#same with broken but its not hard to figure out why stubborn and broken is extremely different | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

medijoshanks · 3 years

Text

Take my hand (take my whole life too).

“I wanted to know if you were free to go on a date tomorrow. With me.”

A beat.

Silence takes over the two of you, and Draken still hasn't lifted his gaze from his feet. You blink, then "What?" you reply smartly. You must have heard him wrong, right?”

Warnings: rated M for suggestive mentions, (reader only thinking about it) but nothing explicit.

Genre: purely fluff. friends to lovers. pining after each other. confessions. first hand holding experience. idiots in love.

Word count: around 2400. enjoy!

It was nighttime in Tokyo.

A hot summer breeze was taking over the city, the calming sound of cicadas was ringing in your ears, though it may seem strange to hear them all the way up to the busy districts. They calm you as you slowly make your way down the street, even if you weren't particularly worried.

You arrive at the bike shop at the same time that Draken comes out of it, his strong pale hands stained with oil were carrying a bowl of freshly cut fruit. He looked good, his eyes were tired but they were still shining in the light of the sunset's pink and orange tint, and he looked good.

God, you were so, so, so in love with him.

But what then catched your attention was the clothes your friend was wearing– or rather, the lack of them.

You mutter a quick thanks as you take the bowl from him, looking down and picking between the pieces of red and green apples to avoid staring at his sweat cladded chest. Huge chest. Muscular chest. Huge and muscular chest, you found yourself jealous of the sweat latching onto his broad shoulders, gently dropping down to his pretty collarbones, as if caressing them. Like it was mocking you for not being able to do it yourself.

Great. Now you were thinking about it.

You manage to look away, even if it took all of your self restraint to do so. Maybe, if you had stared a little bit longer, you would have noticed the embarrassed smile enhancing Draken's handsome face. "Isn't it closing time?"

Draken gives the old clock on the wall a quick glance, its angry red numbers reading 19:53. He sighs. "Yeah, it would be if only my shitty client didn't ask for his bike to be fixed by today."

You curiously tilt your head to your side. He tries not to let it get to him. "He didn't tell you about the deadline beforehand?"

"He came by today morning, saying he needed it to be done by today but no other shops were taking him," he sighs, again, putting his hands in his jean's front pockets. It's the black pair, the same one Draken has been loving for longer than 3 years now, the one that's ripped more than a few times on the right side of his crotch. Mitsuya had to sew them up more than a few times already, the last time in Luna's presence. Guys nowadays want to keep some things to themselves, you know, she innocently commented. You had laughed so hard you had to leave the room, and Draken won't dare to ask him for help again. "I told him there was a reason why no one did, the bike was in a pretty bad state, but he told me he could pay in advance and in cash, so I figured why not. I canceled the other fixes and just got on his case."

You frown at that, handing the fruits back to him and leaning against the garage. The wind was slowly growing colder as the night approaches, and you wonder if Draken's feeling the cooling breeze or if he'll catch something dressed (underdressed) like that.

Draken wasn't the type of guy to do something he didn't want to for money. And even if he lived for bikes, for finding out why they were broken and driven by a stubborn motivation to fix them, you could tell this one was tiring him out. "Is there any reason you took on his offer?"

His head hung low at your words, but not before you could catch a growing pink color softly making its way to his cheeks- was that a blush?- and he stumbles a bit on his feet, shrugging it off. "I wanted to buy something and he gave me the amount that I needed left."

You hum at that. He was definitely not telling you the whole truth, but you let it slide. Before you can answer him, his phone rings with two new messages, and you recognize Inui's personalized tone.

You don't mind, telling him it's okay to pick up and instead, taking the new opportunity to stare as respectfully as you can at his bare body. Draken pretends he doesn't notice.

[21/9 19:59] Inupi: Hey.

[21/9 20:00] Inupi: Found any time to buy the jacket yet?

His eyes widen at the message, but he immediately returns to his default stoic face expression when you take a quick glance at him.

[21/9 20:00] Draken-kun: no, not yet

[21/9 20:00] Inupi: Is she there already?

[21/9 20:01] Inupi: Have you finished the job yet?

[21/9 20:01] Inupi: Do you want me to buy it for you?

Draken smiled at the messages, finding his friend surprisingly sweet and supportive. You suspiciously stare at him. You know it's only Inui on the phone, so why is he smiling like that?

[21/9 20:01] Draken-kun: yes. no. no. thanks though. i'll call u if i need anything

"Are you close to being done with it?" you ask him, trying to regain his attention.

He notices, naturally, and decides to be difficult. He purposely denies you of his attention and pretends to focus on his phone, staring at the Okay. his friend just texted him. You pout. "Mmhm, maybe another couple hours or so. You getting tired of me already?"

You chuckle at that. As if. "Nah, not yet. You promised to buy me pizza today and I'm not leaving without it."

Putting his phone back in his pocket, he playfully squints at you. "You're barely digesting my fruit, and now you're not only demanding more food but you're asking me to buy it. Is this what I became to you?"

You snort. "You promised. And what can I say? I'm pretty high maintenance."

Draken’s amused, a fond smile making its way to his face. "Yeah, I would know."

"Oh, please, don't act like you hate it." You mirror his smile, your own more gentle and less teasing. "You know food tastes better when you're eating with people."

He hums in agreement. "You're not wrong, I do feel better when I'm eating with you."

He says it with such a sense of familiarity that it almost has you dropping to your knees in front of him. You don't answer, can't trust yourself not to make it weird with your stupid mushy feelings, so instead you choose to take a look outside.

The darkness of the night has already surrounded you both, the sound of cicadas no longer a constant now and more like a faint background sound. There were dimly lit stars starting to show up in the sky, which was definitely not usual for nights in Tokyo, but it seemed like something about tonight was different.

You wonder how different it would be if you felt Draken's warm hands entangled with your own, swinging back and forth with your head resting on his chest. His heart would beat loudly at your closeness, erratic sounds of thump thump thump, and you would tease him for it even if your own heart was beating louder, stronger. Can two lovers look at the night sky in a different light, just like all those romance books had said?

The sound of his voice takes you out of your daydreaming. "Uh, what are you doing this weekend?"

Once his words fall upon you, you force your heart to slow down at the implication of his sudden question. You swear every minute spent with him has shortened your lifespan. You can’t help but think if this was anyone else, you'll say he was about to ask you out.

But this is Draken, and you know all about his past and his hurting, so you try to think of the question in a friendly way, the only way he surely sees it. "Today's Saturday," you glance at him, even if his eyes were now trained on the floor. You were already supposed to get dinner tonight, and you suppress the thought of him wanting to see you again tomorrow already, like a b-word would. You shake your head, not daring to let the thought carve deeper inside your brain. "Do you mean tomorrow, or are you asking me to go somewhere after dinner?"

He hesitantly smiles, and nervousness sounds uncanny for a guy like him, so you start to feel a bit anxious too. "I wanted to know if you were free to go out on a date tomorrow. With me."

A beat.

Silence takes over the two of you, and Draken still hasn't lifted his gaze from his feet.

You blink, then "What?" you reply smartly.

He rolls his eyes, frustrated, his stare now boring into yours with an intensity you haven't seen on him before, and you could sense the atmosphere turn awkward. It's the type of silence you watch in rom-com movies after an unrequited love confession, and it's dumb because this is not a confession and even if it was, it could never be one sided– the ridiculous amount of emotions you had for the man standing in front of you proves it. But then he says it, "I'm asking you to go on a date with me tomorrow."

You gasp, and consequently, choke.

On air, visibly shocked at his words, and maybe that was the wrong thing to do because you see him stiffen at your response, as he nervously continues, "I have a gift for you." and immediately scrunches up his face afterwards, like he just said something wrong. Like he just screwed it.

You think you're about to go into cardiac arrest right now with how hard your heart dropped to your feet, so harsh you feel it on your toes, and you can't help but plain out stare at him.

Him. The guy you've been pining after for all these years– Draken, the strongest best friend, his friend's heart and pillar– the one that kept them stuck together, he was the embodiment of immovable object meets unstoppable force in a battle. That same strong and feared Draken was now standing in front of you looking like an expectant child, seemingly thrown off balance with his trembling eyes and burning red cheeks, even if the temperature of the night dropped low enough that he needed to put on a shirt. God, he needed to put on a shirt.

It was astonishingly normal, how much he looked like a boy right now. He looked like Ryuuguji Ken, even all out of his element shining in a timid light, he was beautiful. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

But Draken's not a writer nor a poet, and he reckons his strength doesn't lie on his words– to describe his feelings out loud, he uses his body. Whether it was protective fists thrown at someone's face and standing up for his friends, or a comforting hug to a hurting loving one, he was a man of action. So for him to pour his feelings out in the open for you to choose what to do with them, was scary.

But he didn't take his words back, and he didn't try to make a joke of it all, even in the face of possible rejection – that was something he learned from Takemichi. Taking every fight with your head held high and standing to your feet when you get knocked down. So withholding his breath, he waited for whatever you were going to throw at him, whether it was a brutal punch to the gut or a loving hold on his heart.

The need to hug him was increasingly becoming overwhealming. You wanted to hold him tight to your chest, to cry out of joy and yell at him all the same for thinking even for a second that you didn’t feel the same.

You needed to answer him. The silence is deafening now, and his eyes are starting to close up on you, and you can’t blame him– but you can't let that happen either. So taking a shaky breath, you grab his hand, gently intertwining your fingers together.

He seems hesitant still, eyeing your face like he's trying to read what's going on inside your mind, but his eyes don't seem empty anymore and he is not moving away from your touch.

You bite your lip, searching his face for any type of regret, and when you can't find it, you decide to take your chances. With a slowly growing smile and confidence, you let him in. "Do you like me, Draken? The way you would like a girlfriend?"

Draken lets out a breath big enough you can see his chest deflating. "Yes."

"Okay. Straightfoward, okay." Taking a big breath (focusing on inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling), you pull his other hand out of his pocket and squeeze both of them in your sweaty palms. "I like you too. I would love to go on a date with you.”

You look at him, eyes glistening with a shine brighter than of all the stars tonight together, and you wait.

He stills for a bit. Distant in the back of the shop, a cricket must have crawled it's way inside filling the silence with its singing. The clock never stops ticking, even if time seems to stop right at this moment. But all you can notice right now is DrakenDrakenDraken, wearing the most dazzling smile you've ever seen on him. "Dumbass, you scared me for a second."

He tries to hold onto his beaming smile, and granted, fails miserably. He's never been one to hide what his body feels, anyway. He looks exactly like he feels, like the weight of the world is off his shoulders, and he's so handsome, you want to kiss him so badly. You don't even try to hide your giggles, knowing you must look ridiculous but feeling light and happy at a thought, he’s yours to kiss all you want, now.

You impulsively lean up and he follows you, bending down low enough so you could kiss his cheek, hot to the touch in a way only you're allowed to feel now. As you pull away, happy feet rocking back and forth under you and a very happy giant staring you down, you decide to tease him (and receive a small roll of his eyes in return). "I still want you to buy me pizza tonight, though."

"Of course."

ㅤ

Later that night, when he takes you home and drops you off with a kiss to your forehead ("you can kiss me in the mouth now, you know." "i know. but no kissing on the first date." "this isn't even our first date!" "all the more reason to say no."), he goes straight to the store where they have the black and white jacket you've been eyeing for a while now, one that coincidentally matches his own, and buys it. He gives you the gift with a pretty bow the next day, you couldn't hold your tongue in anymore and straightly told him you were in love with him. It's safe to say he suddenly had a change of heart about kissing (and doing other things) on the first date. You think it’s a good thing this was his last first one.

419 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 3 years

Text

No Time Left | Xiao x Reader

Xiao + "Lie to me, then."

Xiao closes his eyes, hating how even now, you stroke his knuckles with the pads of your thumbs, hating more that he'll one day never be able to feel this sensation again.

MASTERLIST

Request a character or a ship and I’ll write an angsty drabble ^^

It’s always been like this.

You, running forward at full speed. Him, desperately chasing behind, watching as you push on further and further away.

“You’re joking,” he whispers because that’s what this has to be, right? Some sick, twisted joke that can’t be real because if it is—if it is real, then—

If it is real, then Xiao doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, cradling his hands in yours. “But we have time. Baizhu said that I still have two months to live, and I’ll only start to grow weak in the final days. There’s still so much time for us to spend together, so—”

“So much time?” Xiao lets out a broken laugh, turning his eyes towards the midnight sky as if asking Celestia above why this had to happen to him, why this has to happen to you. “For every second you’ve breathed, I’ve lived a hundred years. Two months is nothing,” he spits. “There’s no time left.”

You keep quiet at that.

Xiao closes his eyes, hating how even now, you stroke his knuckles with the pads of your thumbs, knowing that he prefers this physical intimacy to any spoken words. He hates that he, a mighty adeptus, can be read so easily by a human. Hates how he knows he'll miss this same sensation when you’ve been handed to the God of Death in two months.

“I can bring you to Cloud Retainer,” Xiao says, pulling you closer to him. “He has cures that will make you immortal, so—”

“I don’t want that,” you whisper. “I don’t want to cheat death.”

No, of course you don’t. Because ever since Xiao met you, you’ve always refused that kind of assistance, too busy being a stubborn adventurer that declines all help from the magical spirits of Teyvat. You’re the kind of fool who likes to ignore preferential treatment, who purposefully evaded Xiao on your travels so you could experience the real world without the strength of a thousand spears by your side—a brilliant ploy until you ended up backed against a cliffside by enemies, pushed to the brink of death until his golden eyes caught sight of your figure falling to the ground where even then, you refused to whisper his name.

Xiao opens his eyes, and there’s nothing but pain in the twin ambers as they stare at you with longing.

He was fine with you evading him in the past, comfortable with you sprinting away because he knew that eventually, somehow, somewhere, he would find you. There would always be a way to catch up with that godly speed of his, and there was nowhere he couldn’t find you.

But now, you’re going to go to a place he can’t follow.

“Please,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t be stubborn about this. Your pride is nowhere near as important as your life.”

“But my humanity is,” you respond, and when you speak to Xiao in such a voice, strong and confident and determined all in one, the adeptus finds it hard to believe that you’re carrying an illness best known for stealing its host’s strength. “And we promised. When we began this—whatever this is—you promised me that you wouldn’t ask me to give up my humanity to survive. It—it was a contract, Xiao. You can’t go back on that.”

“A contract?” The adeptus laughs a broken laugh, much too bitter and wholly unsweet. “The God of Contracts is dead. My master’s will has no bearing here.”

A long pause.

“He left me, just like you plan to.”

You say nothing.

Your grip is robust as you hold Xiao’s hand, the bones beneath retaining their strength of structure, but now that the adeptus senses the elemental flow within you, he can sense how it moves at a more languid pace.

The disease is far progressed, he realizes abruptly, suddenly struck with the realization that the two months you proclaimed to have was a gross overestimate. There truly is no time left.

“I love you, Xiao.” You lift a hand to his cheek, and it’s unfair how you stare into his eyes with a gaze so expressive that it seems to capture the whole world within it: Xiao’s whole world, all of it orbiting around the life-filled pupil shining black in the center. “But you deserved to know. Soon, I’ll be gone, and you’ll have to start thinking about—”

“About what?” the man counters, beginning to feel defensive. “I refuse to busy myself with unneeded thoughts while you still walk this land.”

“No, Xiao.” Your lips are pursed and your eyebrows are scrunching up the way they always do when you get frustrated with him, when you’ve made up your mind and you’ve just begun to set on changing his. “You can’t pretend I’m not going to die. It’s—it’s part of life, part of me being human, and I’m not going to let you live a lie in my final months—”

“Why not?” Xiao wants his face to flare with anger, but the way your entire expression abruptly softens tells him that he’s doing a poor job of conveying it. Damn the bloody tears that have begun to stream down his face—and curse them for daring to do so when he’s given them no permission.

“Listen, I know you aren’t used to death, but—”

“I am used to death,” Xiao snarls, but it makes him look like more of a wounded dog rather than the illuminated beast he is. “Every single person I’ve ever cared about has died on me, but never have they chosen to—”

“I’m not choosing!” you blurt in response, and now you’ve finally begun to look properly angry. “I’m—I’m a human, Xiao, and I belong to a human world. I know you love me, but I won’t be me if I let you give me an adeptal cure.”

And that’s the awful truth of it, isn’t it?

Xiao fell in love with someone he knew would leave him. It would have been too kind if he fell for another immortal, or even a human who could be tempted to obtain the same longevity Xiao has; of course, something in him made him fall in love with you, one of the only humans in the world who was destined to die.

“Please,” he whimpers. Pathetic isn’t it? A distinguished adeptus, slayer of thousands of demons, begging at the feet of a human. “Please let me take you to a healer. You can live. We can live. I just—I just want—”

“I can’t.” Your kiss is featherlight against Xiao’s forehead. “I don’t want to be immortal, Xiao, and—”

“You don’t have to be immortal,” he croaks. “Just not mortal. Just live long enough for me to love you some more. I just want to—”

“No, Xiao. I want to die a human. Deep down inside, I think you want that, too.”

“No!” It’s the first time he’s raising his voice at you, but he can’t calm himself down now. “I want you to be alive! That’s what I want!”

And then Xiao sobs. It’s the ugliest sound he’s ever heard, raw and primal and nowhere near as devastating as the pain he feels in his heart, but you don’t move, simply holding him close until he’s just barely trembling with the aftershocks of his misery.

“We have time, Xiao. We still have time to be happy together.”

“There’s no time,” he responds. “No time unless you take a cure.”

“A magic cure?”

“An adeptal cure.”

“I won’t.”

“Please.”

“I can’t, Xiao.”

“Please.”

“I’ve given you my answer. There’s nothing else to say.”

“Lie to me, then.”

And wouldn’t that be so sweet? For him to get to believe, even for a short second, that you might not slip from his fingers?

A troubled look crosses your face, worried and hesitant and pained all at once—and then Xiao can’t help but wonder if this would even be the first lie because you’ve certainly known about this illness for a long time. His mind races back to when you finally stopped avoiding him, calling his name for the first time and claiming a change of mind that had brought you to want to get to know the adeptus who spent so long chasing you whenever you crossed paths, an exchange that took place right on the brink of Liyue’s border, just outside that awful snake-bearing doctor’s hut where he—

Xiao banishes the thought from his mind.

