#crying reader

“This is it,” flashes across your mind. “I’m gonna burn the house down. Something’s going to explode. I’m gonna—”

But almost as quickly as it started, it goes out. A sharp sizzle, a curl of smoke, and the flame dies on its own.

You don’t breathe. You can’t.

Your hands shake so hard you nearly drop the iron, but instinct kicks in—fear-fueled autopilot. You snatch a kitchen towel off the counter and wrap it around your hand, because God forbid there’s still electricity running through the thing, and yank the plug from the wall.

Only when the cord thumps against the floor do you let out the breath you’ve been choking on.

Your knees threaten to give out.

You stare at the iron like it’s some wild animal that might lunge for you again. The room smells like burnt plastic. Your pulse is a drum jumping out of your throat.

You swallow. It burns.

“Bucky?” you call, voice thin and way too high. “Bucky—can you come here?”

He’s in the other room, completely oblivious, humming to himself as he flips through something on his tablet.

“Yeah, doll? One sec!”

You rub your trembling hands down your thighs, trying to ground yourself but failing spectacularly. Your lungs feel too tight. Your eyes sting. You don’t want to cry, but your body doesn’t really care about what you want right now.

When he walks in, he’s smiling—warm, casual, completely unaware that your life just flashed before your eyes.

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning in to kiss your cheek before he notices the smoke curling from the cord.

He blinks. “Huh. Did you turn the heat up too high or something? Or were you just not paying attention—”

Your face crumples.

You don’t even try to stop it—your throat closes up, your breath hitches painfully, your eyes overflow instantly. The panic, the fear, the adrenaline crash—it all hits at once.

“Why—why would you scold me?” you gasp, voice breaking apart. “Bucky, I thought—God, I thought something terrible was gonna happen—I thought the house was gonna catch fire or—or I was gonna—”

Only then does he actually look at you.

Really look.

And his whole expression changes.

His eyebrows pull together. His smile drops. His posture straightens in that instant soldier-alertness, but the softness in his eyes is all Bucky.

“Oh. Oh, sweetheart.” His voice melts. “Hey, hey—come here.”

He’s across the space in a heartbeat.

His arms go around you, warm and solid and achingly gentle. You crash into him, burying yourself against his chest, hot tears soaking the front of his shirt.

Your hands fist into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“I was scared,” you choke out. “It—it sparked, and the cord caught fire, and I thought—Bucky, I really thought something terrible was happening. And then you—you just asked if I did something wrong—”

“Oh, baby.” His hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking slow circles against your scalp. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize you were scared, I just walked in and saw smoke and my brain went into problem-mode.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You sob again, quieter this time but still sharp. Your body trembles violently in his hold.

“This stuff happens,” he murmurs, voice low and steady and endlessly reassuring. “Wires fry. Appliances short out. You handled it perfectly, doll. You unplugged it, you stayed safe. You did everything right.” Another kiss, this time to your cheek. “I’m proud of you for reacting so fast.”

“But I was shaking so bad—” You wipe at your eyes uselessly. “And you weren’t taking it seriously—”

He tilts your chin up so you face him, his metal thumb brushing away a tear that clings to your cheek.

“I’m taking it seriously now,” he promises. “And I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

You suck in a shaky breath, your ribs tight and sore from crying.

“It’s over, sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’ve got you.”

You cling to him harder, and he doesn’t let go—not for a second. He just holds you, strong and steady, rocking you minutely like he’s trying to shift the panic right out of your body and into his own.

And it works, slowly.

Your breathing evens out bit by bit. The tremors fade. The horrible buzzing in your limbs quiets. Every exhale sinks deeper into the warmth of him, the scent of him, the safety of him.

He keeps murmuring little things—soft, soothing, grounding.

“You’re okay.” “I’ve got you.” “You did so good.” “You’re safe, baby.” “I’m right here.”

Eventually your body loosens, all the adrenaline slipping away until you’re limp in his embrace, tired and wrung-out but calmer.

“You wanna sit down?” he asks softly.

You nod, and he guides you toward the couch without letting go of your hand. You curl up beside him, tucked under his arm, your head resting against his chest. He rubs slow circles on your shoulder with his hand—gentle, steady, comforting.

