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lydiimae · 1 month

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Jealousy

A.N: OMG I am finally starting this blog. I am so so excited. This is a Benedict Bridgerton fic ofc. The true loml. I'm still debating if I will write only Bridgerton orrrrrr others? I dunno... but for now, here is a lovely, smutty, cutie, Ben fic hehe <3

Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, vaginal sex, drinking, dirty talk, heavy praise, talk of public heavy petting ;)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Minors DNI!! 18+

He sighs from beside Eloise, shifting on the picnic blanket for what has to be the millionth time. "Brother, you worry too much about that woman." She mutters with an amused glint in her eye, taking a bite of one of the strawberry tarts the family maids had made for the occasion.

A family picnic was not a rarity during the social season, especially for the Bridgerton's. What was a rarity is that Benedict had invited a woman along, an incredibly important woman at that. Y/N L/N, a daughter of an influential Viscount. The woman he found himself to be head over heels in love with.

"I am not worried. I am merely observing so our brother does not make a fool of himself in front of her." He replies with a huff, taking a sip from his flask before tucking it back into his pocket.

You were merely speaking with his brother. His happily married older brother. He has no reason to be jealous, really, but something in him still tugs painfully at the sight of you speaking to another man. It is only when Kate comes to steal her husband away that you scootch back over to him, a bright smile on your face.

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You move back over to Benedict and look up at his cute pouty expression, smiling at the warmth that blooms in your chest as a result.

You wished to get to know his family before the inevitable happens. Marriage. You know, as well as he does, that you were both going to tie the knot as soon as it was acceptable to do so. You also know that he would scoop you up and marry you tomorrow if he had his way.

At the very first ball of the season, Lady Danbury insisted that she had someone for you to meet. Someone who enjoyed painting just as much as you did. So, she took your arm and led you away from your father to the Bridgerton family. You were confused, at first, when the already happily married Viscount, Anthony, turned to greet you. And then, as if the sea was parting, he appeared. A crooked grin on his face as he moved to see you. Benedict Bridgerton, although he is a second son, stole your heart as soon as you saw him.

From then on you waited with bated breath for every dance you would share, dreamt of him in your bedroom when you got home, and thought of nothing but him in between. You shared stolen glances at every event and even snuck off to any hidden corner or garden you could find for breathless kisses and entirely impolite words that sent your mind into a whirlwind you could not explain.

Soon enough, he started inviting you on promanades and even sooner he wished for you to dine with his family. Get to know his life outside of the stuffy ballroom, to which you found yourself falling even deeper in love than you could've ever imagined.

"You're pouting, Ben." You hum, taking a sip of your lemonade with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Indeed. Perhaps if you were not so caught up with my brother I would not have a reason to pout, hm?" He returns, moving to take another sip from his flask.

He was jealous? Of his married brother? You sigh and move your hand over his, shaking your head slightly. You hand him a glass of lemonade. If he truly is jealous, the last thing he needs is whiskey.

"If you truly wish to hear what we were talking about, I shall tell you." You return as he takes a sip of the lemonade you gave him. He moves his hand over yours, just out of sight of his family. A possessive gesture that makes your heart flutter.

"Yes, in fact, do enlighten me." He grumbles with a sigh. "His wife, Benedict. He was talking about his lovely wife, which if you have forgotten, happens to be my dear friend." You sigh, running your thumb over his knuckles.

He looks over at you, his green eyes sweeping down to your lips, then your chest, before finally looking back up. "I care not of what you were speaking about, I should like you to speak with me when it is I who invited you." He practically growls, the tone of his voice making the place between your legs heat up and dampen instantly. A feeling that only happened with him, something he had explained as both desire and arousal.

"You know that I-" You begin, but are cut off by him pulling you to your feet. The glasses of lemonade are now completely forgotten. "Mother, I should like to promenade with Lady Y/N." He fibs.