“I won’t lie,” you say, brushing his hair back. “You love me because I don’t lie to you.”

It’s a true statement, but Xiao can’t decide right now if he hates that or loves that about you. Because for all his affections, the weeks he spent watching over you while you stubbornly declined his help and the months he spent chasing you when you ran from him after and the years he then spent thinking about you at the forefront of his mind, he can’t stop you from dying just like everybody else.

Pathetic. It’s pathetic.

When Xiao next looks at you, he understands that you were never the mesmerizing blessing he thought you to be. No, you were nothing but a curse, meant to plague his heart now until the end of time as retribution for everything he’s ever done, everything he will do when this cruel world steals his last sliver of happiness away.

#Word Count: 1.6k #gender neutral!reader #tw: dying #genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #yaksha #adeptus #angst #sick!reader #umm this got kinda long #whoopsies #not rlly a drabble but i hop you like it ozera ^^#sfw

435 notes · View notes

firefly-in-darkness · 3 years

Text

Separation, Connection - 2/2

Pairing →Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters → Marvel Characters

Summary → Your friendship with Bucky deterioates when you catch him in a compromising position with a fellow agent.

Word Count → 3.5k

SSB2021 Square Fill → Table Sex - @star-spangled-bingo

BBB2021 Square Fill → “You’re such a tease” - @buckybarnesbingo

Warnings → 18+. Angst, jealousy, smut. sexual activities, swearing.

Betas → @fandomfic-galore // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → I cannot believe how much everybody has loved part one, honestly, I am over the moon with all your comments and disdain for Bucky’s behaviour! I hope you like this part and I cannot wait to read your comments about how things turn out...

Firefly’s Masterlist

READ PART ONE HERE!

Previously: You paused in the doorway, but you had to be strong, to carry on walking away, you couldn’t let him hurt you again. It was time to move on.

The suite was filled with an assortment of flowers, sweet treats, and gift boxes, all unopened. From bright coloured ribbon to delicate lace detailing, the space was overwhelming and the sentiment behind each one wasn’t even close to what you wanted, needed from Bucky.

You laid on your couch, looking up to the ceiling, balloons filled with confetti swaying into view. Surely Bucky knows that he can’t buy your friendship. But maybe he is sorry. You looked over to your best friend sitting on the floor beside you, supposedly deeply invested in their book until a smirk formed on their face.

Wanda turned to you, “You already know what I think you should do - go and talk to him.”

She was right, you probably should talk to him. You knew Bucky hadn’t just tried to buy your friendship. It was in the way he’d hold the door open for you, drop off a coffee when you were doing paperwork, and how he’d always check in with you before, during and after training and missions. It was sweet, and not too dissimilar to the Bucky from before. However, this time, he made you even more nervous; the boyish charm that he didn’t use with you often was more noticeable, and the mischievous sparkle in his eye made you squirm.

“Okay.” You sat up, twisting to plant your feet on the ground, “I’m going to tell him. FRIDAY, where is Sergeant Barnes?”

The AI addressed you, “He’s currently sparring in the gym.”

You skipped down the corridor, leg bouncing in the elevator and wishing you’d taken the stairs as it would have been quicker at this rate, with excitement bubbling in your chest at how you would greet Bucky, accept his apology and forgive him. Then you’d tell him how you feel about him and deal with the rejection when it came to it but right now, all you wanted was your friend back.

Gliding through the automatic sliding doors, the spring in your step propelling forward into the gym and greeting the other gym users with a beaming smile or nod. The approach to the sparring ring had the nerves tickle under your skin and you bit your lip in hopes to ground yourself.

It’s only Bucky, your best friend. He wants you in your life. You reminded yourself and weaved between the agents to look at the spectacle that had gathered such a crowd. Bucky had an agent pinned to the ground, those thick muscular thighs straddled across them and the ones in his bulging bicep rippling as he applied pressure on his forearm against their windpipe.

“Bet they’ve been in that position more than once before,” an agent laughed, joined in by a couple of other peers.

Your stomach twisted at the comment and the sudden movement in the sparring ring had you pausing the step forward. It was her; they’d twisted in the tussle and she was now facing you and straddling Bucky’s hips. She panted above him and attempted to wrap her hand around his neck.

“Oh yeah, they’ve done this before, with a lot fewer clothes.” The agent beside you commented to another chorus of sniggers and laughs.

Nails dug into the palm of your hands as you steeled your nerves, jaw clenched and tongue pressing hard against the roof of your mouth. She glanced up at the murmurs and spotted you, a smirk on her painted lips. You couldn’t stand the sight and spun on your heel, wanting nothing more than to escape, again.

Bucky rolled his head back and saw your retreating figure between the legs of the crowd. Without a second thought, he shoved the agent off him and got to his feet and shoving the people aside in a bid to catch up to you. This couldn’t happen, not again.

You smashed through the doors, almost swinging it off the hinge. You hadn’t even looked back at him and he wasn’t sure if you even knew he was there until he heard a frustrated growl, one he’d never heard from you before. Bucky turned the corner to find you slumped against the wall by the elevator, head hanging low.

He stepped forward but was stopped by your raised hand, “Please just leave me alone.”

Bucky’s heart cracked at the defeat in your voice, the way you caved into yourself. Not letting him help with whatever it was you were dealing with. He knew what had happened, saw the agent above him grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky leant his side against the wall, giving you enough space but still able to watch your every move in case you tried to run away again, “Please talk to me.”.

“I was ready to forgive you.” You glared at him, he could see the tears threatening to spill, clinging to your eyelashes and ready to fall.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky reached to cup your cheek, but you batted him away and stood up straight as the elevator made its presence known. He went to follow you into the lift but once again, you stopped him with an outstretched arm.

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that.” You gritted your teeth and took a step back, “Please just leave, James. Go back to your mating ritual or whatever that was out there.”

Bucky was at a loss for words, he knew he’d betrayed your trust when it came to not talking about his sexual rendezvous but now, he was stumped. You were jealous and he finally realised why you hadn’t accepted his gifts. You didn’t want his attention or just his friendship; you wanted his affection, his love and he wanted to give that to you.

You meant the world to him, and yes, he’d broken the number one rule when it comes to friendship, he needed to explain why he did what he did. But first, he needed to get you to listen which was the more difficult part. You were stubborn and closed yourself off whenever someone tried to pry inside that pretty head of yours.

Bucky was willing to get inside, whatever it took, whatever you needed.

“No doll, I’m not leaving you. We need to talk about this.” Bucky stepped past you and pulled you into the elevator.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to shake Bucky, and he’d follow you into your suite. You wanted him to but also didn’t at the same time. Your head and heart were in a conflict that left you frustrated and ready to snap.

The flowers mocked you, the balloons swaying with a smirk and the unopened packages sparkled in knowing. Ignoring the gifts, you strode through the suite and into the dining room with Bucky hot on your heels.

“Please can you give me some space?” You sighed, a hand dragging down your face.

“Okay,” Bucky held his hands up in submission, “look, I know what I did, I betrayed your trust, I know what I said hurt your feelings.”

You scoffed, that was an understatement, turning to look at him and leaning against the kitchen cabinets, hands braced on the counter, knuckles whitening as you tried to maintain your composure.

“I can only hope that one day you’ll forgive me and let me back in, to be on your side again. I should have told you about-”

“Don’t you dare say her name.” You pointed at him. Bucky smirked, making you even angrier than before. “Are you getting a kick out of this?”

“No, of course not, what is wrong with you?” Bucky’s smile faded instantly, and he shook his head, “I’m trying to talk to you and you’re jumping down my throat the second I speak.”

You reared your head back, mouth agape, you knew he was right but considering he dared to say it out loud was enough for your blood to boil over. You went to shove past Bucky, to escape to your bedroom or bathroom but he twisted you both around and pushed you against the wall.

“Will you just stop for one second.” Bucky held your squirming body, “I’m trying to tell you how I feel.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” The tears finally fell as you thought of him loving her, the words stuttering out, “We’re- just- friends.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and leant forward, you pushed his chest in a panic but unable to escape his hold and then raised your hand to punch him. Bucky’s hand closed around your fist before it could hit his cheek and he held your arms above your head.

“For fuck’s sake Y/N, I’m trying to kiss you.” He growled, his legs pinning your leg in place.

“Still want to kiss me after I tried to punch you?” You were angry and confused. Wasn’t he telling you about his feelings for that woman that was straddling him earlier? “You’re only interested because I met someone else. That I don’t let you get under my skin anymore.”

Bucky growled again and surged forward, this time you didn’t stop his mouth from descending on yours. The bruising kiss relaxed your body into his hold, yet it was fully alert to his flesh hand kneading at your waist and the cool metal cupping your cheek.

Your mind floated away, all coherence and why you were angry disappeared until Bucky pulled back, leaving you both panting and eyes closed. You suddenly realised that you should stop; your heart was telling you to run but your body demanded more. You wanted him.

You yanked Bucky back to you at the nape of his neck and crashing your lips to his again. Tongues swiped along each of your mouths, teeth nipped at one another. He knew exactly what to do, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip again and he began rocking your hips down against the thick muscle. Warmth bloomed in your tummy from the friction of Bucky’s sweatpants against your clothed core.

His locks found their way around your fingers and the slight tug elicited a moan from his plump lips, parting you both momentarily. Eyes locked, pupils dilated in lust, and warm heavy breaths filled the space. You were momentarily lost in the feelings, overwhelmed but unsatiated. The anger still simmered in your veins; the venom was heavy on your tongue for what he put you through, but you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. You had to have him, at least once, and it would be on your terms.

You somehow managed to spin the hunk of a super soldier around, pressing his back against the wall. The smell of Bucky; that woodsy musk and sweat overwhelmed your senses, you’d been close to him but not this close. Without thinking you, began peppering wet kisses down the column of his neck, nipping at his collarbone. He tried to explore your body, hands dipping under the hem of your shirt and you almost caved into their search before you pulled away.

Being this close to Bucky, to finally getting somewhat of what you had dreamed of was putting your head in a spin, but you needed to get him out of your system. What better way than to fuck it out? To fall over the precipice of ecstasy and let it wash away your desire and need for him. To move on from one, James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky’s brows furrowed at the uncertainty that was clearly painting your features, “are you-”

You didn’t want his reassurances right now, you just wanted him to kiss you again, “want you Bucky.”

“I know, but we need to get rid of this first,” Bucky was biting his lip as he pointed at your top.

You nodded and he slowly tugged it over your head, you were too impatient and pushed him back to the wall. Letting him drink in your body while removing your sports bra. The cool air against your skin was welcoming but didn't dampen the fire pooling in your belly.

You leant in to kiss him again, bringing both of his hands up to your breasts. It was messy, all teeth and tongues as you both fought for dominance. His fingers twisting and teasing at your nipples sent goosebumps across your skin. Bucky’s mouth began to explore your jaw and neck. It felt like he was everywhere, turning you into putty.

Is this what it felt like to be with him? To have him worshiping your body. Your mind flashed back to the moment you saw him pinning that agent against the wall, the way he’d fucked her. It soured the moment and you pulled away.

“Is this what you fucking do? Charm your way into women’s pants?” You were pacing back and forth, “I’m such a fool.”

Bucky hadn’t said a word, he was leaning against the wall and a forlorn look on his face, his hair spiking up every which way. It made your heart flutter and the noticeable erection under his pants was making your mouth water. He didn’t show an ounce of regret, he actually looked enamoured with you. No, it can’t be. You shook the thought from your head, letting the anger morph into passion again.

You strode over, he was ready to catch you the moment you leapt into his arms. Mouths crashing down on one another again in a heated battle. His hands held your back tight to his chest, your core almost, almost, getting what it needed through the material. You were lowered down, your back meeting the coolness of your kitchen table and Bucky kissed between your breasts, your eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure.

Bucky’s weight disappeared and his body moved away, leaving you cold and alone. You peeked open one eye, a slight fear that he’d have a face of regret but then you saw the look of desire and lopsided smile as he shimmied his pants and boxers to the floor.

He returned to the spot between your legs and, you almost had him where you wanted him as he reached out to pull at your leggings, but his hands paused, resting at your hips. Your brow furrowed, unsure of what he was thinking so you sat up, and he looked anywhere but your face.

You tucked a finger under his chin to bring his attention to you and whispered, “What is it?”

“Are you sure about this?” Bucky quietly asked.

“Of course, I am, I would have kicked you out the moment you got here otherwise.” You smiled and pulled him closer to press your lips to his cheek.

You slowly edged down his jaw line with small light kisses, spurred on by feeling him relax under your touch. Teeth grazed along his pulse, Bucky moaning into the now electrified kitchen. He pulled you to the edge of the table and lifted slightly to remove your leggings, placing you back down gently.

You fell back against the table while his fingers rubbed over your soaked panties, swirling in rough motions. He swiped the material to the side, his fingers glided through your dripping folds. You were completely consumed by him and the way his fingers pumped and stretched your cunt open while his thumb caressed your clit.

“You’re such a tease.” A mumble of whimpers, profanities, and Bucky, left your lips as you tried to convey your need for him to fuck you, “Please.”

The words were silenced as his cock skimmed over your folds, nudging at your bundle of nerves, teasing you higher and higher into pleasure. It felt like it had been minutes, in reality it was mere seconds, when Bucky finally pushed the tip of his cock into your cunt, walls fluttering and stretching around him.

Gasps fell from both of your lips as Bucky adjusted his weight, shifting deeper inside you slowly with your walls clenching around him. Another thrust forward and he was burying himself to the hilt, filling you up completely. Your cunt was pulsing around him, dripping around his cock with want the moment Bucky grabbed your knee and pulled it up to his shoulder.

This new angle got him deeper and deeper with every thrust, the table creaking under the movement, you no longer cared, all you could think about was him and the pleasure he was giving you.

Your back arching and head spinning as Bucky kept the pace, unfaltering as you suddenly climbed to the peak of your orgasm. His grunts and skin slapping against skin was pushing you higher and higher. The wood cut into your palm as you held tightly to the edge with each wave of pleasure until you were unreservedly consumed by ecstasy.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Bucky spluttered, his movements matching his speech, “You’re gonna make me cum too quickly if you keep clenching like that.”

Your grip loosened and traded the wooden table to skim through your folds in search of more and to keep teasing your nipples, and Bucky. You bit your lip, watching him watch you touch yourself whilst he fucked you was turning you on.

Bucky regained his composure with a grunt, pushing your fingers away with his vibranium ones and began circling your clit. The cold metal sent a rush of pleasure across your skin, heating your desire.

“Cum again, I know you got another one in you, Doll.” Bucky smirked above you as he continued to ram into your cunt and flick at your clit in perfect unison.

Your vision blurred and your body keened, letting out a silent scream, you came undone around him. Body shaking as you felt Bucky grip your hips with both hands as he hit you harder and harder until he stilled, unloading inside of you.

“Fuck,” you rasped.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you anything or?” Bucky asked, as he collected the scattered clothes around the kitchen.

“I’m fine Bucky, thanks.” You replied, facing away from him, and clipping your bra back in place.

You could feel the tension in the room, and you hoped Bucky hadn’t noticed. You knew he would, he’s not stupid, but you secretly wished that it would be ignored. There were no regrets on your part and you’re sure Bucky enjoyed himself, it just seemed like you’d have to do a lot more talking than before. Maybe you should have started with that instead of letting him kiss you or letting yourself kiss him back.

“Do you want me to stay or go?” Bucky quietly asked as he put on his shirt.

You weren’t surprised at his care before but now you were for the uncertainty that laced his words, once you’d put on your shirt, you turned to him, “Come on Buck, I’m just another one of them, you just happen to know me a little better. It was just sex.”

If it wasn’t for his close proximity, you wouldn’t have heard the words that Bucky whispered; it wasn’t to me.

“What did you just say?” You looked at him in shock, heart racing at the blush forming on his cheeks.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” He coughed into his hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, “I’ve always loved you Y/N and I’ve told you that a thousand times. Is there any chance we can be something more?”

You chewed on your lip, butterflies erupting in your belly at the prospect of what Bucky was asking, of the potential heart break you might endure. It was clouded by the way she had smirked at you in the gym, the gossip shared by Natasha and the advice Wanda had given you about self-care. It was all blurring into one and you didn’t know what to say or do. You were torn between your head and heart.

“I think it’s going to take more than gifts and sex. We had a frienship, and I trust you with my life but not with my heart.” You paused and tipped his face so you could really look at him, to see him, “I don’t think we can be something right now, but in time, I think we can get there.”

“Can we start over?” Bucky asked, eyes wide in hope as he leant into your palm.

You took a step away and stretched out your hand, “Nice to meet you Sergeant Barnes, I’m Agent Y/L/N. Do you know any decent places around here to get a bite to eat?”

Bucky’s large hand enveloped yours, a soft smile on his lips, “I know just the place.”

The End…

Separation, Connection Tag List: @coffeebooksandfandom / @ababysupernova / @learisa / @joseyrw / @bubblyz / @nadinesabre / @osterfieldshollandgirl / @clarinette07 / @amaltheametalweld / @iloveangstposts / @gogolucky13 / @ohjammers / @justiceiswater / @countonthesun / @propertyofpoeandbucky / @deaan / @iloveangstposts / @silverarmedassassin /

Everything Tag List: @kitkatd7 / @fandomfic-galore / @writerwrites / @thefridgeismybestie / @wedonttalkaboutitenough / @courtneychicken / @persephonesinfernos / @miraclesoflove / @lizzarooni

Marvel Tag List: @natasha-danvers / @little-baby-vixen / @stuckonjbbarnes / @starlightcrystalline / @nekoannie-chan / @hailhydra920 / @vollzeitliebe / @fitzsimmons-is-forever / @ladyacrasia / @emmabarnes / @selfsun

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes Fic #Bucky Barnes Angst #Bucky Barnes Fanfic #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes Smut

741 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Beautifully Spent

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

- Chapter 4 -

Lan Qiren’s lips were bloody from coughing.

Coughing and coughing, choking on blood until it flowed from all seven apertures, and he couldn’t seem to stop no matter how hard he tried.