After a long, quiet moment, you whisper, “It really scared me.”

“I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “And I’m sorry I didn’t see it right away.” He presses another kiss to the top of your head. “Next time something happens—no matter how big or small—just call me, okay? You don’t have to deal with anything alone.”

You nod into his chest.

“Promise?” he asks, his voice soft and earnest.

“Promise.”

He squeezes you, his lips brushing your hairline. “Good. Because I love you. And I’m not letting a malfunctioning iron get anywhere near you again.”

You huff a weak, watery laugh. “We’re throwing it out.”

“Oh, definitely,” he says. “I’m not even letting it sit in the trash inside. That thing’s getting escorted to the dumpster like it’s a bomb.”

You sniff, a shaky little smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles too—warm, relieved, unwaveringly soft.

And he stays there with you. For as long as it takes. For every shaky breath. For every leftover tremor. For every quiet tear that slips out hours later.

He just holds you.

Even with the age difference between you, your relationship has remained stable throughout. You have reached the point where you not only appreciate each other's good qualities, but you are also able to deal with each other's areas for improvement in the sweetest way possible. And you usually solve everything in one night, one deep conversation and two glasses of wine, a heated ending in bed... but on days like today, you don't know what to do.

He loves you. And he knows how to treat you. And he would do anything to make sure you live a peaceful life. But it seems that the magic he normally uses to make all your problems disappear is blocked during your damn exam weeks at university. For a few days, the warmth that always seems to surround you vanishes completely, giving you an almost icy appearance. Your boyfriend knows better than anyone the feeling of imposing unrealistic expectations on yourself when it comes to work, and becoming obsessed with it... but he's not a person who stands out for his sensitivity. Logic made it impossible for him to feel frustrated, sad or cry over situations like this. You, on the other hand, are quite the crybaby, no matter how hard you try to hide it or not show it because you want to appear strong and independent. He doesn't quite understand why you think crying is typical of a weak person, but so far he hasn't been able to convince you otherwise.

So, when he comes home and sees you lying on the sofa with a notebook over your face, repeating your lesson and crying, stress taking over because you can't memorise your notes, insulting me every time you don't say a sentence exactly as it is in the textbook... it hurts him so much. It breaks his heart to see you in pieces over some stupid exams, to see you consumed by your own self-imposed demands, to see that his words have no effect during exam season...

After watching you motionless from the doorway of your apartment, reflecting, he finally approaches you, and in a quick but delicate movement takes all your notes, diaries, notebooks, laptop, anything that consumes you in that way, and immediately proceeds to lie down with you on the sofa and hug you.

At first, your first instinct is to be scared and tell him to move away or you won't have time to study what you need to. However, not having the strength to push him away, you give in and finally return the hug. Only to finally cry on his chest. The only place where you feel safe. You even forget for a moment about the real world, about university, about your future, your results... everything boils down to the strong, secure arms around you, their muscles sheltering you from the sad reality outside your apartment.

"Love... it's okay. I'm here now." Kento coos, stroking your head, your hair, trying to get your mind to focus more on any physical stimulus rather than the worry that is overwhelming you. "I'm sorry I'm late. I should have known you'd be like this..."

You caress his neck with your hand as he speaks, as if you want him to keep talking to keep you distracted. Of course, he understands.

"I realise that my words are rather useless when it comes to exams and self-imposed pressure, but take my words into consideration simply because I was in your shoes a few years ago." His voice has a much warmer and sweeter tone than usual. He is always gentle with you, but today you need that treatment more than usual. "I always tell you that your future is not determined by exam seasons, and I know you're going to tell me that's a lie, and I understand where you're coming from, but... let me explain, hmm?"

With teary eyes, you look at him, your brow slightly furrowed. You didn't feel like listening to the typical ‘there's more to life than your grades’ speech. Mainly because that makes you think about exams and causes an urge to push your boyfriend away and reread the same page in your textbook for the fiftieth time.

"What defines you as a person is not stupid numbers. That determines your ability to adapt to the current education system, and we've had more than enough conversations to know how opposed we are to the current system. I think all your torment comes from wanting to be seen for something that doesn't represent you."