What he would really like to do is rip the skirt of your dress open, spread your legs wide, and plunge his cock so deep inside of your soaked cunt that you forget everything else. He wants to paint your insides with his seed right here, in front of the whole ton, so that every man can get a glimpse of who you truly belong to.

"Of course, dear. We shall not keep you." Violet replies with a smile before delving back into conversation with Eloise, who also looks up with a confused expression but quickly rolls her eyes and continues to speak to her mother.

You shoot him a questioning look to which he just raises an eyebrow and offers his arm. You take it and he begins to lead you away from the picnic canopies that many families have set up to dine under.

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"Where are we going?" You question after a moment, realizing that you are not following the path around the lake but rather the path to the carriages.

He stops and tugs you behind a tree, pushing you up against the trunk. The bark bites into the little exposed skin the back of your dress grants you and your cunt flutters when you see his expression.

Desire is different for men, he taught you. You can see it in the way his trousers tighten at the front and in the way his eyes haze over. His hands move to your waist and he bends down, pressing kisses all the way up your neck until he reaches your ear.

"Agree to marry me and I shall show you." He whispers, biting the soft flesh beneath your ear causing you to shiver and whine. He grins and licks over the tender skin, soothing the sting.

"You already know very well that I would say yes to any proposal you give me." You breathe, leaning your head back as your eyes flutter shut. His hand skates over your stomach, running up the smooth fabric of your dress until he meets your breast. He cups one and swipes his thumb over your hardened nipple through the fabric.

He pulls away, swiping the saliva off his bottom lip with his thumb before picking you up. You squeal and he chuckles, paying the driver of his carriage off before tucking you inside. He closes the door and the curtains on the window, darkness enclosing the both of you.

"Benedict." You whisper as he lays you back on the velvety bench. "Hush, my love. I shall not do anything before asking I swear it." The title makes your heart almost burst out of your chest. He dips down once more, pressing his lips to yours briefly.

You pull him back down before he gets very far, chasing one of those open-mouthed kisses he gave you at the last ball. He groans, his tongue swiping over yours. He grins over your lips at the sound that escapes, moving his hands to yours where they rest on his chest before breaking the kiss.

"Ben please." You whine, wanting him to continue so desperately. He only smiles, taking off your gloves. "You must have patience, my sweet girl. I am going to ravish you in due time." He assures, pressing soft kisses from your palm all the way up to your shoulder as he takes off his gloves as well.

He reaches your neck, to which he takes a deep breath. Taking in your scent of lavender and citrus, making him groan as it always does. "Do you remember when I taught you to ride my thigh?" He whispers, running his tongue down to your collarbone, nipping the skin.

The memory makes you flood your underwear. You remember well, how could you not? He had lead you to the garden at one of Lady Danbury's balls and sat you down on his lap on the edge of the fountain. He hiked up your skirt and led your hips back and forth until something inside of you snapped so hard you saw stars and stained his trousers. That is where he taught you about his arousal, about yours.

"Yes." You breathe, your eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands moves under your skirt. His slender fingers skating teasingly up your thigh. "Good girl." He praises. He cups your cunt without warning and you cry out, your hips canting.

"Fuck. You are absolutely drenched." He whispers, relishing in the moans he draws from your body just from keeping a hand over your cunt. "And I told you about sex, do you remember that darling?" He murmurs, watching your eyes flutter.

He slowly pushes your skirt up so he can slide off your panties. He tucks them into his pocket, smiling to himself. "Yesss." You moan as the air hits your bare sex. "You told me it happens when we get married." You whisper between whines as his hand comes back, his fingers curling into your pubic hair.

"Such a good listener. So good for me." He praises, sliding two of his fingers along your drenched slit before finding your clit with expert touch. He rubs a slow circle on your button and you moan loudly, throwing your head back. "Now, when a man has honor he waits to take a woman's innocence. But my honor disappeared when I saw you with my brother," You try and protest but he pinches your clit and you cry out before you can get so much as a whisper out.