And he did try – he didn’t dare let anyone see him now.

The injury was a few years old now, and would never leave him, yet most of the time it was under control, manageable. If anyone saw his current state, they might ask what had happened to trigger this current attack.

The original injury had happened when the Wen sect had invaded the Cloud Recesses. Lan Qiren had maintained their shields to the best of his ability, spending life as well as power to keep them back long enough for Lan Xichen to take the sect’s most precious books and escape; when he could hold on no more, he had taken his sword and his guqin both, and tried to fight back as best as he could. He was no fighter, in his view, but his swordsmanship was decent enough and he knew the Lan sect spells of destruction well – though that, too, had exhausted his spiritual energy.

And then there had been Wen Xu.

Wen Xu had broken Lan Wangji’s leg, Lan Qiren remembered, before taking him away to the Nightless City as a hostage. He remembered that, hated him for that; he would have endured any pain a thousand times over rather than let Lan Wangji be hurt. And yet, shamefully, he hated Wen Xu for hurting Lan Wangji at least in part because he didn’t want to think about how Wen Xu had treated him. ‘A teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime’ – Lan Qiren had never taught Wen Xu, but Wen Xu had feelings about his father that he didn’t dare express to the man himself, and it seemed that having any measure of authority was enough to draw his ire.

After, Lan Qiren had saved his own life through his excellent memory and grasp of healing spells, as well as a newly discovered ability to cast them even through such imperfect mediums as broken whistling or barely audible tapping. When his own life had been preserved, he had unwisely thrown himself into using his abilities on those others in his sect that needed it, the ones on the verge of death, stabilizing their spirits even as their doctors raced to heal their bodies. And so, by the time the doctors had finally reached him, there was no helping it; the overreach had crippled him, leaving horrific spiritual wounds that would never fully heal for the rest of his life. Wounds which were aggravated by stress.

The Sunshot Campaign had been – very stressful.

There had been nothing anyone could do about that, of course. His nephews were in danger, his sect in pieces; he had gone from a puppet interim leader, useful only for warming the seat for the next generation, to a leader of displaced refugees, painstakingly rebuilding after disaster. When the war started in earnest, he had even taken on the mantle of general, no matter how poor his fighting skills or his health – his sect needed him, his nephews needed him, and so he would serve.

He had served.

He had fought in battles both actual and political, using his sword and his music and his knowledge of the rules equally as weapons, and now at the end of the war Lan Xichen was sect leader in truth, as he ought to be. Even the sect elders that had so bedeviled Lan Qiren - those that had survived, anyway - were subordinate to his rule, as they should be.

And Lan Wangji…

Lan Wangji had survived the war. They had been happy for a time, they had been rebuilding – and then – and then –

Lan Qiren pressed his hand to his mouth as he coughed, the bitter and metallic taste of blood on his lips. His eyes blurred, and he thought he might be leaking blood from his eyes again, and that only happened in the very worst attacks of disordered qi.

No one must see.

No one must ask why.

In order to avoid anyone seeing him, Lan Qiren turned to make his way off the main path, blindly blundering forward, allowing his legs to go wherever they would, relying on ingrained habit more than actual sense to avoid crashing into something. He wasn’t sure where he ended up collapsing onto hands and knees, choking and gasping for air, desperately trying to calm his disordered mind and disheveled spirit, but no one had raised an alarm to summon a doctor or Lan Xichen, which meant it was good enough.

He didn’t want a doctor.

He didn’t want Lan Xichen, either. If Lan Xichen asked him what the matter was, he would be obligated to respond – do not tell lies. But no, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t say, not even if he was asked; rather, he would refuse to answer, opting for the punishment for refusal to obey his sect leader rather than reveal the truth. But that in itself would be a sort of answer: Lan Xichen would try to figure out what had caused the fit, and probably would, and then they would know.

They would all know.

“Shufu?”

Lan Qiren trembled and turned his face away as if that would help. He could scarcely hear, see only in vague blurs. Coughs wracked his body, the fault of his own stupid and uncontrollable emotions that caused his qi to become unstable and his mind to be too unsettled to play himself calming music to control it –

“No doctor,” he rasped, reaching out for Lan Xichen’s hands, for it must be Lan Xichen that had come to him. Lan Xichen respected him, he could ask him to help hide away – perhaps he could ask him to trust him, to not ask any questions. His nephew, turned headstrong in the war, might not listen, but he could always ask…

The hands that took his own were callused in familiar ways, the marks of the sword and the guqin alike; it was the signifying marks of any member of the Lan sect. But it was also familiar in other ways, too, and Lan Qiren sighed in relief, recognizing the little details – the tiny circular scar on the thumb that came from an adventurous cooking accident at age five, the slightly protruding knuckles that the diviners said suggested stubbornness, the absence of calluses unique to playing the xiao.

“Wangji,” he murmured. “Wangji, why are you here? You’re not well…”

Lan Wangji was supposed to be in seclusion.

No, that was a lie, and do not tell lies. Lan Wangji was supposed to be lying in bed, healing from the horrible injury they’d inflicted on him. Thirty-three strikes with the discipline whip, scarring him for life…it had been the lightest punishment Lan Qiren could devise that would satisfy his sect and the demands of justice and yet salvage Lan Wangji’s reputation, allowing him to go free in the future. It was the greatest kindness Lan Qiren could orchestrate given what Lan Wangji had done: he had attacked his own sect elders, violently defending a murderer even as the man wrought havoc and brought death to his own kin. He had gone even further than what his father had done, and the sect had been livid.

A punishment was necessary, and only the form was the question.

Lan Qiren had himself devised the punishment that had nearly crippled his nephew, knowing that pain and loneliness were things could be borne and healed in time, knowing that isolation could not be. He remembered He Kexin’s imprisonment, the way she looked into the future and saw nothing but more of the same, and he knew, too, that a bad reputation could be as imprisoning as the walls of a prison.

He had tried to pick the right punishment. He had tried to salvage the most important parts of Lan Wangji’s soul, his life, his future. Had he done enough?

Lan Wangji had accepted the imposition of discipline, at least; he had even demanded it, when Lan Xichen tried to find additional ways to mitigate it further. And then, when it was done, he had refused to speak to either Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren since, even though they came regularly to his side to play healing music and supervise the doctors as they cared for him.

It had by now been nearly two years, and he still did not speak to them. The last words he had said to them were an exhortation to care for the war orphan he had adopted –

Lan Qiren spat black blood onto the ground.

“Shufu!”

When Lan Qiren next opened his eyes, his head still spinning a little, he was lying on the bed in the Gentian House. He recognized it, of course, and not just from its time as He Kexin’s prison. Lan Wangji had stubbornly picked it as the place in which he would enter seclusion – it was far enough out of the way to be an acceptable suggestion. Lan Qiren nearly laughed as he realized how he must have gotten there, why Lan Wangji was able to be the one to find him: his body still remembering to walk the path to visit He Kexin even though he had not gone even once since her death.

He stopped himself from laughing only because he knew that any laughter would be tinged with unhealthy hysteria.

Beside his bed, Lan Wangji was sitting in the place that Lan Qiren usually sat, pale-faced and tired, playing back to Lan Qiren the same songs of healing that they played for him – mostly Lan Qiren, really, since Lan Xichen’s duties kept him very busy, and moreover the sight of Lan Wangji, injured as he was, caused Lan Xichen great distress.

Lan Xichen preferred to distance himself from the things that caused him distress, and Lan Qiren could scarcely blame him, even if he himself was now counted among their number. He was a reminder of what they had joined hands to do to Lan Wangji. If Lan Qiren could turn away from his own face in the mirror, he would do so, so how could he blame Lan Xichen for a bit of coldness, a bit of distance?

If it made Lan Xichen feel better, Lan Qiren would take all the blame for everything, but he even couldn’t do that properly.

“You shouldn’t strain yourself,” he said to Lan Wangji, whose fingers stilled on the guqin. “Do not be reckless with your qi or spend your spiritual energy carelessly. It will injure you further, and your health is paramount –”

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice was hoarse for lack of use. “Your health is important, too.”

Lan Qiren shook his head in negation. “Wangji, one day your wounds will heal and you will leave this place,” he said, and it was suddenly urgent for Lan Wangji to understand. “You are angry with us now, I know, whether for inflicting the punishment on you or for standing against your love, but it was the only way to keep others from knowing – if your reputation is clean and your health good, you will be able to go anywhere you like, as often as you like. You won’t have to stay…”

As I did, he thought but did not say. He was accustomed to biting his tongue about things like that – he was accustomed by now not even to think it. It was only the agony that had brought it back to him, for a little while.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice shook. Lan Qiren regretted nothing more in his life than causing his nephews pain, and yet he had had a hand in so much of it. “Shufu, what happened? Why are you like this?”

“Wen Xu –”

“Not generally. Today. Why would you not see a doctor?”

Lan Qiren faltered.

“Shufu?”

Lan Wangji should know, Lan Qiren thought. “I was concerned,” he admitted.

Lan Wangji frowned.

There was no kind way to put it. “Sizhui’s original surname was Wen.”

Lan Wangji stiffened.

He knew, then. Of course he knew.

“No one else knows,” Lan Qiren assured him. “The fever erased most of his memories, and he is very young. No one has any reason to suspect he is anything more than the nameless war-orphan you presented him as, and I will not tell anyone, not even if they ask; I would evade it, and take punishment rather than answer if they ask directly. And yet it is so dangerous – there are so many cultivators, here and elsewhere, that swore blood feud against the Wen for what they did, vowing to eliminate them root and branch until none of them were left…”

“Not you?”

“Oaths must be taken seriously,” Lan Qiren said. “After seeing what an oath of vengeance did to Nie Mingjue, however well meant it had been at the start, how could I ever swear any oath that involved killing?”

Lan Wangji nodded slowly. “How did you learn of it?”

“He forgot most of his memories, but not all – he said some things that made me think of it, and I remember, as few others do, what Wen Xu looked like, when he was young. When you think about it, there are many hints, whether in terms of timing or the known existence of a child at the Burial Mounds; that he has not yet been discovered has been largely through the beneficence of fate.”

Fate, and the fact that Lan Wangji had been in seclusion, although Lan Qiren was loathe to mention it.

Up until now, Lan Qiren had been the one largely in charge of raising little Lan Sizhui, a temporary measure while Lan Wangji healed. As a result, people generally assumed that he had been the one to adopt him – no one would expect him to take up the Yiling Patriarch’s bastard Wen child, as the people traveling through Yiling had once called him. But when Lan Wangji came out and took charge of him once more, Lan Qiren wasn’t so sure that the pretense would last; his sect, at least, knew how Lan Wangji felt about Wei Wuxian, and they might put together the truth just as he had done…

Lan Qiren could not guarantee that the Lan sect would be a safe place for Lan Sizhui. He could do his best, and would; he could keep the secret, he could try to muddy the waters and hide the facts, but if it ever got out…

It would only need one person to be blinded by anger and hate and the trauma of war. Only one person to raise their hand, and raise their voice, and then everything would fall to pieces. And yet, knowledge was an inexorable river, pressing against a dam – it could not be stopped, only averted…

“My health is poor,” Lan Qiren said, a terrible idea presenting itself to him in one moment and appearing the only possible answer in the next. “Perhaps I should go seek somewhere that would improve it.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, puzzled.

Lan Qiren met his eyes. “Your brother does not speak to me much these days,” he admitted, and ignored the flash of pain and anger in Lan Wangji’s eyes. Even if Lan Wangji disapproved, Lan Qiren did not blame Lan Xichen for it, even if it disappointed him; he understood the emotions behind his eldest nephew’s retreat all too well. “He would consent if I sought a retreat to some more restful place – and I think he would allow me an escort.”

Understanding lit Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Myself and Sizhui?”

“At least until the boy is old enough to know what to say and what not to say,” Lan Qiren confirmed, though in all honesty he wasn’t sure how long that would take, or if Lan Wangji, once released, would ever willingly come back.

“But – shufu – your teaching –”

“Who am I teaching now? There was no time for classes during the Sunshot Campaign, and we are still rebuilding; there are no classes to be held now. Other than helping your brother, who scarcely needs it, I have nothing else to do – and anyway my health really is as bad as all that. It may do well for you to get some experience in the world.”

To know what it was like to be free, Lan Qiren meant. Lan Wangji was still weak, but the worst of the discipline whip had faded into scars. It would be possible for him to go.

Lan Wangji considered for a little while.

“Yes,” he said eventually, and then suddenly smiled, which Lan Qiren had not seen him do in years and years, long ago, before the whip, before the Sunshot Campaign and the burning of the Cloud Recesses, back in the days before his too-serious adolescence… “Shufu can play the guqin as we go.”

Lan Qiren felt his ears heat up at the reminder of his old dream. “Wangji, really! I’m too old and respectable to take up as a traveling musician.”

“Not at all,” Lan Wangji said, looking pleased with himself. “Perhaps we will stay in inns instead of stables and play music to your former students rather than to strangers, but it will be good.”

Perhaps so. That was the longest sentence he had heard Lan Wangji utter in ages – perhaps it would be good for him to go, too, rather than just being for Lan Sizhui’s sake.

“I will raise it with Xichen,” Lan Qiren said, but Lan Wangji shook his head and pressed him back down.

“I will talk to Brother myself,” he said firmly. “You rest.”

Lan Qiren watched him go.

Perhaps it would work out after all, he thought, and closed his eyes. Perhaps…

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #beautifully spent

151 notes · View notes

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5.5 Bonus

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local feral human spends some time with their new family. Four short bits featuring Daphne (Maiden OC), Bela, Lady D, Daniela, and a surprise guest. Enjoy. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts, 5: Heart Of The Matter

5.5: Family

“Wait, you’re telling me that you came here willingly?” You asked, mouth agape, eyes wide. It felt like every time you talked to Daphne she had something incredible to say. Which was, of course, why she was your favorite maiden to talk to. That, and the fact that she had adapted so quickly to your ‘charming personality’. So far she was the only servant you had been willing to be honest with. Mainly about your feelings regarding your blood bond, but also just about your relationship with Cassandra in general. Something about Daphne simply made her incredibly approachable. From what you had heard, you weren’t the only one to think as such, with her being fairly popular among the castle workers.

“More of us do than you might expect. Some consider it an honor to serve one of the four Lords, and Castle Dimitrescu is certainly… nicer than either the factory or the reservoir. Personally, I came here for a friend of mine. She, well, had less of a choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being here without knowing anyone, so it felt like I only had one option. Can’t say I regret my decision, if you can believe it,” Daphne explained, folding laundry all the while. At the same time, you carefully sort through the not yet washed clothing, separating them into two baskets. After all, you wouldn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to end up with a pink dress! Technically this wasn’t your job, nor did you have a job at all, but you hated having idle hands- especially when talking to someone who was working. At first Daphne had protested, but she had given in upon realizing just how stubborn you could be.

“That’s… impressive. I mean, holy shit, that's a real ride or die friendship right there. Is she, uh, is your friend still, you know, around?” You stuttered, cursing your tongue for asking such a thing. If the answer was no, you were going to feel like a real asshole. Which, admittedly, you had a tendency to be. But this wasn’t one of the times where it was intentional. Thankfully, Daphne is all smiles, and even seems amused by your spluttering.

“Yes, we’re even roommates. Well, us and five others. Possibly with a sixth one on the way, if we ever get someone to fill the empty space,” she replies, pausing to think. Then she’s back to work, refusing to waste any time. “Speaking of roommates… I know I said I’m not one for gossip, and I meant it, but a little songbird told me that Cassandra seems to be in a much better mood these days. Are the two of you, well, getting along? It would be nice to know that soulmates can overcome even the roughest of introductions.” There’s a hint of something odd in her tone, and you take a moment to wonder what she’s (unintentionally) hinting at. Had she met her soulmate, only for things to go poorly?... Before answering her, you make a mental note, deciding to see if any of the other maidens had a scar across their nose.

“It’s not like she and I are dating or anything. We’re just, you know, not hating each other. Currently,” you said, shrugging. But Daphne raises an eyebrow at you, and you find yourself instinctively feeling guilty, somehow feeling small next to the shortest person you knew. “Alright, alright, we might have… Okay we kissed. And promised each other not to die, because having your soulmate die hurts like hell. Also maybe she showed me her mom’s art collection and I made a joke about the titty sculptures because holy shit, this house has a lot of titties.” At this, Daphne bursts into laughter, grinning from ear to ear.

“Amen to that, for sure.”

ii.

“So… fan of science, I see,” you say, awkwardly, bouncing a little on your heels. Next to you is the eldest Dimitrescu daughter, who had unexpectedly joined your table in the library. There were several other places she could have sat, with both more comfortable seating and more workspace, but for some reason she had chosen here. So far she hadn’t said a word. Hell, you hadn’t spoken to her since your first meeting, where she had suggested killing you. Naturally, you weren’t quite sure what to make of her. Something told you that she felt much the same about yourself.

“Fan of oversimplification, I see,” Bela counters, after a few tense seconds. Then she sets down her book- a heavy text about Romanian avian fauna- to give you her full attention. “It would be more accurate to say that I enjoy studying biology, particularly the branch of zoology.” Well, this conversation was certainly… happening. Honestly, you couldn’t tell whether she was legitimately judging you, or merely chaffing you for her own amusement.

“You’ll have to, er, forgive me for being overly broad. Consider it a side effect of my nerves, those themselves being due to our unsavory introduction. In case you don’t recall, you put that sickle of yours into my shoulder,” you reminded, with a sarcastic smile. To your surprise, Bela chuckles at this, almost as if fondly remembering the incident. Seriously, you think, why did my soulmate have to be from this family?

“Staying silent was an option. Perhaps that would have suited you better?” Bela says, now clearly teasing, smile much more genuine than your own. Knowing she had a point, you’re quick to blush, mildly embarrassed.

“Touche. I am curious, however, why you decided to sit next to me in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have tried starting a conversation if you hadn’t,” you explained.