Before continuing, he leaves a hand on your back, tracing undefined patterns and letting his touch penetrate your body. The moment, so vulnerable and intimate, sends a shiver through your entire body.

>> You always pass your exams. Even if you didn't, my point would still stand, but the problem would be different. Why do you demand so much of yourself? You don't have impossible goals or a frustrated dream that requires top marks at university. Whenever we talk about this, it seems like you want to prove to yourself how intelligent you are... The question is, what do you see as intelligent about the current system, love? What makes you so proud, what part of you feels more alive, more reassured, when you see that excellent in your grades?

>> Why is your self-esteem affected by these assessments? Do you feel that an important and essential part of you lies in your results? Darling... you are a mosaic of everything you love, and that detailed work of art is what amazes me. Your essence does not include parts such bureaucratic. How many lives will it take me to make you see that this particular moment is rather unimportant?

He is not talkative, far from it, but if he has to give a speech, it will be elaborate, structured and organised. Like this one. You don't know how he is able to say such beautiful things to you, to almost convince your stubborn mind, to caress you with words, looks and actual caresses. Perhaps experience has given him this insight. This talent for advising your inexperienced self, nervous about what the future holds.

"You don't have to answer now, darling. I understand you must be tired."

"Of course I'm going to answer you. Anxiety is killing me, but it kills me even more that you're always right." You say, pretending to be annoyed, but the moment you make eye contact with him while you talk, any facade you had until now breaks down. Your tearful, needy self shows up. "I love you too. Thank you for telling me all that. Nothing I say will be on your level as, well, you know, I'm sad and stuff, and *sob* people don't talk very well while they're crying. I'm going to cry again. I hate you."

Your little comment makes him chuckle and pull you even closer to him, if that's possible. He plants a little kiss on your head, and seeing how your body seems to relax thanks to his little gesture, he continues his affectionate exploration. Your temple, your neck, your cheek, your brow, your closed eyelids, your nose... it's so sweet that it makes you cry even more. Yes, you're a crybaby, but who wouldn't be when being comforted by a man like Nanami?

"A mosaic of what I love..." you exhale, repeating his words. Trying out how it feels to say something so poetic and beautiful. Nah, it doesn't sound as good as when he says it.

"A beautiful mosaic."

"You mean disastrous."

"I didn't think of you as someone who didn't appreciate the art of chaos, love."

"I thought you were someone who was only able to appreciate what was strictly organized, neat and planned, love."

"Your chaos is perfectly organized for me. My mission here is to help you see it the same way."

You hate and love equally the moments when he leaves you unable to respond. Well... Nanami 1 - You 0.

"Anyway. I think you have got an idea of what I mean. It's impossible to convince you, so I'm satisfied with that." He kisses your lips quickly and briefly before continuing to speak. "Now, we're going to try to study again, but in a healthier way and having me by your side to help you in any way I can."

"You didn't even study the same degree as me, Nanamin." you shake your head with a small smile. You look at him with admiration. He doesn't understand why you adore him so much, why you think he's worthy of your fascination and wonder, but since he detected this, he's strived to become the man you see in him.

"I can help you review your lessons, help you organize what you have left to study, look for the information you need, go grab some sweets... Don't underestimate me, love." He smiles. "I'm just not going to leave you on your own now, yes? You don't need to go through emotional extremes just like the one moments ago."

You've always known that he's very overprotective when it comes to you, and lately you've realized that his protection can even lead to protecting you from your own bad habits and negative emotions. You thank him so much...

"I love you. A lot. You're so good to me that I just want this exam season nightmare to end and show you how grateful I am that you take care of me in places such as our bedroom."