"So I will take you now. In this damn carriage." He growls, moving his free hand to your hips to hold you down. You whine when his fingers move down. "Fuck you are perfect," He breathes. "I'm going to slide one of my fingers inside now, darling, alright?" He murmurs, the switch from possessive to sweet sending your mind reeling. So overwhelmed, so mindless Just how he likes you.

You nod tentatively, your heart rate spiking which he picks up on. He shifts so he is over you, and kisses the crown of your head. "I'll go slow, hm? Nice and slow. All you need to do is pat my arm twice and I'll stop." He assures, calming your heart. You nod and nuzzle his neck.

He slowly plunges a long finger into your weeping cunt and you whine at the invasion. "Good girl, fuck you are so tight." You gasp and writhe as he curls his finger, the feeling sending a shock straight to your clit. He slowly adds another finger and you moan loudly, your eyes rolling back.

"Ben... so good. Feels...." You cry out when his fingers curl into a spot that sends waves of pleasure through you. He grins and begins to rock his fingers, drawing heavenly noises from your soaked cunt. The carriage filled with the sound of your moans and the squelching of your pussy.

He licks a stripe up your neck, beginning to suck as he rocks his fingers. You curl a hand in his thick curls and tug, your hips desperately trying to move against the palm of his hand.

He kisses your jaw, and then your chin, before finally capturing your lips. His tongue immediately sliding past your swollen lips and tangling with yours. You moan into his mouth as his thumb presses down on your swollen clit, moving clockwise as he rocks his fingers into your body.

He breaks the kiss and pulls out his fingers, much to your dismay, before unbuttoning his trousers. "Benedict... why did you stop? It felt so very nice..." You whine, grinding on nothing to try and gain some sort of feeling.

He groans at the sight, bending down and pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. "My harlot of a fiancee. So needy for something she does not even know the half of." He praises as he slowly frees his cock, the sight along with his filthy words making you gasp.

He pulls back and strokes himself with the help of your delicious wetness, before looking back at your sweet face. All flushed and wide-eyed. He moves his free hand to your chin, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

"It will not fit, Benny." You whisper, suddenly frightened. His eyes soften and he moves down pressing a swift kiss to your lips. "It will, my love. We will go slow, I promise. Remember what I told you, two pats on my arm and we will stop." He hums, peppering your face with kisses which causes you to giggle and calm a bit. "Perhaps one pat for apprehension, hm?" He murmurs with a smile, pulling back. You nod.

"Good girl." He hums. He leans in and runs his length through your soaked folds drawing moans from the both of you. "Fuck. God, I love you." He grunts and you smile, draping your arms over your eyes to cover your blush. "I love you too, Benedict." You whisper back.

He slowly pushes into your body, throwing his head back at how tight your pretty pussy is. You cry out at the invasion, your hands shooting down to grasp at the edges of the carriage bench. The feeling is a strange mix of pain and something different. A tart taste on your tongue paired with a tingly feeling in your already hot womb. "Fucking hell." He groans before tucking his face in the crook of your neck, stopping halfway so you can adjust.

You whine and wrap your arms around his neck after a moment. "P-Please..... more. I need more, Benedict." You gasp after the pain subsides. God, he almost comes right there. He wants you like this all the time, mindless for his cock. Begging him to fuck you.

"Good fucking girl, Y/N." He grunts before bottoming out inside of you. You moan and toss your head back into the seat cushion and he groans at the feeling. "You feel so good, my love. So ripe, so wet. God, so very tight just for me." He praises.

He begins to move slowly, the slap of thighs meeting thighs filling the carriage. The feeling is so foreign but fuck you never want it to stop. Moans and whines slip past your lips before you can even begin to try and stop them, and you cry out as he speeds up. The noises he is drawing from your body would embarrass you if you didn't adore the way he feels inside of you to the point that you can think of nothing else. You wish to be like this as much as you can, full to the brim with his cock.