“Like I said… I enjoy studying zoology,” Bela replies, with a sly grin. It takes you a few moments to understand the intended implications. Once you do, however, you’re giving her a hard stare. Then you scoot your chair a few inches away from her, in exaggerated movements. “Don’t worry, I was only joking. Though you certainly are an interesting human. Much more, hmm, cheeky? Compared to the servants, at least.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that they simply prefer being alive, as opposed to not being as snippy. Except maybe Daphne, now that I think about it. Very sweet, that one,” you muse. “Regardless, I think I’ll return to my book now, for it lacks a tongue, and is therefore less likely to taunt me.” Doing just as you had said, you open the book, holding it a bit higher than what would be comfortable, so that it becomes a ‘shield’ of sorts. Nothing was quite as satisfying as subtle body language.

Accepting your words with a shrug, Bela also resumes reading, turning to a bookmarked page. Roughly an hour of relative quiet passes. Neither of you so much as glance at each other, not even when she drops the pen she had been taking notes with. In the end, you are the one who leaves first, and finally the silence is broken. You give your goodbyes, and Bela returns them politely. Though you do not know it, she sets her book down as soon as you leave, pausing to think about you. Now that things had ‘calmed down’, it was reassuring for her to know that you weren’t always full of spite. Still, you held onto your cleverness (for the most part), leaving her with no doubt about the universe’s decision. You were her sister’s soulmate.

iii.

“It’s official: I’m lost in a creepy castle. The universe hates me. Probably should have realized that sooner, considering how it decided to introduce me to my soulmate,” you mutter, scowling deeply, as you wander unfamiliar halls. How had you even gotten lost? Sure, you had taken a wrong turn, but it hadn’t taken long for you to realize your mistake! Evidently you somehow managed to make another one while backtracking. Now you were standing in the center of the corridor, hands on your hips, desperate for some maiden to come rescue you. What you really didn’t want was Cassandra to find you, because she’d make fun of you for the rest of your life. It’s not like she had specifically joked about you getting lost before. Except that was exactly what had happened.

A few minutes pass uneventfully. There aren’t even any distant sounds of life; no footsteps, nor echoing voices, nor the squeaking of floorboards. All you can hear is your own breathing. As well as the occasional sigh, admittedly. By this point, there’s a part of you that’s starting to panic. After all, there was a chance that the castle was big enough for certain sections to be abandoned. Hopefully that’s not the case, you think, I mean, they’d cut the power to those parts, right? Here’s hoping… With that in mind, you get back to wandering, figuring that you’d have to eventually run into a familiar landmark. Or better yet, someone who actually knew the castle’s layout.

When salvation at last reveals its holy visage, it is not in the form of a lowly servant, rather the muffled voice of none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. Neither her exact words nor who she’s speaking to is clear. At first, you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, but you quickly approach one closed door, then another, searching for the source. Several doors later you’re certain you’ve found her. By then you can tell that she’s not alone. Not wanting to seem rude by interrupting, you take a few steps back, leaning against the wall to wait. For the most part you still cannot make out what’s being said, but a few words do reach your ears.

“-expected more from you. How am I-” the voice gets cut off, not by Alcina, rather a sudden gust of air, akin to massive wings flapping. When the speaker continues, they are both louder and angrier. “Someone is listening. Have you not taken steps to ensure our privacy?” Then the door is swinging open, revealing your soulmate’s mother. At first she’s practically shaking with rage, but her expression turns to shock when she sees you.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, clearly stressed, as she steps into the corridor. There’s movement behind her, although you cannot make out any details. Besides, you’re quick to answer her, wishing to avoid her wrath (and that of whoever she was speaking to).

“I’m so sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I was walking from the dining hall to Cassandra’s studio, and I took a wrong turn. I’ve been wandering for half an hour now. When I heard your voice, I thought perhaps I could, well, enlist your assistance. But you were busy, so I figured I’d wait outside. If I had-...” you pause, gulping, as the other figure steps into view. It’s a face you’re all too familiar with. One that popped up countless times through the village, and again throughout the castle, the owner’s name always spoken with acclaim, with worship. Mother Miranda, in the flesh, wings spreading out behind her, somehow cutting a more impressive silhouette than even Lady Dimitrescu. Instantly you’re falling to your knees, knowing that your sharp tongue was no match for this practical goddess.

“Who is this, Dimitrescu? Why isn’t their blood staining your claws?” Miranda questions, gaze never leaving your trembling form.

“This… this is one of my daughters’ soulmates. They were brought in with the last group of sacrifices,” Lady Dimitrescu explains, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Twas a true testament to Miranda’s power, as well as her influence, that she could make someone so powerful seem so weak. Which was exactly why you were shaking with anxiety. But to your surprise, the goddess does not immediately order your execution for your trespass.

“And already they know their place, hmm? Kneeling before me?” Miranda says, a strange smile dancing on her lips. Whatever anger she had been feeling a minute prior had faded, though you couldn’t even begin to guess as to why. Regardless, both Alcina and yourself are quite relieved, though neither of you are quick to show it. “Either they have a good head on their shoulders, or you still take care of some of your duties. Very well, they may live. For now. But I expect next week’s report to be far more favorable. I don’t need to remind you of the price for failing me.” With that said, Mother Miranda turned to leave, a swirling mass of dark feathers flying past you.

A minute passes, maybe two, before either of you feel capable of speaking up.

“Let’s get you back where you belong, yes?” Lady Dimitrescu says, quietly, before placing her hand on your shoulder to guide you. Tension hangs clear and heavy over both of you. Even as you walk down corridor after corridor, the feeling does not ease. At least not until you’re back in familiar territory, near where you had originally made your mistake, finally able to breathe a little. It’s here that Lady Dimitrescu pauses to speak once more. “Tomorrow I will assign one of the servants to give you a tour, in the hopes that this does not happen again. Furthermore, I ask that you forget everything you heard earlier, for it is neither your business… or my daughter’s.” You’re quick to nod, and with that she bids you farewell, leaving you alone. Now, you think, was it left from here, or right?

iv.

“I’m just going for a walk. Why do you care so much? It’s not like it’s any of your business,” Daniela assures you, despite the fact that all you had done was say ‘hello’. If this was her attempt at casting aside suspicion, she had done a terrible job of it. What made her so nervous? Was it even worth investigating? Only one way to find out.

“You’re rather bundled up, planning on being out for long?” You ask, trying to sound casual, leaning against the wall as you did. In response, Daniela pretty much stomps her foot. There’s something odd in her expression, however, that implies your question hit a soft spot. Certainly wasn’t what you had expected. “Don’t mind me, just trying to make conversation with my soulmate’s sister. Speaking of her… have you seen Cassandra? Is she, perhaps, going with you?” A little misdirection never hurt anyone. Probably.

“No!” Daniela replies, fast as a gunshot, too much emphasis to be unintentional. But she realizes her mistake as soon as she’s made it, and makes a clear effort to relax herself. “She’s probably in her studio, doing whatever it is she calls art, on the other end of the house. Besides, I don’t want any company for this walk.” For a moment you merely squint at her, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, you decide that it really is none of your business, being more than satisfied by what teasing you’ve already done.

“Alright, alright. Well then, I’ll leave you be. Just… be careful, yeah? If you get hurt, and your mother finds out that I didn’t stop you from going… not sure Cassandra could save me,” you say, with a shrug. At first Daniela can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved, but she seemingly settles for the latter, giving you a brief nod before heading outside. As the door shut behind her, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done the right thing.

#cassandra x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #yeah I'm back #don't be weird about it

210 notes · View notes

reuinx · 3 years

Text

Red Lights (Yelena Belova x Reader)

Summary: You've been having a tough time lately. It's Yelena's goal to brighten up your day. The day takes the form of an afternoon spent in Yelena's car teasing, laughing, and singing. It looked like the day couldn't possibly get any better until tragedy struck.

Prompt by Anon ask: “Kissing your lover’s forehead as they’re dying in your arms but reader is dying please and thank you “

Word Count: 2,047

Paring: Yelena Belova x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of blood (Gore kept extremely minimal), tragic accident resulting in death.

Translations: Malishka (Baby), Dorogoy (Love)

Masterlist

Have you ever had those days when nothing goes right? You miss the bus, you say the wrong thing, you lose your temper, and you spend the rest of the day wondering what you could have done differently? It was one of those days. Using this logic, you are faced with a dilemma - you don't want to stay at home, but you don't want to stay alone either. You tentatively texted Yelena to see if she was free; she was. Summer heat caressed your exposed arms, leaving you with sun-kissed skin.

Despite the heat of the summer, you kicked pebbles across the ground like a child. The sound of her approaching car preceded your sight. The noise of her exhaust was followed by the blaring of Babooshka by the brilliant Kate Bush on her radio. Typical Yelena. She was driving her obnoxious yellow Ford Mustang; it was convertible. She made sure she knew that. It was her pride and joy, and she loved nothing more than it; well, she did love something more than that car, you.

Parking along the footpath, she had the roof down, and her blonde hair was flowing. While one hand was on the steering wheel, the other was hanging outside her window. In a pure white shirt, she exposed the muscles tense in her arm. Her sunglasses slowly slipped down the bridge of her nose as she peered over at you. She was undressing you with her eyes. She was chewing gum; she moved her lips slowly to match her motion.

“Still moody are we, Malishka?” Yelena called out from her car. The smile on her face was always devilish. Even though today didn't go as planned, you felt like it would be heaven on earth with Yelena.

“No”, You replied flatly as Yelena pushed her sunglasses back up to hide her eyes; she turned to face straight ahead of her as you made your way towards the car.

“I’m going to keep doing it until you admit you’re moody.”

“Keep doing wha-“ Before you could finish, She shoved her hand down on the horn as the already noisy auto began honking. Those who passed by started looking at the car with wonder. Redness flushed your face as you raced to the car.

“Yelena! Stop!”

“Mhm?”

“I’m not-“ You swiftly shook your head as the horn continued its outcry. She was stubborn, but so were you. She always won; there was no fighting with Yelena.

“I’m moody!” The moment you admitted it, she took her hand off the horn, resting her head back against the headrest as she stared up at you with a toothy grin.

“God, I hate you. You know that right?”

“Nah, you love me actually.” She was right about that. Yelena leaned across to open the door for you as you made your way to the passenger side. After entering, you shut the door behind you and automatically turned down the radio.

“Trying to go deaf are you?”

“Mhm?”

“I said are you trying to go deaf?”

“What?”

“I said- Oh forget it! Stop teasing me. I’m just looking after you!”

“What are you, my mother?”

“Feels like it sometimes, El.”

“Ha,” Yelena grumbled. Your laughter today was finally made possible because of Yelena's reaction. You were comforted by her. Talking to your person always made your worries go away. Yelena tutted and pulled your seatbelt into the latch plate as she leaned over your body, grasping your belt to make sure it was secure. Yelena put the car into gear as it began to move, the engine rumbling to life as she drove at the appropriate speed. She would never dream of speeding with you in the car.

“Do you want to talk about today?”

“No no, it was just one of those days.”

“Good, I don’t have to kill anyone...”

“No killing anyone.”

“Unless…”

“No”, You shushed her as you glanced at her with the corner of your eye; Yelena was smiling. She looked genuinely happy, which was a relief to you. She radiated happiness onto you; it was impossible to escape.

“It’s a beach day today.” The comment came from Yelena.

“Are you going to throw me in?”

“Actually… I’m still debating it.”

“What’s the pros and cons?”

“Con is that you’re pissed.”

“What’s the pro?”

“It will make you laugh.” You hadn't encountered anyone with the same kind of personality as her. Selflessness characterized her. Her heart was pure gold. Although she was tough, when her walls were broken, she became the softest person you'd ever met. It was easy to love her. She reached over for your hand; she took it in her hand before placing your hand on the clutch. To change gears, she held her hand yours, moving your hand in the desired direction. She was reluctant to let go but eventually cleared her throat to ask. Freeing your hand.

“Will you change the CD, Dorogoy?”

With ease, you opened the glovebox and located the CD binder. The 2000s saw a lot of popularity with these. Not now. Yelena's argument "It can fit so many CD's in it!" She wasn't wrong. It did. There was tons of CD's from all different genres in it. She bought CDs of the songs you played on your phone, not just the ones she liked. Even though she hid it from you, you started to notice when her binder began to fill up. You flicked through the CD’s until one caught your attention. As you saw a blank CD with writing on it, you paused. "For You" is spelled in Yelena's impeccable handwriting. While her eyes rested on the road, you turned to look at her, returning your focus to the CD. Yelena was smiling softly at you while you were busy changing CDs.

“You made this for me?”

“I did. I wanted to make you a playlist and well, there’s no Bluetooth so I did the best I can.”

“You’re too sweet. But… You do know downloading music and burning it on a CD is pretty illegal.”

“If your worrying over me downloading music, you should see what else I do” Yelena released a chuckle as the music played from the radio. You leaned over as you adjusted the volume up as the song The Chain by Fleetwood Mac came through.

“I know you like them wood people”, Yelena murmured under her breath. Suddenly, you felt the excitement in your stomach rise. What else was on this CD? We get so caught up in the big things when we fall in love with someone. The little things are always the most important. You weren't just going to sing; you were going to perform as well. As you sang at the top of your lungs, you began to sway in your chair.

“And if you don't love me now -“ Your hand clenched as if it was holding an invisible microphone as you held it to Yelena’s lips. She smiled, licking her lips as she finished the lyric.

“You will never love me again.” She sang without hesitation, and while her voice is usually harsh, it was smooth and soft this time. When you heard her singing, you burst into laughter and clapped your hands in glee. The music picked up, and your hands moved with the lyrics. You didn't miss a word. Yelena was beginning to tap with the beat of the song on the steering wheel, laughing at how passionate you had gotten.

“I could listen to you forever.”

“Unlucky for you, you have forever with me”, You chirped out as Yelena frowned, turning her head quickly to glance at you.

“Why would that make me unlucky?”

“I’m a pain in the ass.”

“True but you’re my pain in the ass” She sounded more and more sincere with every word she said. Your singing continued unabated. As soon as the next red light came on, Yelena slowed her car down to a stop. It was now possible to see the beach. You were too busy performing for nobody to notice that Yelena was watching you. When she saw you happy, her eyes glowed with childhood excitement. All she wanted was for you to be satisfied. Because you were focused on the big things like the beach, you missed the little things like how Yelena looked at you. Anyone would kill for the kind of look she gave you. Yelena’s expression suddenly changed when you looked at her, her face filled with horror. She wasn’t making a face at you but something behind you.

“What’s wrong?” Suddenly, everything went black. You lost all sense of time and purpose of self. Feeling an overwhelming sense of emptiness, you thought it overtake you. You felt alone. Yelena? Where was Yelena? Was Yelena okay? Had you fallen asleep? There was a noticeable pressure in your chest, almost as if it was being squeezed. You felt your lips tingle, and your lungs fill with air.

"Hey!" A distorted voice echoed inside your head, and you couldn't understand what was being said or even who it was?

"Wake up! Please wake up!" It was beginning to become more legible until a voice broke through the silence.

"Malishika!" Yelena, it was Yelena.

The world was blurry as your eyes snapped open. As you blinked rapidly, flashing lights obscured your view of the figure above you.

"Stay with me, stay with me please." You now knew what the pressure on your chest was; Yelena had been pressing hard and fast on the center of your chest. It was her rescue breaths that tingled your lips. The haze in your vision was clearing as you could see Yelena. It was evident from her face that she had been crying. Spikes of blood could be seen on her face as sweat ran down her forehead. It wasn't her blood. It was yours.

In your disorientation, you did not know where you were. You were lying on the road when you suddenly remembered being in the car. Your eyes focused on Yelena's car as you tilted your head to look past her. Now you know what Yelena saw behind you. As you were sitting on the passenger side, a car ploughed straight into you through the red light. Yelena must have rescued you from the wreck. With growing dizziness and fatigue, your eyes began to flicker shut. The feeling of Yelena grasping your cheeks caused your eyes to dart open.

"Don't you dare close your eyes on me. I've lost everyone, I can't lose you too. I just can't. Please. Please don't go anywhere.. Just stay. Please just stay. I need you, god I need you. Please." She was begging you, pleading with you. The moment you tried to move, your body refused to react; you were powerless. With one hand on your stomach, she firmly grasped it. It was now clear that her previously pristine white t-shirt was heavily stained red. You felt queasy thinking that was yours.

"Hey, I'm okay. I'm okay baby. It's okay." You managed to whisper out as your voice was weak.

"It's not okay, it's really not okay. I don't know what to do! I can't stop the bleeding" Yelena's voice was firm, her jaw extending with the words she spoke as she tried to contain herself. She sobbed, her eyes flicking upward.

"It's okay, El. You can stop. Just stop."

"Don't fucking say that, don't ever fucking say that. You aren't going anywhere, you aren't. This is not a goodbye! Don't give me that bullshit. The paramedics will be here soon, they will! " She snapped.

"Baby, it's okay. It's going to be okay. Yelena? Do you hear me? "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"I love you. God, I love you. Don't forget that, you hear me?" Yelena dipped her head down as she slowly pressed her lips against your forehead. She placed her free hand into your locks of hair as she slowly began to run her fingers through the strands of your hair.

"Baby?" She called out one last time. Your eyes locked onto her green eyes, admiring them one last time. The world around you faded to grey; the last thing you heard was Yelena's scream.

383 notes · View notes

hpalways · 3 years

Text

Broken Petals || Kazuha

Note: This is a hanahaki disease Kazuha oneshot! So heads up, angst is waiting hehe

Some days, he could hear it, crawling right out of him. Other days, it would be serene as the rippling waters below him. It usually altered between the two, distorting his reality for a few while the wind tickled his ears and the trees warned him of the inevitable. He was connected with the outside world, allowing them to guide him on all aspects of his life, because he longed for freedom. But this one very thing, he shrunk away from their touch, too stubborn to rescind the very thing that kept him going.

His eyes trailed to the [h/c] locks that furled with the breeze, to the gentle smile that was locked on your lips as you pulled at the wagon through the fields. Being the small townsperson you were, you worked in the fields of Inazuma daily until you had nothing left to lose. It was a difficult life, but most had no other choice, shouldering burdens to carry a family back home. Your mother sick and your brother too young, you were the one to take care of everyone.

But deep inside, he sensed something more from you. It was a longing of freedom, just as he did. Each time he approached you, he could hear relief in your breath -- relief from the harsh labor that always came to haunt.