"...you brat." He scoffs as you just laugh and finally sit down next to him, showing him what you have to study. The anxiety that threatens to creep in again calms down every time you hear Kento's plumb voice. He has been right in everything he has said, he has inspired you effortlessly, whenever this happens you feel that you fall in love all over again completely, you confirm that you are made for each other... and, that if the concept of soulmate took shape, it would probably look something like a hardworking, tall, serious and muscular blond man with a nervous, somewhat weepy, creative and inspiring figure in his arms. Or, in other words: Nanami and you.

a/n: please be kind, english is not my native language, so I apologise for any spelling/grammar mistakes or parts that are confusing etc etc. thank you so much for coming this far! i've written this mainly bc i'm in exam season and completely depressed and i lowk feel like reader… and instead of studying, i thought it was a better idea to deal with it by imagining myself with nanamin. the truth is that i am aware that the writing is not very good (in fact, my eyes close as i write this, i feel on the verge of collapse), please be kind.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Shigaraki never had much time for you, and he felt horrible about it. He had only a few hours out of the week as of lately to spend time and take care of you. You understood, of course, but you still missed your daddy. You hadn’t regressed in a while for this reason, and that caused you to become rather emotional. 

“I know, baby, I know you’re upset, but I promise Dabi wasn’t mad at you, he’s just like that, you know this.” 

“I-I-I- I know b-but he raised his voice at meee!” You choked through hiccups. Shigaraki swore next time he spoke to Dabi he would leave with a few new scars. But more importantly, his baby was crying, and he needed to do something about it. 

“Honey, look at me.” You look him in the eyes and he nearly breaks down with you. It breaks his heart to see his precious baby upset. “Deep breath with me, okay?” He slowly inhaled and you tried copying him, breath getting caught in your throat as you let out another weep. “Come here baby, it’s okay.” Shigaraki shushes you and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your shaking figure. “I’m here to take care of you, you’re gunna be alright, sweetheart, promise.” He mumbles into your ear, rocking you back and forth while you calm down.

It takes a while, but your crying has subsided to occasional frowns and sighs. Shigaraki put on your favorite cartoon a while ago, which is helping to distract you from why you were crying. Shigaraki is still cuddling you as you entertain yourself with the media, occasionally looking over to him for a kiss, which he always provides.

“Let me go get you some water, okay angel?” He patted your head, but you grabbed his sleeve, tugging it to your chest. 

“No, I don’t want you to leave..” You mumble. He chuckles, flashing you a tender smile.

“Well my baby needs water, so up you go then!” He says before swooping you up and swinging you on his back. You giggle, latching onto him as he starts heading out into the main area to grab you a drink. When he opens the door, the first thing your eyes scan to is Dabi sitting on the couch. Your eyes fill up with tears as you hide your face in Shigaraki’s neck. He notices why you’re doing so, and mouths to Dabi, ‘apologize.’ Dabi scoffs at him, rolling his eyes as he looks to you on his boss’s back. He can faintly see how puffy and red your eyes are from crying, and he can’t lie when he says he feels a little bad, but Dabi still thought you were being overdramatic. 

With a deep sigh, Dabi announces, “Sorry for makin’ you cry, brat.” You tense up at the name, turning your head to look at him. Shigaraki lets you off his back as he goes behind the bar to look for water. You fidget with the hem of your dress, eyes fixated on the ground. You try your best not to cry again, not wanting to upset either of them, but fresh tears prick your eyes. 

“Come here.” Dabi commands. You flinch, looking over to your daddy for approval. He cocks his in Dabi’s direction, giving you a gentle nod. You trot your way over and Dabi pats the couch beside him. Hesitantly, you sit down and look at him. 

“I never meant to make you cry, kid. How ‘bout next time I go out I bring back some candy for ya?” He touches your shoulder, shaking you a bit to get an answer out. 

“Mm kay..” You whisper, shy around him since he’s never really seen you regressed. 

Dabi pulls you toward him and wraps his arms around you for a hug, something you didn’t know he was capable of giving. He was warm, a lot warmer than your daddy, almost too warm, but the heat soothed your hurting heart by his previous words. 

“You feel better, baby?” Shigaraki says from behind with a bottle of water in hand. 

“Yeah,” you mumble out from underneath Dabi’s big arm, wrestling him to try and free yourself. Shigaraki smiles down at you despite you not being able to see, but then looks at Dabi and his gaze is worse than anything he’d ever seen his boss do. Dabi swallows and puts on an unreadable face, but he knew he fucked up. Dabi lets you go and you jump up, thanking your daddy for the water before running back to your shared room.

“Make her cry like that again, and you won’t be alive to apologize to her.” Shigaraki warns with a hand on Dabi’s arm, pinky scarily close to coming down.