"Benedict." You moan and he stalls, gritting his teeth. "Never ever stop moaning my name, you vixen. God, I am a lucky man. The luckiest man in the world." He praises you as he begins to slam into you.

You grip his coat so hard you are surprised the velvety fabric hasn't torn. You cry out when his thumb finds your clit, the feeling sending you up to the clouds. "Come for me, my love." He grunts from above you with a slight slap on your thigh. That sends you over, your vision going white as you scream his name.

He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and pumping himself. He releases with a groan onto your stocking-covered thigh before collapsing on top of you.

After a moment he lifts his head to look at you, brushing your fallen hair out of your face. You smile, almost drunkenly, as you look at him. "That was heavenly." You whisper and he smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Just wait until we are married. I cannot wait to fill you with my seed and see you plump with my child." He murmurs. resting his head back on your shoulder. Your hand absentmindedly finds his hair, running through his messy curls.

"We have to go back." You whisper to which he shakes his head. "Not yet. I paid off the driver. We have as much time to rest as we wish, dearest." He hums, his eyes closed. You grin and close yours as well, slowly dozing off with him.

You are the luckiest woman in the world.

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2kmps · 7 months

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A Simple Nocturne

alucard|adrian tepès x reader | 3.3k

synopsis; following the defeat of his father by his hand, you notice alucard becomes withdrawn amid an uncertain future. you take his hand, unable to bear the suffering he endures in silence.

story warnings; mentions of patricide, alucard in mourning, erotic content that isn't really explicit, written in 2018, sotn-coded alucard mostly, mdni!

At his insistence, he was often in your company for a few sparse moments while the moon was at its highest beyond the spires of the castle and coverture by clouds. You couldn’t say you were a fool to the layout of the castle any longer, and even once telling him so, he still offered to walk with you through the dismal corridors, guided by the dull flicker of candlelight from the candelabra in his grasp.

These were the moments with him that you cherished the most, the only ones he seemed willful to indulge you in. Following the defeat of Dracula by his own hand, you thought his eyes had grown colder than any hellish winter, reflecting the nebulous traces of his thoughts. He stood within your grasp these times almost always, and yet he was so far away from you.

Even as he walked alongside you, the halls comfortless and abysmal aside from the synchronic tap of your footfalls across cold stone that reverberated endlessly off the walls and carried on as though a voice growing more distant, you felt alone.

You could feel his presence beside you, his languid strides easy enough to keep in pace with, the tail of his coat nearly dragged the floor and wound his legs, and if you were to sidle just slightly nearer, you would be touching him.

He seemed a ghost; residual and purposeless, a man with nothing else he could possibly lose and yet for some reason even unknown to him, he continued living on.

The sweet glow emanating from candlelight cast across his face and showed to you a haunted man, an otherworldly beauty that captured the pallor and translucency in his skin, the glimmer of hair like tinsel, and a gaze with faint shine that swayed towards you.

You quickly looked away towards the worn tapestries adorning the walls and the many doors mirroring one another as you passed. However, after a moment, the discomforting echoes in the hall tapered into nothing as you both stopped before one door in particular.

“I feel like it looks different every night.” You said, fingertips curling away from the brass handle wrapped in the night chill. “I sort of feel like switching up rooms again. That alright with you?”

“You’re free to do as you wish, that has not changed.” Alucard gave his brisk reply. Perhaps if this had been your first encounter with him, you would had thought him rude, but there was no ill-intent behind his words.

And by the dimming glow from the flames, you could feel his gaze waver at the slightest, lips twitching at the corners as though trying to search for something more to say. You wondered if he thought he presented an unperturbed, impenetrable, always stoic demeanor that you couldn’t see through. It was likely of little comfort to him when your eyes pierced straight through him; those feelings, those things he perceived as his own weaknesses wore on his sleeve and made your heart tremble as well.