"Do you need help?" he asked quietly, extending a hand to the handle of the wagon you lugged.

You shook your head, gratefully smiling nonetheless. "You know it's always going to be a no. Besides, I'm almost done anyway. Instead, why don't you tell me a poem like you do sometimes? That, in itself, helps me a lot."

Pondering for a second, he watched your figure for a silent moment, red hues drinking you in. That was what he always loved about you. You were so selfless, so graceful, and so beautiful. You didn't need to be a noble to show off such attributes to everyone -- you didn't need to wear silky robes to become the person everyone looked up to. Nothing you did was ever taken for granted, because you lived your life with a smile, despite never being able to achieve your true dream.

In the dark shed, he realized how tight spaced it was. Cheeks glowing warmly to be in close proximity to you, he stayed on the side to see you shoving the large wagon back. He dug his heels into the cool dirt when you turned to him, wiping sweat off your forehead happily. "No poem today? Aw, that's too bad." Stepping up to the samurai, you pat his cheek in a friendly manner. "Your presence was enough, so that's okay. Oh... I shouldn't dirty you in my hands. I'm sorry about that." Just as you were retracting your hand, he instinctively latched his fingers onto your arm to stop you. [e/c] irises widened momentarily, bewilderment coloring your features.

There was nothing romantic about this -- not at all rosy like the poems he made up with his thoughts on you. He let out a sigh and released your arm. "My apologies," he whispered, stalking right out of the shed before you could utter a word. "I need to get going now."

His trek back to his home was a quick one, with stealthy footsteps from all his training as a samurai. The sun was setting warmly, casting shades of orange and pinks across the skies in an ombre fashion.

Though each step was quick, the heavier it got as it went on.

He thought about the Vision Hunt Decree and how he would have to escape from Inazuma soon. No matter what, he couldn't stay here, not when all his aspirations were kept in his vision. After what his dear friend went through to fight against the Decree, Kazuha could never sit back and allow the officials to rob of him.

If he were to leave Inazuma, then there was one thing he wanted to do, to wrap things up and cut clean ties.

Arriving at his home, he walked into the cold building. Just before he could go in deeper, an unfathomable pain spread through his torso. Releasing a gasp, he crumbled to the floor, clenching his stomach and curling up into a ball. Salty tears clung to the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision and setting the world on fire. He was burning along it, fireworks going off internally, trickling red, red, and more red, that soon grew black.

His nails curled into the wood planked floors while he whimpered, the agony becoming unbearable. Getting into a fitful cough, every sound he let out wrenched at his soul, tearing it into pieces. They took their time, shoving an arm down his esophagus and cackling in joy at his suffering.

One last cough stopped the pain. Something flew out of his mouth, daintily spinning in the air like a lone ballerina. It was a petal, coated in thick blood at the edges.

Another one.

Numbly staring at the sight, he thought that it looked beautiful. It was almost as beautiful as you, a soft texture to its surface, yet stronger around the edges. It was almost as beautiful as you, but nothing could ever match your beauty.

He was going to endure this. For you.

The next day, he decided he had to rip the band-aid off. Time was less on his side by the day and soon he would have to leave.

Fortunately, today you had a day off, so you invited Kazuha out to stroll around the paths of Inazuma. Of course, he agreed to it, knowing that this was the opportunity he was waiting.

The two of you aimlessly wandered within the stretching paths, taking in the purple petals that sat prettily among branches and listening to the song of noisy birds. How stunning it was today, causing the corners of your mouth to lift up in sheer excitement. Your eyes lapped it up like a curious child running through the fields during free time, observing every little thing that failed to be inspected as a farmer. Staring at you, his heart squeezed. There was nothing more he wanted than to be by your side.

"The Vision Hunt Decree is growing stronger by the day," you suddenly brought up, sorrow taking over your usual face. "You're leaving, aren't you, Kazuha? I know how precious that vision is to you."

But you're just as precious to me, he wished to say. "Indeed," he said instead, glancing up to the wispy clouds. "I am being called to leave. I don't believe it will be too hard to sneak out of here."

Your eyes watered and you opened your arms to wrap him into a hug. Skin brushed silk and your fingers clenched tightly to his back, trembling in sadness. Your head leaned into his shoulder, breathing him in. He let out a breath in surprise, heart pounding at your warmth, your skin, your touch. "I will miss you so much. I will miss your poems and your comforting voice and the time we spent fooling around like nobodies."

That was when he came to a realization. He was selfish for holding onto you, for even thinking that you would come with him when so many responsibilities held you down. Your situation and his were different, leading you two onto separate routes, never to be met again.

He didn't want to let you go. It was driving him insane. It was driving him so insane a hand plunge into his chest.

"Sometimes I yearn for more than what I have... more than what I deserve," he muttered, pulling away from you and putting a gap to the distance from the light of his life.

"I do too," you agreed, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "Come visit me when the Decree is over, okay? Promise me."

How could he give you false hope like that? Even if the Decree were to be lifted, how could he ever dare face you again after such heartbreak? He knew you didn't love him the way he did you, but he chose to stay ignorant about it. And now... because he came to terms with it, it stung like hell just to be by your side. "I promise," he lied, the words slipping from his lips like slippery honey running down. Too sticky to hold on. And too sweet to ever be true.

"I love you, Kazuha," you murmured, planting a kiss on light colored locks, the action erupting goosebumps all over his body.

Those were the words he dreamt of hearing from you. He cried because of those dreams, but he cried even more because the meaning behind them were not the kind he sought.

Soon enough, you left, your back turned on him and growing smaller in the distance. He watched you without ever taking his eyes off of you, feeling the same pain burst into his system. He continued to keep his eyes on you when he crashed onto the ground, wheezing in raspy breath. A waterfall of tears slid down his cheeks, combining into one at the bottom of his chin, his features contorted from torment.

He would endure this for you. Always.

A kick to the gut sent him reeling and he doubled over, hugging himself as he coughed, over and over again. A petal flew out... and then another...

A flurry of petals escaped his mouth, sprinkling the sky of petals. This was more than what he would normally get.

Coughing turned into hacking, succumbing him into the earth. He was being suffocated, suffocated by a love that was never his to begin with. With one last cough -- a clean petal rested on the side of his cheek, representing you. Fluttering his eyes shut, he decided that he would endure this, even death, for you.

#genshin impact #gender neutral reader #Genshin #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact scenarios #oneshot #Kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha oneshot #romance #love #angst #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #death #character death

153 notes · View notes

fictional-scenarios · 3 years

Note

hello! can i request an angsty fic with aizawa and f! reader where they break up? thank you!

i hope you enjoy this! i did it from his perspective, hope thats okay! also i know he probably wouldn’t actually be like this in a relationship, but for the fic, this is the only way i could see him being at fault :3

always appreciate reblogs and comments! if you’d lie to support me, here’s my ko-fi!

In the worst of the aftermath, Aizawa was not angry. He was never angry, not truly. Not even when he’d snap at his friends for bringing up her name, or when he’d feel rage churning in his stomach at the thought of her being with another. He was never angry.

He was sad. So devastatingly, core achingly sad, that it kept him bed ridden for days at a time. Work, come home, eat and sleep. It wouldn't end.

He’d always considered his quant home a safe haven, but lately it’d been feeling like a prison. It felt like a haunting museum, little bits of her as far as the eye could see. The memories were so vivid, he could still almost see the figure of her standing in his doorway. He could see her leaning on the window sill peering outside. He could see her shoes by the front door, her toothbrush in a cup upon his sink. He could see her under the covers with him, hushed laughter and soft snoring into the early morning.

Even now, he see’s her beside him in bed. He see’s the indent of where she should be, now terribly empty. It makes him feel cold, alone.

But, being alone had never been a huge issue to him before all this. In fact, he knows it was the downfall of him.

She’d just wanted him to go out with her now and then. She just wanted to take photos with him, hold his hand out in public without feeling like she’d been forcing him.

Aizawa buries his face in his hands, his back leaning against the cold wall, blanket curled around his waist like a weight.

All she had wanted was just a little more life. Just a few more kisses, a few more hugs. A few more signs that he truly cared for her, but he wouldn’t hear of it. She knew he loved her, why couldn’t that be enough?

He refused public dates that weren’t anniversaries or events. He hated photos. He hated when she’d clasp fingers around his own, hated it because all it brought was attention. Paparazzi's scavenging and ruining every affectionate and tender moment they’d shared together in public.

He never understood why it had to be public. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why she would insist they get out and so something together. Why couldn't hanging out in the seclusion of his home be enough?

Always so stubborn, especially when it would have been the correct time to give in. His annoyance and unwillingness to be anything other than slow moving and low maintenance drove her away from him. He was just fine being on his own, so why couldn't she?

‘I feel like you’re embarrassed of me,’ She’d cried, having hit her breaking point. ‘I feel like you don’t even really care about me.”

Aizawa’s jaw tightens. Of course I care about you. Why else would I want you here?

He should have said that. But, he didn’t. Just silently witnessed the destruction unsure of what to do next. Unsure of whether to argue, or remain dormant and quiet. Not quite apathetic, but he was never one for a shouting match.

Unfortunately, he chose to remain still in the face of a crumbling heart.

‘Even now, you won’t say a word. You don’t ever talk to me, Shota. You never ask how my day was, or if I want to go do anything. Why do I feel like I’m just here so you’re not lonely?’ She’d had fat tears welling in the pits of her eyes. She looked drained, broken. ‘I need more,’ Voice cracking, a terrible realization she’d stumbled upon. ‘I need more than that.’

It was a tense moment of silence. She shook her head and choked back a harsh sob.

‘Then that’s it.’ Lip trembling, feeling unwanted. ‘I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m leaving.’

At the lucid memory, Aizawa wish's he could go back and punch himself in the head. Say something, you idiot, he’d scream. Tell her to stay.

She’d passed him by, and the door slammed shut before he even turned to watch her go.

It’s been weeks now, and he can’t seem to get his head right. It’d taken days before she came to collect her things, something he hoped would never come to be. A stupid part of him believed that she’d come around for some reason. It’d happened before- her storming out, him never changing, her missing him enough to just... Get over it. This time, however, was much different.

Sinking in the memories, Aizawa feels his throat tighten at everything she’d said, and even worse, everything he didn’t say. His phone lights up beside him.

yamada: are you still moping in there???? come out w us tonight! you need to get outta bed at some point

yamada: its been weeeeeeks!!!!!!! come on!!!!!!!

Aizawa knows he does. He knows his friend has been trying to get him to leave since it happened, but it’s hard. He answered his friend, deciding that tonight he would in fact go out for a few hours just to clear his mind- anything is starting to become better than seeing a home empty of her. He sends the message, and his heart grows heavy.

He said yes to his friends when he was feeling sorry for himself, but never for her. He knew he deserved it, but it hurt not having her anymore. Especially when all he had to do was say yes sometimes.

What stung the most was that he didn’t get to see her when she came to collect all her items, cram them into a box and leave for the last time. He’d hoped at that point, if it ever came to that, he could convince her to stay. But.. She hadn’t told him she was coming. Perhaps because she knew she was bound to give in.

He came from from U.A., hoping that she’d be there, sleeping soundly or sitting terse on the couch ready for an argument ending conversation.

But, she wasn’t there. In fact, nothing of her was. All her things vacated. Everything but the memory of her stripped away.

Aizawa had stood stunned in the doorway. Then, it all came crashing down. She was serious this time. It was set in stone.

She’d really left him.

He didn’t think she’d actually leave him. Arguments were always so easy for Aizawa. He was a firm believer in ‘take me as a I am, or don’t take me at all.’ But, he’d never realized just how much changing she’d done for him.

When he’d first met her at a group outing, she was full of life. She was bouncy and energetic. She had a sea of friends, a world of opportunities. But with him, with Aizawa’s stubbornness combined with her need and want to spend time with him, she went out less and less. Contacts in her phone dwindled from a vast ocean to merely puddles.

Seldom she went out, and on the rare occasions she was able to get Aizawa to go, she’d dress in her best just for him to chastise her. ‘We’re not going anywhere that fancy,’ he’d remark, not noticing how her eyes fell. ‘Aren’t you a little over dressed?’

Guilt tore up his heart, now. She was always so beautiful dressed up like that, how could he ever say those things? Too late did he notice how she’d changed everything for him. Lost friends, missed outings, just so she could remain by his side. He did everything wrong and wasn't even willing to see it. He felt like a neglectful, stubborn, ass.

Forcing himself up from bed, it takes all his strength to get up and wander into the bathroom. He’d need to start getting ready then if he was to go later. He was a slow moving creature, after all. Lazily, mentally drained and exhausted, he opens the mirror and pulls his toothbrush from the little shelves inside. The mirror swings shut and he’s met with his dreadful reflection.

His eyes are even darker, redder, than they ever were with his quirk. Even he could tell he looked worse for wear. Drained, emotionally vacant yet so powerfully overrun with them at the same time. He looked dead. He brings the toothbrush to his teeth, but can’t bring himself to find the motivation to actually begin cleaning up.

So tired.

He just wants to sleep again.

He wants to text her. But he doesn’t.

Tossing the toothbrush into the sink, resting his elbows on the edges and allowing his head to hang in sorrow, he wonders what she’s doing right now. It’s a warm Friday evening, the blue sky wide and clear. He’s sure she’s going out tonight, finally allowing herself the freedom to make up for all the time she’d missed with her friends. Friday’s were always Aizawa’s least favorite day. He just knew she’d want to go out, and he’d always combat it with a movie she’d been wanting to see, coming up with some random excuse as to why it wouldn’t be an ideal idea to go out.

Then, he’d ignore how she sadly watched her friends social media stories about the night, and ignored their texts asking why she’s never around anymore.

God, what he would give for one more Friday night with her. He’d dress up, he’d take her somewhere so nice even he would be afraid he couldn’t afford the food. Her and all her friends. Whoever she wants, the whole world if need be. He’d do anything she wanted, strut her to a party on a red-carpet. Anything just for another Friday night.

Aizawa’s eyes cast back up to his reflection. A lump forms in his throat, he watches his eyes glisten with tears. He wants to fall into the floor and forget about everything.

Pushing himself away from the sink, he shake his head and gags on how tight his threat feels. Without even a moments hesitation, he finds himself right back in his room, pulls the covers aside, and drowns in them all over again. It’s dark, it’s cold. His own rooms uninviting without her.

Yet, he can’t seem to bring himself to leave it.

His phone sits on his pillow. Aizawa opens his friends message.

‘im going to stay in tonight. thank you for inviting me. im tired’

Aizawa doesn’t even want to see the messages his friend instantly starts blowing his phone up with. Instead, seconds after the text sends, he holds the power button until the entire screen goes black. He rolls over to face the wall, and he feels like he’s made of led. He swallows hard and gives into sleep all over again. His arm slings around a pillow, and he clutches it to his chest.

A forever inanimate reminder of where she once laid.

#aizawa shouta #angst #bnha #mha #imagine #x reader

114 notes · View notes

acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

What Do We Say To Death? Not Today - Bucky Barnes x F! Reader (smut)

gif by: @buckypascal

Prompt request:

22. For sex after a near death experience and "I'm gonna fuck you until you beg me to stop"

I thank you for this @kenoobiwan - This was... I enjoyed writing this 😌

Summary: A near death experience encourages Bucky to make you feel better

Warnings: 18+ for explicit sex!! Slightly Dom! Bucky, swearing, Praise kink Fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, doggy style, slight cum play?, oral (f receiving and m receiving too), neck play/throat holding/breath play, begging, pleasure/pain play, mentions of death/near death/fighting, blood, injuries

Word Count: 4.4k+

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal @queenofthefaceless @gallowsjoker @kirsteng42

Masterlist | | Requests!

There was something to be said about fighting bad guys with your boyfriend.

Especially when your boyfriend was James Buchanan Barnes – ex-solider, ex-assassin, all Brooklyn boy with a heart of gold and a smile that could bring you to your knees.

You had known him for years now, a partnership turning to friendship and friendship turning to love.

The entire time, you had remained partners because you were simply a formidable team.

Both of your experiences in training made you relentless, and you could work together like a force of nature, never failing to bring down the bad guys.

Well. Usually.

Today was… not one of those days.

It had been going well, good even but then… It wasn’t.

Somehow, one of the super soldiers you had been fighting had suddenly got the jump on you, pinning you down and then dragging you to the edge of Brooklyn Bridge.

He had held you over the drop by one of your hands, taunting you as you hung above the expanse of the East River.

It was a classic exchange.

Bucky – still fighting – either gave up and left them alone, or the soldier would kill you.

Back and forth the exchange had gone, until Bucky got even more pissed and shot the guy in the head, making him tumble back… And taking you with him.

Except, Bucky was already there, diving to the edge of the bridge and catching your hand just before you fell too far.

The force of his hand catching you had threatened to wrench your arm from its socket, but it didn’t matter – he had saved your life.

You couldn’t swim, certainly not after a fight like that and the energy it had sucked from your body.

You would have gone down like a lead balloon.

The pair of you had limped to the subway, battered, bleeding and shattered.

Everyone had avoided you in the carriage, but you didn’t care. You were both whole, safe and… together.

Even broken and battered, you still held hands up to Bucky’s apartment – he was closest. And it was cosy here, familiar and it would always be home.

You sighed softly in relief as the door of his bedroom closed behind you and you turned to look at him, only to find him already watching you.

Something stirred in you, something deep and blazing.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the fact you had danced with death and looked Her in the eye tonight but there was a fire beginning to blaze it your belly.

It could have been any of those things, but it was most likely Bucky.

A trickle of blood running down his cheek from a cut on his eyebrow, his plush lower lip split and a bruise already forming over that wickedly sharp jawbone.

His Arctic blue eyes were the colour of the ocean in a storm, waves of frustration and anger pelting the shores of his mind. And when he looked at you, those waves turned into a tsunami, darkening further with desire and it seemed he had the same thoughts on his mind.

He prowled toward you on silent feet, the air parting around his lean body as if sensing the presence of a hunter.

And you were his prey, caught in that blazing gaze like a butterfly pinned beneath a needly.

And oh, how you loved it.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him with mock indifference, even as every nerve in your body stood to attention, crying out for his touch. “What?” Just the perfect amount of sass.

