems to realise that her monotone doesn’t reach midoriya’s giant-ass ears and clears her throat, raising her voice to a shout. “it’s fine. let me go deal with the bill and then we’ll go.”

“sorry?” midoriya whisper-shouts, craning his monstrous head closer to them, the sight of which will haunt katsuki for the rest of her life. “i can’t hear what you’re saying!”

“she said she’s going to go pay for our nice fucking lunch,” katsuki hollers, with no small sense of satisfaction, as deku winces and todoroki slinks off. “since you want to come crashing it like a dipshit.”

“sorry, kacchan!” deku begs off, flapping hand gestures creating enough wind to knock over a nearby umbrella stand. “i just thought it would be a lot of help if you came to oversee the fall-out- especially with the building damage-”

“we’re good,” todoroki announces, to katsuki, apparently having given up on matching her in decibels. she’s got that classic hero look on her face, already in work mode, but just when katsuki’s about to do the same and jump into action, the look wavers a little and she frowns vaguely awkwardly. “thanks for doing lunch.”

“huh?” katsuki stutters, thrown, and then scowls at nothing in particular, stalling. todoroki’s the one who paid, albeit indirectly- it’s typically weird of her to be all formal about it all of a sudden, leaving katsuki to attempt to wriggle them out of the awkwardness of the moment. “i didn’t do shit except show up and eat, weirdo.”

“it’s been abnormally hard to show up and eat in the circumstances,” todoroki replies, a little wryly, and more concerningly a little resigned sounding. which is just unnatural, because todoroki may have expanded her range of emotions considerably since first year but resignation is not on her usual roster, and there’s nothing to be resigned about unless she had some kind of vested interest in this whole fiasco playing out any better than it did.

which she didn’t, obviously. katsuki’s been through this. she chose the nearest possible venue and rocked up in jeans and a t-shirt, and- and why is the fact that todoroki never dresses so normally out of class only now occurring to her, again?

she’d said ‘i think this is the part where we do small talk’. the part of what?

“yeah, whatever,” katsuki says, automatically, as her brain plays catch-up, which is the excuse she will forever stick to for what leaves her mouth next. “should have known you’d be a lousy date.”

todoroki goes ‘what?’ at the same moment deku does, ten times louder and more bug-eyed, which reminds katsuki that 1) deku is still there, 2) deku is still as big as his martyr complex, and 3) deku is the fucking worst, and allowing him to trap her into friendship is somehow responsible for this, she’s sure of it.

“can we go handle this fucking mess or what?” katsuki snaps, instead of screaming or breaking deku’s very large nose or maybe self-immolating in abject humiliation, hands erupting into explosions as she jumps onto the balcony railing. maybe if she throws herself headfirst into the debris she’ll concuss herself and turn amnesiac.

“um,” deku is saying, when she turns a withering glare his way. “um, yes! yes! yeah! let’s go do that!”

so she jumps skywards, explosions blasting her high into the air, and very scrupulously does not look towards the sounds of slick ice forming just behind her until todoroki skates into her peripheral vision, hair waving flag-like behind her. ahead there’s a building with a crater clean through it where deku must have erupted from, though when she turns to comment she finds him a fair deal behind them, lumbering pace slowed further as he avoids stepping on anyone or anything along the streets. instead her eyes lock on todoroki’s where the latter is staring at her, face unreadable, and she bristles hard enough to disrupt trajectory, correcting course rapidly before she plummets into an office.

“what?”

“i’m a lousy date,” todoroki repeats, neutrally, over the wind. katsuki grits her teeth.

“and what about it?”

she’s bracing for a lot, but not the horrible, sickening eye-crinkle thing todoroki does, dark eye twinkling even as her expression stays carefully impassive. “you think you can do better, then?”

“hah?”

“next time,” todoroki intones, very precisely, and then dips ahead like a complete coward as katsuki goes a color never previously visible to the human eye, sifting through about fifteen emotions before she decides to stick to outrage.

“what the hell? you suck at asking people out, icyhot!”

“you don’t have to say yes.”

“what, you think i can’t do better than this mess? you’re on, asshole.”

“i look forward to it,” todoroki says, gravely, and then there’s a collapsed building to handle and shit to do and if anyone wants to ask why katsuki is so especially gleeful in blowing shit up they wisely keep their mouths shut. she just likes the job, all right.

(for the record, it’s still not a date until katsuki says it is.)

#qui repond #qui ecrit #anon #prompts #tdbk #todobaku #fem todobaku #fem todo #fem baku

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