“Tomorrow, then.” He spoke at last, taking one step away for you as he turned. There was a reluctance in his movements, a lethargy as though realizing once he left, he would be alone again.

You couldn’t bear his suffering any longer.

“Adrian, enough of this.” You caught his wrist, jarring him to a halt while his eyes shone in surprise. “Enough. Please just talk to me about how you’re feeling. Whatever you’re going through. You’re not well, you haven’t been in sometime.”

The walls were crashing down around him, the facade was quick to melt away as his face began to twist as though anguished. “I’ve nothing left to say that’s worth taking your time.”

“That doesn’t matter to me, you damn fool.” You searched for his fingers, twining them together as the large door gave a suffering wail. Your first steps backwards into the room were met with resistance, the full length of his arm outstretched, lingering at your doorway with the candelabra leveled at his waist. “You can come inside. Please, just talk to me. If not for yourself, then just don’t let me be alone.”

And so, led by the warmth of your hand, he ventured in the darkness of your room. The brass handle gave a rattle as he closed the door behind him, freeing his fingers from your own to set the candelabra aside on the first table that caught his eye. Despite the black air that encompassed you, you navigated the room easily enough, feeling for the candles and dainty lanterns you kept at your bedside for convenience.

You turned your head towards the sound of scuffing fabric, managing just then to coax a lantern alight, basking the spacious room warm, dancing hues that didn’t quite reach your doorway. It pleased you, however, when Alucard emerged from that nothingness without his coat, shadows seemingly dissolving from his shoulders as he fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt.

The bed barely emitted a creak as you flopped atop of it, legs crossed under you, giving the spot before you a eager pat. “Sit right here and tell me what’s on your mind. I’m all ears.”

His fingers froze at the buttons on his sleeves, eyes swimming across the room as though cautious there might be others listening, observing you both. That feeling stayed with him even once he joined you on the bed, his presence little more than a slight dip in the mattress.

You scooted closer to him. “There’s something I’ve been curious about, Adrian. With, you know, everything that has happened. Are we—Are you going to stay here indefinitely?”

“Even I cannot foretell the future.” He hunched forward, arms draped across his thighs. “What it is I should do against what I feel I should, I think of them often. My bloodline is cursed, what good to the world has come about it?”

He said this one other instance, though your memories of that day were vague, dreamlike even. You only recalled roaming Dracula’s castle with him, and then the next awakening in his arms to a brilliant sunrise and a sprawling, glittering sea. That beauty was marred by his overwhelming grief, though his tears only glistened at the corners of his eyes, never falling.

“I don’t think you’re cursed, Adrian.” You said, reaching forward to give light strokes his arm. Through the thin fabric, you felt his muscles tense against your touch, his eyes fixated on yours. “You’re a good man who wants peace, who sacrificed so much, who loves his family more than anything else… even after everything.”

Those words seemed to soften him as his shoulders lowered, tresses of gold falling across his chest. The shadows deepened in the creases of his brow, and even though it pained him for you to see his composure chip away, he could not will his gaze away from you. Not now, and not when the tears seared his eyes, clouding his vision until the your face was no longer discernible to him.

“Oh, Adrian.” You found your voice cracking, his despair so palpable that it made your bones ache. It wasn’t any thought in your mind to wrap your arms around him, nestling your face against his chest to smother your own tears. “None of this was your fault. Not what happened to your mother, nor your father. This isn’t something you have to deal with on your own.”

You had never felt so much rigidity in his body more than you did in that moment. Clearly, your response was unexpected, your touch even less so. Despite this, he let his vulnerability show, body trembling as you smoothed your hands across his back.

His fragility was heartbreaking, and thought it was not so, he felt so much smaller than yourself.

“I... I am tormented by it every night. By my mother’s death, seeing it again.” He whispered shakily, taking a moment to ease his breaths. “And by taking my father’s life by my own hand. I remember so vividly still, at the end before his death, he had a moment of clarity. He wanted forgiveness that I could not be the one to grant.”