Bucky’s eye twitched just slightly, a faint snarl on his lips as he got closer and closer to you, but he remained silent.

This was all part of the game, your blazing desire for each other battling, rising and falling in a game of tension and edging. To see who would break first, who would surrender power to the other.

You cocked your head, pushing him further, “Can’t find your words, Buck? That makes a change.” You laughed softly, that sing-song laugh and tone that was all bratty and cocky and you knew pushed him.

He was backing you up against the wall, the scent of his aftershave, smoke and iron washing over you. “Don’t use that tone on me.” His voice had dropped an octave, sinking into that deeper and more gravelly tone that turned your knees to jelly and made you ache for him.

Heat was flowing through your limbs, your clothes becoming too tight, too constricting. Each bruise and cut faded to a background hum as the toes of his boots met yours.

Ordinarily, you were both as stubborn and hot-headed as the other, but in times like these, when he had that voice and that predatory look in his eye… You were all too willing to quite literally drop everything and let him destroy you. “What are you going to do about it, soldier?” You purred the words up at him, all arrogance.

Bucky paused, close enough now that he filled your vision. He looked over you, eyes flicking over your face with a dark hunger that reminded you of the Winter Soldier, perhaps a level of control and darkness that lay within him all the time.

The clock on the far wall ticked by slowly, the tension growing thicker and thicker with each tick.

Just when you thought your head might explode, Bucky suddenly moved.

His hands shot out to spin your body around, left hand pinning your arm to your side as his hand curled around your jaw, grasping it tightly. His right hand pressed into your lower belly, pushing you back into him and you felt the hard line of him pressing against the bottom of your back.

He yanked your jaw to the side with enough pressure that it sent shockwaves of pleasure down your spine. You felt his rough stubble graze over your neck, his teeth tug your earlobe, “I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop.” His snarl echoed in your ear, his breath hot and almost a pant.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you pressed back into him more, rubbing your ass against the bulge straining his trousers. “Then what are you waiting for?” You gasped the words, still taunting him because fuck, you adored soft Bucky but this, this hot predator of desire and dominance… He owned you.

A dark laugh echoed in your ear, his vibranium fingers pressing tighter into your jaw to give him access to the soft flesh of your neck, “Still being a brat, huh? I save your life, and this is how you say thank you?” He licked a wet stripe along your neck, tasting you and he blew out a moan that pebbled your skin with the cool brush of air. “I think you need to learn some manners, doll.”

The hand on your belly suddenly plunged beneath your waistband, his nails scraping the sensitive skin and then finding how wet you were.

That dark laugh echoed again as he felt the slick coating your underwear, “Oh, baby, you are so needy, aren’t you?” He pressed the pads of his fingers to your clit, wasting no time in rubbing quick, almost harsh circles.

“Fuck, Bucky-” Your head fell back to his shoulder, hips immediately driving forward to seek more of his touch, more of that insistent pressure.

Bucky bit at your neck, straight white teeth scraping over your skin and sinking into the flesh, “That’s it, baby, I know how much you need me… Need me to fuck you so hard you can’t walk.” He smoothed his tongue over the hurt, mumbling the dirty words against your skin like a prayer. His fingers slipped deeper, gathering the wetness on his index and middle fingers before slowly, slowly pushing them inside.

A languid groan broke from your throat, your arms straining against his. There was nothing to hold, to balance out the instant fiery sparks he shot through your body, so you were forced to stand there and take it. You could only make small movements with your hips, rocking in time with his lazy thrusts with those long fingers. “Stop teasing, you ass.” You shifted your head in his hand, managing to take one of the cool vibranium fingers into your mouth and you sucked the metal, liking the tang on your lounge.

Your soldier moaned deep in his throat as you did, unable to feel it apart form a faint tingle but the mere sight of it was enough – and he knew why you were doing it, “You want these fingers inside you, doll? Want to cum all over them like the gorgeous, needy thing you are?” He pushed another finger into the wet heat of your mouth, enamoured by the sight of your tongue slipping out and stroking up the length of them, the pink flesh against the black and gold sending him into a frenzy.

You hummed against his fingers, body straining again, and you managed a nod, aching for those hard, cold fingers to be inside you.

He gave you what you wanted – he always would – and he pulled those fingers from your lips with a wet pop!

Your solider wasted no time in lowering that hand, swapping his fingers and pushing the vibranium digits deep, deep inside your core.

They were thicker, harder, colder and fucking hell, they were everything.

They never tired and could fuck into you with a pace that was unlike anything else you had ever experienced.

Bucky watched as you arched against him, your lips parting with a moan worthy of song, “That’s it, baby… Take what you want, what you deserve…”

His murmured praise spurred you on, encouraging you to roll and rock your hips against his hand. He matched your pace, pumping in and out, curling up his digits to press against that spongey spot immediately.

He wasn’t taking you slow today, not by any means.

The warm flesh of his right fingers, slick still from being inside you pressed to your bundle of nerves again, combining slow figure of eight motions with the curling motions of his fingers.

It didn’t take long until you were keening his name, body shaking with the effort of being forced to take it all and you fell apart on his hand, coating the smooth metal with your release, soaking his wrist and your own skin.

Your knees buckled, and he guided you to the bed where you flopped back, head spinning with the force of how quickly your first orgasm had barrelled into you.

Bucky looked down at you on the bed, panting and legs parted for him as your thighs glistened with your release. He then looked down at his vibranium hand, seeing that same stickiness coat the metal, turn it gloss and he lifted them to his lips, sucking each one clean with appreciative growls that had you whimpering for him. “Messy girl.” His eyes dropped to his bed covers, where your sticky wetness had soaked the bed sheets.

You leant up on your elbows, chest rising and fallen raggedly to catch your breath still, “Bucky.” The word was a command, a plea, and a prayer all at once.

You raked your eyes from the top of his messy, curly hair, down to him licking his fingers clean and then lower, over his broad shoulders and chest, the vibranium arm, all the way down to his heavy, thick cock, standing to attention and swollen from holding back his own release – purely from watching you fall apart on his fingers.

Mouth-watering, you sat up, moving to your hands and knees and you crawled across the bed to him, ignoring the sharp ache as your shoulder protested.

He watched you keenly, knowing what you were going to do, letting you take control for the moment.

Besides, he fell to pieces when you did this.

You stopped when you were eye level with that beautiful, thick cock.

God, he was so beautiful.

Long, smooth, a vein delicately running up the underside that drove you crazy.

To be honest, everything about him drove you crazy.

You looked up at him, eyes locked on his as you curled your fingers around that length, spitting lightly on the end and then smoothing the combined mix of your saliva and the beads of his precum up and down him.

Bucky hisses slowly through his teeth, his head falling down to watch you, hands curling into fists as you teased him with these pumps.

You would keep with the teasing if you weren’t desperate to taste him, so you gave in, parting your lips and lowering your head along his cock.

He watched it disappear into your plush lips, inch by inch until you took all you could, your hand grasping the rest.

You moaned in unison, his head tilting back again with the feeling of the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him – and you from the velvety weight of him in your mouth, a taste like nothing else.

He was heavy, hot and tasted absolutely divine.

You could give up food for this, honestly.

Quickly, you began a pace as relentless as he had, bobbing your head up and down his cock, tongue swiping up and around like he was the tastiest lollipop in the world. With every lift of your head, your tongue followed up that damn vein, pressing into the flesh with enough pressure that Bucky’s hips jolted forward.

Perfect, exactly what you wanted.

A soft laugh rumbled your throat, vibrating down through the head of his dick and he fisted his hand at the back of your head in your hair, “Fuck, doll – Shit.” His jaw was clenched, eyes torn between closing in pleasure and watching you devour him whole.

You wanted more, more of a reaction from him, so you pulled all the way back, locking your eyes to him again as the tip of your tongue, tracing around his head and then pressing into that slit at the end of his dick. You lifted your free hand to his balls, feeling them tight and weighty and you grasped them, tugging gently as your tongue toyed with that sensitive end.

Bucky damn near whimpered, his hips jerking forward again, and he slipped between your teeth a few inches.

And you absolutely adored it when he fucked your mouth.

So, you did it again.

Squeezed his balls and hollowed out your cheeks, tightening your mouth around him. You gave him a look, eyelashes fluttering – fuck me, if you mean it.

Bucky let out a shaken breath, tongue darting over his lips and he nodded once, grasping the back of your head and his hips began to move, thrusting into your mouth gently.

You were already there, widening your jaw and controlling your breathing so that when he jerked forward – you took him down your throat. Deep. Deep enough that the warm hand holding your jaw could feel the thick press of him widening your throat.

It sent a shockwave through him, those impossible thighs tensing and trembling by your head as you took him down your throat again and again, jerking the inches you couldn’t reach, fondling his balls with the other.

And when they tightened warning you of his release, you merely pushed forward more, taking the entire length of him so that your nose brushed the short, curling hairs.

And then your soldier came apart, crying out with a garbled version of your name, shooting hot spurts of cum down your throat.

You lapped up every drop, swallowing thickly until he was pulling back from you, his eyes wide with awe and something primal.

The next moment, you were on your back, and he was balls deep in you, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you mercilessly.

Bucky folded his big, broad body over yours, his belly pressing into yours and there was a sudden jolt of icy cold on your face – his dog tags.

Fuck.

His dog tags were hitting your chin with every thrust of his hips, gently clinking together and thumping against your jaw line.

There was something filthy, messy about this. Pure, undiluted lust as you fucked each other, working off the adrenaline and fear from nearly dying.

Sure, you spoke, you had deep conversations that lasted the whole night and ranged from his time in the 40’s, to your childhood.

But other times, when words got too hard, and emotions got too painful to speak aloud… This was how you spoke to each other. The frantic movement of your bodies, the entwining of your souls as you escaped from your lives for an hour – or many.

“I love you, baby – Don’t know what I would do without you.” Bucky groaned low, hips thrusting and grinding into yours with relentless pace, “If I had lost you today – I would have torn everything apart and followed you.” He lifted his head, his eyes blown near black as he watched his tags hitting your skin.

Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, breath consistently stuck in your throat as he jack-knifed into you. Your nails scrabbled over his back, gouging deep crescent moons into his skin as you held on, “And I would have followed you to the end of the world.” A high moan broke your words, “I love you too, Bucky. Always…” You dug your nails in tighter, “Especially when you fuck me like this, break me apart with your cock – I always want it, always think about it.”

The snarl Bucky let out was something animal, unhinged and he started snapping his hips to yours with a frenzied pace, “You – You’re so fucking perfect, so beautiful”- He dropped his head to your neck, biting the skin and his hand moved to your thigh, bending your leg back to your chest to hammer into you at a new angle. The thick, blunt head of his cock thudded against that spot deep inside you, throwing you by the spine toward that edge – and when his pubic bone scraped against your clit, you tumbled off the edge, your orgasm shattering through you so hard you saw stars.

“Fuck, Bucky – Bucky-”, His name rose in a scream, back arching as waves and waves of pleasure crashed through your body.

“Bucky sucked in a choked breath, “Shit, baby – Fuck, look at you-” The feeling of your walls tightening and squeezing around him finished him, and pulled out just in time to watch thick ropes of his cum decorate your belly and thighs.

The feeling of it, warm on your skin had your orgasm riding longer, hips undulated against the air, and you barely had enough time to breath before Bucky grasped your hips, “Hands and knees – now.”

He flipped you over, panting as you rose onto all fours, and he was slamming back into you with no warning.

You cried out, the punishing size of him stretching your still fluttering walls, “Bucky, wait-”

A sharp crack to your ass shut you up, the sting of cold vibranium on sensitive skin causing you to nearly smash your face into the headboard. “I said you would be begging me to stop. I’m not finished yet. You still have more left in you, you greedy little thing.” His voice was thick and low, a rough rasp that could have commanded you to do anything and you would.

A whimper you couldn’t entirely control left your throat, causing Bucky to stop for a moment.

His warm hand caressed your lower back, silently soothing you and he slipped for a single moment, his voice normal, “Colour?”

You dragged your thoughts back together, enough to be coherent and you mumbled, “Green.” Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, the feeling of him just resting inside you was tormenting, unbearable – you needed him to move, now. “Don’t stop, Buck. For the love of God, please don’t.”

A stuttered breath let you know he had heard you. He was always in awe of how well you matched him, the darker corners of his soul and personality that you never ever shied away from.

He snapped back to attention a second later, pulling out agonisingly slow, so just the tip of his cock rested inside your aching core, “Say it, baby. Tell me what you want me to do.” He circled his hips slowly, hands massaging the flesh of your ass.

Your thighs trembled beneath you, entire body trembling actually with want and you cried out, “Fuck me, Bucky. Fuck me until I’m begging you to stop.”

If this man didn’t move, if he kept teasing you, you were going to fucking punch him. You didn’t care if he was as battered and bruised as you.

The soldier snickered under his breath, pulling on some super soldier level of restraint to not blow his load instantly again, “That’s my girl. Though, you might be regretting that.”

And then he moved.

A punishing, brutal pace, fuelled by that same super soldier serum, and something entirely his own.

His hands held your hips up, pulling you back into his body as he fucked into you hard and fast, “Gonna make you scream for me, doll. Make all the neighbours know who saves your life, who makes you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, Fuck- ” Your spine threatened to break in half with his pace and you gripped the headboard with one hand, knuckles turning white and the other hand fisting into the bed covers. “Oh, god.” The moans that left your lips sounding more like cries, as he wrenched you toward another orgasm.

You matched him thrust for thrust, thumping your body back into his, so that the room was filled with the smell of sex, the sound of your twin panting, moans and growls and the utterly dirty wet squelch of his cock being swallowed by your core and the slap of his balls hitting your clit.

Bucky’s vibranium hand snaked up your back, the metal scraping your skin and then he curled his hand around your neck. His fingers tightened on your throat and the world tilted as he yanked your body up so your back was to his chest, “Such a good girl, take my cock so good – Like you were made for me.” He pulled your head to the side, pressing his face into your neck and he panted hot and heavy against the skin, “Fuck, I love you so much, so fucking much.”

Words were beyond you, your brain giving up as your concentration narrowed into the pleasure burning your core, your thighs beginning to quake helplessly, “Bucky, I can’t-” Every breath was filled with that feeling, the insistent barrelling of your release hovering over you. You had gone longer before, but each high he had delivered you to tonight was for more intense and relentless than before.

Bucky grinned wickedly against your neck, that slow growing smirk that was all cocky, male arrogance, “Yes, you can, doll. I know you can.” He turned his head, licking up your neck, sucking your earlobe and then tracing the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear.

The strange, absolutely delightful feeling distracted you from the fact his other hand had slipped between your legs.

And then you felt the pressure of his fingers, rubbing little tight circles that merely trebled that building pleasure to something electric, fizzing through your veins and threatening to burn you from the inside out.

Tears prickled the backs of your eyes, the feeling almost too much, too intense, near painful and then – then Bucky thrust a particular deep jolt up into you, grinding against that spot as his nails scraped over your clit – and then you shattered apart.

Your orgasm came fast and unforgiving, searing through your spine and breaking you into a million pieces. Everything went black for a moment, a high-pitched ringing in your ears and you were dimly aware of Bucky hissing your name, his head tilting back as he came inside you, coating your shuddering walls with his release, mixing with your own and giving you that hot, filled feeling that you always craved.

You could live and die inside this moment, the hovering of blissful light as you slowly came back to yourself – except you weren’t allowed to come back slowly.

Bucky lowered you to the bed, held you there with his vibranium arm around your middle, “Stay on your hands and knees.”

When you were back on all fours, limbs shaking, he slowly pulled out of you, groaning softly as your walls tried to keep him inside, “I am in awe of you.” He breathed the words almost to himself, running a hand through his still messy hair and he sank down to his own knees at the end of the bed.

You couldn’t open your eyes, couldn’t even remember your own name, “Buck…”

Bucky laughed softly under his breath, mouthing kisses down your back, pausing to lick and bite at the bone and then his moved lower, “Oh, darling, I’m not done with you yet. I said I didn’t want you to be able to walk… I think you still have some movement left in you.”

He kissed down over your ass cheeks, delivering a sharp slap to the soft flesh that had you keening, back arching for him.

You loved the heady mix of pleasure and pain he bought you, loved that you could both let go like this with each other and trusted each other enough. Something like a moaning sob answered him, but you nodded all the same, beyond words so you held up three fingers – a silent confirmation that your colour was still green.

Bucky rubbed your lower back, watching as your walls clenched and fluttered around nothing, the combined mix of your releases slipping down your thighs. He licked his lips, tutting softly, “We can’t have that.” He gathered it on his fingers, pushing them back inside you a little.

Your hands fisted in the covers again, pushing your hips back almost without your own realisation, and gritting your teeth as heat coiled low in your belly, ready for him yet again even if there was a sting in your muscles, your thighs and arms still shook and you were wrecked, “Bucky, please-” You didn’t know if you were begging him to stop or to carry on.

He pressed a kiss to the back of your thighs, before licking a broad stripe over your lips, ‘That’s right, beautiful…” He took pity on you, using a hand to press between your shoulder blades so your torso sagged to the bed – hips up and ready for him.

“Let me hear you beg.”

#requests #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #tw: blood #tw: injuries #tw: near death experience #tw: sex #dom! bucky #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #tw: hand round neck

340 notes · View notes

adorerdraco · 4 years

Text

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 2

PART 1

Summary: PART 2 ! of Draco falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and dealing with the consequences of opening his heart to someone.

Warnings: angst !!! but just a little fluff as always, BLOOD, violence, more crying, very detailed sectumsempra scene, mentions of death

Words: 4.9K

A/N: omg i can’t believe so many people liked the first one and to everyone who left me a comment, I appreciate you so much you have no idea plsss you guys are so beautiful. but here is part 2 and I hope you guys like it as much as the first oneee !!!!!!!! this one got dramatic. I’m thinking of doing a part 3, but I’m not sure and i also want to make it be mostly fluff so PLS let me knowww <3 i do not own gif.

It was an awful feeling; the feeling of needing a specific someone to bring him a peace he so very much lacked in his life. It was a feeling of not being able to feel joy unless he had you by his side. He felt stupid and pathetic knowing he had made an even bigger mess of himself and regrettably of you. He felt more weak too, wondering to himself why he couldn’t stop crying and do what he needs to do without several potions or you with him to get him through the day.

He didn’t want to need anyone. He didn’t want to need help. He didn’t want to need advice.

“Why can’t I just do this?” he cried to himself one night in the room of requirement, kicking something by his foot across the floor in frustration. He stared at the dead bird in hopelessness, not wanting to move it from its spot in the vanishing cabinet. He had managed to send inanimate objects, but not living things and that was only a discovery he was able to make when you were still in his life.

It had been weeks, since he left you under the tree, broken and in tears. He regressed back into to his old ways of lacking proper self care, of sleeping and eating, his studies being the last thing on his mind, him distancing himself from his Slytherin friends again. It was right back to square one, maybe even below that this time.

In Potions, he didn’t dare look at you, ever. He moved to a seat in the very back of the class where he would be hidden from you and could sulk to himself in peace.

“Mr. Malfoy, forgive me as it is none of my business, but why are you no longer working with Miss Y/L/N?” Slughorn asked him one day as he came by to grade his potion.

“It is nothing of concern, Professor,” Draco answered bitterly, holding back the scowl that wanted to show but deciding against being any more rude to authority. “I just rather work by myself.”

“It’s a shame, Mr. Malfoy, you both were my star pupils,” Slughorn mixes the potion around, eyeing it with a frown. “Now the both of you are falling behind. This potion is not passing, you forgot to mix in the dried periwinkle leaves.”

Draco never noticed how you would glance at him throughout Potions class. Of course, he was ignoring you and you felt that nasty realization every time your eyes landed on the platinum blond.

You felt numb, to say the least. You cried for days and days on end. If you weren’t in class, you were in your dorm, wrapped underneath the covers wondering why someone you shared so much love and time with had dropped you with no explanation. You tried endlessly to get him to talk to you, cornering him in the corridors, going up to him in class, but he would ignore you until you went away. He never once met your eyes, and your heart broke more every time you saw the coldness in his icy gray’s that made you feel like you didn’t even exist to him.

Your roommates and friends had gotten involved, forcing you to take better care of yourself. Staying up and hugging you while you cried. Bringing you meals from the Great Hall into the dorm. Brushing your hair when it started to become matted. Encouraging you to divulge yourself in studies rather than your sadness.

“Y/N, you are so much more than what you’re feeling,” your closest friend whispered to you one night as you cried in her embrace. “You can’t keep going like this. It’s okay to cry and be sad, but this is eating you up. Remember how strong you are. Remember the healer you are trying to be. You’ve helped so many people, inside and out, let your friends help you now.”

You nodded sadly, and finally accepted the help your friends had been trying so desperately to give you. You allowed them to take you out into the Great Hall again for meals. To Hogsmead for a fun day out. To the courtyard where you guys would sit and just talk. It was nice, feeling your old and normal life coming to light again even if it was just for a couple hours. But when you couldn’t sleep at night and your mind wandered off to Draco, you felt that same empty feeling of a gaping hole in your heart sting at you.

There was nothing you could do or say anymore. The cornering him was getting desperate and made you feel weak. The ignoring was never going to stop. You didn’t cry anymore, forcing yourself to bottle up your feelings for him deep down into your mind, body and spirit to the point where you just tried your best to recognize him as a dream.

Your brain didn’t know any better, right?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Draco sat on the floor of his dorm, head resting against the side of his bed as he twiddled with the letter from his mother between his fingertips. His owl, Aquila, sat beside him and enjoyed the loving pets he was giving her with his other hand. It was rare she let him do this, but he figured it was because she felt that he might have possibly needed this. She nibbled on a crumb of a biscuit he gave her that she had brought with her on her journey from home. Draco sighed and opened the letter again, his eyes scanning over the perfect cursive of his mother’s handwriting once more.

My Dearest Draco,

How are you, my love? I feel as though we have gone too long without writing to each other. I must say, the Manor feels lonely without you and your father here, but the house elves have been keeping me company. They are quite entertaining, some of them. I do hope you enjoy the small pastries I sent with Aquila that the elves also send on their behalf.

I know the pain you are feeling, my son. I know it wears at you and I am deeply sorry that I cannot change it or help you. Please do entrust in Professor Snape, as he is the only one who can help you and understands your circumstances. You cannot get through this alone.

Please also remember that you are just a boy. In these times of turmoil, it is easy to lose yourself in your own despair. You are young, Draco, only 16 years of life and it has already failed you. Please find it in your heart to locate the little several joys in life that keep you going. Despite your situation, It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there. Do not succumb, it is what he wants.

I will always love you, and I hope to see you soon.

All my love,

Mother

He felt tears sting at his eyes, clutching the letter to his chest as if his mother had charmed it with the feeling of a hug. It wasn’t, but he swore he could feel it. He felt sad, knowing she was all alone in that house, but suddenly remembered that his aunt was seeking refuge with her at the Malfoy Manor and his mother left it out for the sake of keeping Bellatrix’s location secret. Seeing as she was a maddened Ex/Present Death Eater and escaped prisoner on the run. The thought of Bellatrix left a bitter and foul taste in his mouth, making him feel even worse that his mother was stuck at home with that beast who was nearly as bad as the Dark Lord himself. He didn’t care that that was her sister, his aunt, she had no empathy for anything, especially not for him. He recalls her telling him right before he went to school, that he should be grateful and honored for being entrusted with a task so important.

As much as Draco wanted nothing to do with his tasks, he didn’t ignore them. He begrudgingly let Bellatrix teach him Occlumency, something he desperately needed to learn and was now a little good at. He had even tried convincing himself that he needed to do this. It was all up to him. He was chosen for this. He hated it, but he was chosen nonetheless. And he would try with everything to save his family and to make them proud, even if it killed him.

He ignored the thoughts of his aunt and his dreadful life options, refocusing on the words his mother wrote to him. They echoed in his mind, imagining her saying them to him.

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

His mind wandered to you, knowing full and well you were are the one and only joy in his life he so deeply desires. His mother’s words hit him hard, to the point where he almost ran out of his room to go look for you. Almost.

But he was stubborn and still couldn’t pull himself out of the mindset he had boxed himself in where he thought being with you would be worse in the end for you than not being with you.

So he went over to his desk, Aquila following him before flying up to the wooden surface where she perched herself in front of him as he sat down and pulled out a parchment and quill to begin his responding letter for his mother. He thanked her for the pastries, told her he would try his best in confiding in Snape, loosely promised he would fulfill her wishes of him finding some happiness, and gave her his love. He gave the letter to Aquila, smoothing the feathers on the top of her head one last time before she chirped and flew to the window and then out of his room and into the open dark starry sky.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

More weeks had gone by. And then a month. You were seeing less and less of Draco and for a healing heart, it was the best thing for you, but also the worst. He had even began skipping class as much as he could, not that anyone ever noticed, except you and Slughorn of course.

“Miss Y/L/N, may I have a word?” Slughorn came up to you while you were working on a potion with your friend. The same friend who had given up her seat to Draco who she now despised and regretted ever doing in the first place. She gave you and the professor a look before getting up and heading to the front of the class where she began to pick up vials and jars to store the potion.

“Of course, Professor,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I spoke to Mr. Malfoy about a month ago, he seemed rather distraught,” he began, placing a finger over his chin in thought. “I’m beginning to grow worried of the boy! Is there a reason he’s no longer showing up to class?”

You swallowed thickly before responding, “your guess is as good as mine, Professor.”

“Ah, well, one mustn’t pry too much,” he says. “Also, I’m pleased to see your marks improving in the last couple weeks. Keep up the good work, Miss Y/L/N.”

And with that the professor turned around and left to go check on other students, your friend returning.

“What’d he want?” She asked, setting the supplies down on the table.

“Wanted to know about, Mr. Malfoy,” you mocked quietly, your voice turning bitter when the name left your lips.

You knew Draco’s disappearance was your fault and you felt that twang of hurt beat against your chest thinking about it. That whole conversation with the Professor killed your entire mood. It wasn’t great to begin with, but the feeling of nothing had turned into hurt.

You were roughly stirring the cauldron, preparing to put the nearly finished potion into the two large jars so it could sit overnight. They were right beside your arm and you felt your elbow collide with the glasses, cringing internally when you heard them crash onto the ground and shatter. Luckily there was nothing in them, but you had still made a mess of glass. In your heat of embarrassment and with the people are you now staring at you, you forgot you could easily clean up your mess with magic so like a klutz, you instead bent down to pick up the shards of glass that scattered the floor with your bare hands.

A loud gasp left your mouth as you began to pick them up, feeling the largest piece of glass in your palm deeply slash the skin of your hand. You dropped it, feeling the blood begin to drip down your arms and onto the floor.

“Oh no, Y/N,” your friend sighed from above you, gripping onto your other arm and lifting you up. “Are you okay?”

The question was meant for your hand, but you felt it hit your soul just as it did whenever someone asked you that question when you were so overwhelmingly not okay. You shook your head no, the pain from your hand and your heart taking over you completely as tears began to trickle down your face.

Slughorn came up to the table, waving his wand over the mess of the floor and fixed the damage done to the vases and making the small puddle of blood disappear.

“Class is dismissed, students, you are free to go to the Great Hall for lunch,” Slughorn announced and everyone quickly packed up their things and hurried out except for you and your friend. The full-bellied Professor watched you with concern and you turned to your friend where she took your hand in hers and placed it palm up for you.

You shuddered, bringing up your wand to the cut and simply thought your healing spell before watching it completely fade into a faint light pink scar.

“I’m going to explain to Slughorn what happened and put away our stuff,” she says to you, a sad glint in her eyes. “Go clean yourself up and I’ll meet you at our table for lunch with everyone when you’re done.”

You could only pathetically nod before you slung your bag over your shoulder and trudged off into the direction of a bathroom. You decided to go up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, wanting to be alone from everyone so you could clean yourself up in peace and also have a meltdown. You didn’t know why you wanted to torture yourself with the ghosted memories you shared with Draco in that bathroom, but you still went.

You took your time getting there and you were only down the hall when you saw the entrance. It was then when you heard a familiar ghastly screaming and wailing. It was horribly loud.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!”

Moaning Myrtle floated from the large wooden double doors, screaming so loud it ricocheted off all the walls of the now deathly silent castle. You felt all the blood drain from your face as an awful and sickening feeling had bubbled in your stomach.

“It better not be Draco,” you said to yourself, your legs taking longer strides towards the bathroom. “Please, don’t let it be Draco.”

By now, you were sprinting towards the end of the corridor, throwing your bag to the floor as soon as you reached the doors and flung yourself through and into the destroyed bathroom, stepping into a pool of water that had streaks of crimson red. Your eyes followed the trail of blood, stopping suddenly when you found the source.

A blood-curdling scream twice as loud and stronger than Myrtle’s, left your throat as you tripped over your own feet to reach him. You saw Harry Potter, standing a little ways by the door, a panicked and pained look in his eyes as he tried to understand what he had just done.

Once you reached Draco’s nearly lifeless body covered in angry red gashes, you fell next to him, his eyes finally meeting yours for the first time in ages. He was breathing raggedly in choked grunts, clutching at his mauled chest as he struggled to breath. The stormy eyes you loved so much were clouded in fear. Nothing but fear.

You shoved your hand into your pocket, searching for your wand and pulled it out hastily. You shakily waved it over his cuts, thinking and saying any spell you knew that came to your mind in the matter of 5 seconds. This was what you did. This was all you did. Why couldn’t you heal him? None of your spells worked.

“I, I can’t heal you,” you sobbed, resorting to putting your hands over his chest at a failing attempt to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“n...o,” Draco said weakly and quietly. He mustered up all his remaining strength and placed a bloodied hand over yours, you grabbed it tightly and leaned over him when you realized he was trying to speak. “S-sorry. lo...ve. y...ou.”

It felt like there was a knife in your chest being repeatedly stabbed into your heart and twisted. His eyes closed and you cried harder, knowing you were going to lose him. Everything was happening so fast. You had only been in the bathroom a solid 10 seconds, everything around you moving in a slow blur but so quickly.

It was as if Merlin had answered your pleas, the sound of the door slammed open and a maddened looking Snape rushed inside, pushing Harry roughly to the side and looking down at Draco and then you only momentarily before dropping to his knees beside him and opposite of you.

“Vulnera sanentur,” he began running his wand over the cuts on Draco’s chest and you watched with wide teary eyes as the blood pooling around you began to retreat back into the wounds. He said it again, and once the blood was back in, the cuts began to close. He chanted it one last time, and the cuts had healed into thick and reddened scars. “Miss Y/L/N, please help Draco over to the hospital wing for some dittany, and quickly please. We might be able to help with the scarring, perhaps avoid it completely. I need to deal with, Potter.”

Draco was half conscious, a dazed and confused look in the gray of his eyes as they fluttered open and closed. You noticed the scar beginning to form on his paled face and you bit back a sob. You knew if that scar stayed there, it would only drive him into a deeper hatred for himself.

You quickly got up, Snape picking up Draco and throwing his arm over your shoulders so that you would be able to help him over to the hospital wing which luckily happened to be a hall away from the bathroom. The adrenaline and sheer love for the boy was pumping through your body which had made you feel stronger in basically carrying Draco through the halls. He was dragging his feet, mumbling incoherently and you couldn’t stop crying.

You saw the doors to the hospital wing open, Madam Pomfrey staring at the scene heading towards her in horror.

“DITTANY!” you called to her. She threw open the doors wider, nodding before she ran back inside in a hurry. A passing seventh year Hufflepuff had dropped all of his books and his bag and linked arms with Draco’s free side, helping you take him inside with much more ease. Madam Pomfrey yelled to rest Draco on the nearest bed and she quickly returned with the dittany, shooing the both of you away from him.

“I’m afraid the two of you are going to have to leave, immediately,” she demands, her hand reaching up to grab the privacy curtain before shielding her and the love of your life from you and the prying eyes of shocked students gathered at the doorway to see what had happened. The Hufflepuff that had helped was already out the door, but you couldn’t bring your legs to move.

“Away from the door!” McGonagall suddenly appeared from behind the crowd of students, a disgruntled look etched into her aged skin. “Return to your house’s common rooms! That goes for you too, Miss Y/L/N.”

She gently placed both her hands on either of your shoulders, guiding you outside the door and out of the hospital wing. She gave you an empathetic glance before grabbing the handles of the doors and shutting them with a loud clang.

The lingering students stared at you in discomfort and grimaces. You looked around, still in a daze and then looked down at your body. You were drenched in blood and water, looking straight out of a horror movie and closely resembling the clothing of the Bloody Baron, Slytherin’s house ghost.

Everything still felt quiet and slow. You didn’t even notice your friends rushing towards you in hysterics, throwing you in hugs as you only stood there, unable to react. You let them pull you away, leading you to your house’s common room, tripping every now and then. You caught a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle in the distance, her cries still very loud and apparent. She had gone around the entirety of Hogwarts wailing the same news that had broken you, only this time you heard the new choice words she had added along the way.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER! HARRY POTTER HAS MURDERED DRACO MALFOY!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You sat immobile on the edge of your seat besides Draco’s hospital bed. Much to your surprise, Madam Pomfrey had allowed you to stay overnight with the fallen Slytherin Prince. You recognized it might be her way of paying you back from all your countless volunteering and because of that, she trusted you in knowing exactly what to do when it came to the medical field of the wizarding world.

It was around three in the morning, the incident having happened well past twelve hours ago. You were showered now and in a fresh pair of robes, your pajamas holding in your warmth as a cold draft flowed throughout the dark dimly lit room. The hospital wing was tall and large, it felt like a castle in itself, and it only made you feel more feeble. You scooted your chair closer to the bed, placing a hand onto the mattress right next to Draco’s paled slender hand.

Fingertips ghosted over his knuckles, your body shivering at the closeness of the near contact. You didn’t know how he was going to react when he woke up. It was all a waiting game, and your heart squeezed with anxiety as you awaited his regained consciousness. You didn’t forget the words he said to you right before he slipped away. They rang and rattled in your head like a pinball game on loop.

He had told you he loved you.

The thought of him dying and you never being able to tell him you felt the same haunted you. You thanked Merlin that Snape got there when he did. You also made a mental note to hex Harry into the oblivion the next time you got a chance.

You sighed deeply, your voice quavering as your ran a hand through your tangled hair. His face glistened under the orange lamp on the bedside table, his skin tinged with a grayish undertone and his eye bags deep and dark. The scar you had seen on his face earlier was gone, the skin now just holding a skinny reddened line going across his features as if he was just hit with something. You smiled slightly, knowing it would be gone in the morning and feeling grateful for him that he wouldn’t be scarred with it.

His body was covered in a hospital gown and bandages infused with dittany, but seeing how bad his cuts were before they healed, you knew those would leave something behind no matter what. In your studying towards becoming a Healer, you read about the effects of dark magic and the marks it left behind on its victims. You didn’t know what spell had done what it did to Draco, but it was violent and radiated with darkness.

The softness of his his skin was met under yours, your hand finally allowing itself to fall over his and you let out a sharp exhale at the touch. It wasn’t like earlier when you were holding onto him for dear life, rough and filled with fear and pain, this time it felt familiar. It felt warm despite the coldness of your skin and his. You shook quietly, another set of tears rippling through your body as you tried your best to not wake him. You sat up and slowly leaned over him, looking down at him to observe his peaceful features. He slept soundly and peacefully, his breathing even and quiet. Even though he almost died earlier today, he looked as though he was having the best sleep of his life. The sleep he gravely needed but seemed to never be able to get.

Your free hand softly rested on his cheek now and you carefully moved your lips towards his forehead where you placed a long kiss. A stray tear had fallen onto his skin as you pulled away and you frowned, wiping it away with your sleeve before moving your hand up towards his hair. You smoothed it back, the soft blond strands feeling like silk between your fingers. He was a dream, an angel to you. You stood by what you had told him that unfortunate day under the tree, he was good, and you would tell him again and again until he believed it himself.

Just as you pulled back from him, a sharp gasp erupted and he shot up in bed, grabbing and tearing at his gown as breathless quick pants fell from his lips.

“Hey, Draco, I’m here, you’re okay, relax,” you coo gently, grabbing his hands and holding them tightly in yours so he wouldn’t tear his bandages. Your heart battered against your chest, the waterworks in your eyes beginning all over again. He stared at you, searching your eyes and he began to cry too. The same broken and deep sobbing from months ago you had grown accustomed to hearing.

He threw himself onto you, crying even harder as his arms wrapped around you, his hand on the back of your head pressing you into his chest. You climbed into the bed in deep shaky breaths so that you were now sitting on your knees between his legs. It was overwhelming, to put it lightly, both of you crying into each other as you remembered the fall out, the lonely days and nights, the wasted opportunities, the endless missing of one another’s presence in their lives.

“I’m sorry,” Draco chokes out. “I never meant to hurt you. I thought that by pushing you away, you would be safer, but I can’t do it anymore. I need you, I love you, Y/N.”

You cradled him in your arms, rocking the two of you back and forth, and you shook your head reverently.

“I forgave you the second I thought I was going to lose you,” you respond quickly. “Merlin, Draco, you scared me to death. I thought you were gone.”

The same words from his mother echoed in his head again and he finally understood what they meant.

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

Darkness was going to arrive one way or another, it was going to steal the rest of whatever life he had left in him one day. It was out of his hands, out of his control. The time to live his life was now. Because he didn’t know when he would ever have this opportunity of love again, of safety, of light. Everything was undefined and unknown and he felt the anguishing regret of all his decisions when he had seen you in the bathroom hovering over him with a hopeless look in your eyes. He promised himself, to Merlin and to the sun, the moon and all the stars that in the 1% chance that he survived that close call with death, he would never abandon you again. His heart pained at the memory of him trying to sputter out his final ‘I love you,’ not knowing whether or not you heard it or if you understood how genuinely he had meant it.

The room was only filled with sniffles and shaky breathing, both of you still in the same rocking position, afraid that if you let each other go, the other is going to disappear.

“Draco,” you say, lifting his head up from the crook of your neck so that he could look you in the eyes. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know. Please don’t ever, ever leave again.”

“Not in a million years, darling.”

PART 3

2K notes · View notes

angry-geese · 3 years

Note

hello, how are you? so i don't remember very well how it went, but yesterday i found your tumblr and i was amazed and you write so well 🥺💗

but then i'm a bucciarati simp (i will never get over your end) and i would like to know if you can write a scenario where the reader is just an ordinary citizen who admires bucciarati (because he helped her a while ago) and wants to join the passione and he's just against it because he doesn't want to expose her to danger, he just wants to know her real reason, so he uses his ability to find out if she's lying, which is very helpful as there's a sexual tension there and well, everything ends up in sex.

ok that was very specific lmao maybe if you want to change or are not willing to write, that's fine with me.

anyway thanks, you are amazing 💗💗

aww thank you <3

don't ever worry about being too specific, I always love seeing what other people come up with :)

Tomorrow - Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

warnings: nsfw/minors do not interact. mutual pining, fluff. minor mention of violence. unprotected sex, quickie, fingering, hickeys, hair pulling, body worship (??? if you squint???). afab reader.

word count: 1.7k

It's hard to believe it's almost been a year.

Your shop had been open for barely a month. When you first moved to your neighborhood, it was made known to you it was a dangerous place. But rent was low, and the building was just too perfect to pass up on. Not many places had room for a bakery, and a space to live upstairs.

You were in over your head. But you were too stubborn to admit it.

It had caught his eye the moment he saw it. Maybe it was its cozy nature; a small shop tucked away, full of plants, a cat dozing off in the window. Or it could have been your inviting smile, the way you lit up as the door opened.

Every day he got the same order. By the end of the first week, you made sure to have it ready for him.

From the very beginning you faced issues. A business like yours attracted a lot of attention; good and bad. The local gangs knew you were bringing in money. They wanted a cut, and you weren't willing to give it to them.

You should have given it to them.

You were warned. They told you they'd come back. You were warned but didn't listen.

They trashed your shop. You swept broken glass from your floors for weeks before it finally came out. They were persistent; more than you ever thought. When you stood up to them, they threatened to kill you. They probably would have, had Bruno not stepped in. While you were willing to lay down your life for your business, he wasn't going to let you.

You're not quite sure what Bruno did, but you never saw those men again.

You never charged him for food again. If it meant he would keep coming back to your shop, you would do a lot of things. You said you owed him. At first, he was willing to accept. Weeks went on as you still refused his money. It got to the point where he felt bad. He hid money around your apartment hoping that you'd take the hint. But you never did.

You could never pay him back. Bruno claims you already have—with all the free food—but truly it's a debt that can't be repaid. Putting it lightly, you owe him your life.

The mess was cleaned up, but you'd never feel safe in your home again.

Over the past few months, Bruno had become one of your closest—if not your closest—friend. His little free time was spent at your shop. The two of you could talk for hours about nothing in particular. Business would come and go, but he was always there. If you called, he'd come running. You really didn't have to call. At the first sign of problems he was by your side.

Bruno's influence only works so much. He could only pay off those thugs for so long.

He was worried when you missed his call this morning.

His stomach sinks as he sees the broken glass.

You're not crying. You really don't look too upset. To you, this is the final nail in your coffin. You only notice him as he stops. You motion for him to sit next to you on the steps.

The people in this town are like vultures. They can sense any bit of fortune. Any money you have can't be kept for long. Stashing it away is never a good idea.

"What happened?" He asks.

"I didn't get my protection fees paid in time."

He takes a seat next to you. For the first time in his life, he feels speechless. As far as he knew, he'd taken care of this. Those thugs would have hell to pay.

"I want to join." You say.

"What?"

"I'm taking Polpo's test." You say. "I want to join Passione."

"Why?"

It's finally occurred to you how close your faces are.

You ball up your apron and toss it aside. You don't have a better answer for him. As much as you wish you did; you don't. You want to tell him anything but the truth. Really, he feels betrayed. Has he not done enough? Has this all gone to waste? He's tried all he can to keep you away from the gangs.

It seems it wasn't enough.

His grip on your arm tightens. You don’t dare look him in the eyes. As if you couldn't be more obvious. You nearly jump out of your skin as he licks a long stripe up your cheek. Instantly your face goes red. Your cheeks burn at the heat that sends right to your core. You're stammering out a few nonsensical sentence fragments.

"That's the taste of a liar, y/n."

You whip around to face him. "I want to be able to defend myself!"

The look in his eyes isn't what you expect. It's more a look of betrayal than anything. To be honest, you didn't expect him to have any reaction at all. He's rather adamant about keeping you away from Passione.

"I can protect you." His voice has gone oddly soft. "I'll take care of you."

Bruno's grip on your arms loosens.

He leans in for a kiss. It's soft, but his warmth lingers on your lips long after he's pulled away. He smells like fancy cologne, and almost like a restaurant, strangely enough. It's a weird, comforting mix of cooked food and expensive men's cologne.

He's wanted to do this since he first met you.

His hands move to cup your cheeks. They're so warm. It's hard to resist his touch. He looks at you with such longing that it makes your chest swell with affection. The heat in your face returns, but it's in less of a lewd manner. He admires every dip and curve of your clothed body; how your waist is cinched in whenever you wear your apron, how your strong hands work pastry dough into shape.

He leans in for another kiss. It's deeper this time, and leaves a longing ache in your chest. The rough muscle of his tongue presses past your lips. He tastes faintly of alcohol.

You're too impatient to get to your room. He'll settle on bending you over your apartment's kitchen counter. He wants to take his time with you, but for now, he's content with this. Maybe there'll be a second time.

His long fingers work to undo the buttons of your pants. You don't take a lot of prep work. You're already soaked. Two of his fingers press into you. They’re long, but fairly thin, and slide right into you. His fingers stroke against your g-spot as his thumb works circles around your clit. It doesn’t take him long to figure out just what makes you weak. Bruno has you a shaking, moaning mess in no time.

You lean against the counter, propping yourself up on your elbows. He wastes no time in freeing himself from his pants. His cock is built like the rest of him; long and dark. It’s girthy, but not intimidatingly big. The hairs towards the base are neatly trimmed, and the same color as the hair on his head. A vein runs up the bottom, only getting more prominent as he gets harder. He shoves your pants down to your knees.

Bruno groans as he sheathes himself in you. The feeling of your warm, wet cunt is intoxicating. Maybe he’s a bit more pent up than he thought. His hand buries in your hair. He leans forward to nip at your earlobe. Bruno coos words of praise into your ear, telling you how good you take him, how good you feel around him.

He rolls his hips against yours in desperate, quick motions. Bruno can't decide what to do with his hands. They're gripping your breasts, then your hips, then settling in your hair. He’ll have you like this again, he’s certain of it.

Heat pools in your stomach. His touch leaves you with an aching need for more.

"Fuck- I've wanted this for so long," he says, "you’re so beautiful.”

His fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He sucks a dark mark into your shoulder—one where you won’t be able to see it. It sends a whole new heat to your core. While his cock isn't the biggest, it curves in just a way that makes your toes curl.

He makes it known just what he thinks about you; babbling about how good you feel around him, about how long he’s wanted to do this.

The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room. If you had any neighbors, you'd certainly be getting noise complaints. Your moans are like music to his ears. You don't worry about being quiet. Let others hear you, what do you care?

"Harder Bruno!" You cry out.

He can't resist something as beautiful as you.

His free hand moves to your clit, tracing circles around the bundle of nerves. He works you up in a way you never knew possible. Your skin feels feverish, and sensitive to the touch. The heat in your stomach only gets more unbearable. You want to beg him to cum inside. You need him to cum inside. Your mind is too hazy to think of much else but him and the way he fucks into you. He leaves none of your sweet spots unstroked.

Something in you snaps. There’s not one specific thing that sends you over the edge; it's everything. You clench around him as you cum, crying out. The way you suck him back in is almost enough to send him over the edge.

His thrusts get sloppier as he nears his own orgasm. He scrambles against the counter for purchase, gripping the edge of it so tight his knuckles turn white. He doesn't want to risk cumming inside. He pulls out, giving himself a few pumps before cumming into his hand.

Bruno presses a kiss to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. Your skin is sticky with sweat. A tired, but pleased look spreads across your face. His hair tickles your neck. The sight of your shaky, sleepy form is almost enough to make him hard again.

You lean back into him, giggling. “We made a mess…”

“Want to make another?”

"Are you suggesting a round two?” It’s a joke, but you carry some seriousness behind it.

"Anything for you,"

#jjba x reader #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo #not sfw #i forgot theres like three different ways to spell this guys name

191 notes · View notes

rotshop · 3 years

Text

GONNA B HONEST W/ YOU ,,,,,, i rlly dont like how this is written lmao ,,,, but also im sleepy tired so i get a pass dhmu /j

[ TW ; gore, some violence, death ]

notes ; based offa DIS ,,, u might wanna read it for some context n shit ,,, lawl ,,,

Between the two of you, it's hard to tell who's suffocating more. It's hard to tell if its you, with the little pants that pass by your teeth in shaky steps, hitching whenever they're cut down when you have to stop to cough up blood. It should be you, you who has your guts spilled out onto the floor and your blood staining all the concrete underneath the both of you. It has to be you, who's leaning heavy against 2b's chest and drawing unfocused circles onto his shoulder. It had to be you, you just had to go inside by yourself, you just had to be slow on the draw and nearly be ripped clean in two. It just had to go wrong with just you.

Even with all that in mind, he feels like there's nothing in him. There's no lungs to draw in breaths, no mind with clear thoughts on what to do and how to stop this once more, and certainly no heart beating steadily. In those places was instead viscera, a mangled, nameless mess of pink and red weighing him. There was some clump of pink that drew in some shaky puffs, barely reaching him as he choked on his own pride. There was nothing but tangled strings and weights in his head, making his skull pound as something in the back of his mind screamed to do something. There was a heavy weight behind his ribs that stayed put, a finality hanging over his shoulder as it always would.

He doesn't want to cry. He shouldn't be, you're the one with your innards exposed to the eyes of any and all and your face buried in the crook of his neck, it should be you who's crying in pain. He shouldn't be crying, he shouldn't be shedding tears when there's not a single bleeding wound on his skin. He shouldn't be and yet they're tight in his throat, threatening to tumble past his lips and create an embarrassment of himself. A shift brings him back from his thoughts, turning his attention back to you.

There's a little stutter in your movements, a quick pause as your vision momentarily fails you and your breath is wheezed past your lips. A quick, aimless grasp at your innards to have them follow your movements, rather than stay partially stuck to the floor, tugged further from your soon-to-be-cadaver as you readjust. You're just pulling yourself ever closer to him, little to no space left between the two of you as you support yourself on his figure. He can't help the way his own movements choke and pause as he moves his arms to wrap around you. He can't help the way he takes a sharp, shaking inhale as the skin of his arm ghosts over the start of your gash.

He remembers the first time he'd been with you in your 'final' moments. He remembers how the line had fallen dead on your side and the others all fell into a silence. They'd only told him later on why, they 'didn't want to scare him off.' He was still a little upset about it, even now. He had always been stubborn like that, it was a fact of him that you regarded with warm laughter and endearing teases.

He remembers the pure terror that'd gripped him as he came across you, choked squeaks and hisses leaving your lips as you writhed. The debris around you and the tangle of pipes and bars you'd been impaled on told the story he never bothered to ask, the one he'd never truly questioned you on even to this day. Something about the way you'd glanced at him in that moment never left him. Maybe it was how the pure agony you'd been in moments before shifted to confusion on his being there, shifted into something gentler yet still as forlorn and miserable, either way it haunted him endlessly. He remembers how you were such polar opposites after he'd managed to tear himself from his place.

The clatter of his goggles against the ground fell on deaf ears when he'd rushed for you. He barely even noticed how quick his breath was speeding up, he was far too focused on helping you, on getting you back to base so he could fix this. It'd taken your weak swipes at him and breathless pleads to just stop to snap him back, he didn't want to listen to you. He wanted to tear you from that metal and drag you back to base, he wanted to set you down and get to work, and then he wanted to grab you by the collar and ask just what was going through your head. He wanted to be mad, he wanted to argue and to let go of all the tension wracking him and making his hands shake. It was tearing him limb from limb in the worst way possible, in the one way he never wanted to feel.

He was afraid. Honest to god terrified from the moment his gaze fell on your bleeding-out form. It shook him to his core in a way he hadn't felt in forever, breaking past the facade he'd worked so hard to build in an utterly humiliating manner. He hated the way he had to clench his hands and bite his tongue as he stared down at you, his weak attempt at keeping his tears back that hung by a thin string. He hated how he fell to his knees, coming face to face with you as you looked back at him.

Your eyes were still soft with accepting misery in the moment, a weak smile finding it's way onto your lips as you reached for him. You'd struggled, finding it difficult to meet his face when the world was spinning so dizzyingly. He'd hesitated, hand shaking as it found your wrist, him leaning into your touch with an unsteady breath. If the tears weren't already hanging behind his eyes, they would've burst up with a vengeance when you started brushing your thumb over the bandages on his face.

He couldn't remember how exactly you'd spoken, how you'd been able to between the gurgle of blood in your throat and the copper piercing you, but you had. It was a request ; a final wish of sorts he didn't want to deny you. You could've asked for anything in the moment and he would've done it for you, he would tear through whoever and whatever he had to for you. He would rend flesh and ruin relationships and scar the world if he had to in that very moment. He'd never been an especially generous type, he could extend a certain amount of kindness to others but there was a limit to his softness. Yet, you managed to turn him so, managed to make him give an excuse of 'it wouldn't hurt,' or 'it's just a one time thing,' when it came to you.

Even so, you'd made such a simple request. One he would've asked you himself in other circumstances if he weren't so stubborn with what little ego he clung to. One he would've been happy to hear from you in the comfort of home and privacy. Even so, he'd nodded when you asked. Even so, he'd ignored how his own hands shook as he held his over yours gently.

It was an odd feeling, your blood seeping into his mouth, iron heavy on his tongue as his lips met yours. The taste would've been revolting under any other circumstances, making him recoil and pull away with a note to never repeat the cause. Yet, he didn't. He kept his lips against yours gently, experience slipping him in the thick anxiety of the moment. Even then, reluctance followed when he pulled away.

Content lost its footing when you'd given him once last smile, then it fell with a crash when your gaze grew glassy and unfocused. He'd never forget the panic that gripped him so tightly, enough of a disturbance to slip past his guard and make the tears start to fall. He didn't even notice them in the moment, all he saw was your corpse and the end of the compassion and emotion you'd helped him regain over time. He never asked the others if they heard him then, if they heard him plead with you, if they heard the sobs and begs he never would've given if it weren't you. He's glad they never brought it up, it was just a touch easier to forget how he'd completely broken down for the first time in a long time when you'd fallen still.

He was glad you weren't able to hear them. He's sure you would've made some dumb comment about it as you stood before him, alive and well as though nothing happened. He's sure you would've smiled and hummed a question he wouldn't answer, he's sure he would've reacted all the same. He's sure he still would have grabbed you by the collar and shoved you back against the wall, he's sure he would've still hissed at you to explain yourself, ignoring the desperation laced in his voice as his eyes began to burn again. You had an effect on him, one he wouldn't ever admit to even if you poked and prodded at it time and time again by simple virtue of you being yourself.

You were a surprisingly good kisser for someone on the brink of death once more, but you were better at it when you could count how many of him there were.

He's not sure what pulls him back as he looks down at you again, noting your still form blankly. He's not sure why he pauses for a few long moments, simply keeping his arms around you as your body grows colder and colder. He's not sure why he tucks hair behind your ear and lets his hand linger, warm by contrast against you. He's not sure when he pulls himself up off the floor, careful of your innards as he pulls you up with him.

He is however sure he feels a hell of a lot better when you sit up from your previous place on the table, hand trailing over the stitches that line your stomach and chest as you give a little hum of approval. He's sure he's smiling a little at that simple bit of praise. He's sure you'd make a comment about it if you noticed.

"Happy to see me, huh?"

He's happy to be right.

#2b x reader #2bdamned x reader #madcom x reader #madcom imagines #madness combat imagines #madness combat x reader #rot writes #oughhhh imf uckgin tired but its only 1am (head in hands)

96 notes · View notes