“Adrian—”

When you felt his arms surround you, holding you flush to him as his chin rested atop your shoulder, you thought the air had been knocked from your lungs. How long had it been since he held you like this?

“Is this the fate I’m meant to endure? The knowledge that I was useless to save my mother, and my father was slain by my hand? Isn’t a fate where I seal myself away from the world something to rejoice?”

You couldn’t listen to this anymore.

“Adrian, my love, that’s not the answer!” you snapped, that outburst startling him long enough for you to slip your arms between your bodies to take the sides of his face in your hands. “Please, don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re still grieving, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But, you need to accept that you’ve always done everything you could.”

His arms loosened from your waist, yet he still would not let you go. A smile tilted the corners of your lips as you traced your thumbs under his eyes, swiping away his tears. You were doubtless that you could offer him little comfort in alleviating all of his agony.

The only one who could bring that war in his heart to a standstill was himself, you could only do this and hold his hand when he needed it.

Aside from the drum of your heartbeat in ears, the room was void of noise. You indulged in that silence, mesmerized by the softness of his skin that still held traces of warmth, and glisten in his eye that you wanted to believe stemmed from something other than tears.

He was entranced just as much by you, leaning his face more to one side against your palm, though you noticed the way his eyes drifted down your face.

It was an invitation that you eagerly took.

The feeling of his lips against yours was something you had craved for a time, foreign for you both, though his reaction was much more genuine. He was unsure, startled even that you had decided to kiss him. His face remained still in your hands as you moved your lips to the corner of his mouth, feathering upwards towards his cheeks, to the tip of his nose, and then once again to the origin.

This time he held no reservations to your affection, one of his hands carefully caressed your nape while your arms rose to hook around his neck. His lips were as soft as you had imagined they were while fervor grew from the caress, rousing something in you that you had been forced to the furthest parts of your mind for a while.

You felt his hand sweep lower to your back, gliding between your shoulder blades until he held you at your waist and eased you down on the mattress. His loose curls were much like spun gold, tempting you to twist them like tight ringlets around your fingers as his hair spilled over his shoulders like silk.

It wasn’t until you felt the tickle of the crisp night air against your flesh that you realized his easy work on your blouse, unfastening the last of the buttons before reaching past the fabric to feel your skin. You were growing unfathomably hot just by this, keenly aware your chest burned where he touched you, and it crept higher and higher as his hands did.

“Mmmn, this isn’t how I want it to go, Adrian.” You managed between kisses, tilting your face away where he then found fascination in your neck. His warm breath fanning across your flesh, trailing the length of your neck and behind your ear was rewarded with a quivering, longing sigh. “Adrian—”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Yeah, I do.” You murmured, luring his face over yours again where you yanked him by the shirt into yet another ardent kiss. Without releasing his shirt, you ventured lower to fumble through undoing the buttons and peeled the thin fabric from his body.

Even though he was a lean man, there was still definition in his fame, muscle in his arms and chest. You memorized the divots and curves in his skin with your fingertips, unlikely to forget how he twitched when you touched him and his trembling breaths.

His pants and undergarments came off much faster, a reflection of your ardor and perhaps even his own as he swayed against you to slide them off his hips, cock hard against your thigh. The last of your garments was shucked from your body to join the heap on the floor, prompting you push yourself on your elbows as you kissed beneath his jaw.

“Lie on your back, Adrian.” You smiled against him, running your hands across his chest as persuasion. “Tonight is for you. I want you to know how much I love you.”

“As you wish.”

There was a flicker in his eye, a liveliness and searing want. His hands seized your own, pulling you up to straddle his waist when he laid back on the bed. There he explored more of you, stroking circles on your thighs and hips, eyes traveling across your body in a way you expected someone would look at exquisite art. “You are divine. This moment is ours, though I still do not understand what I have done to earn your love.”

“I don’t think any of us really do. We just love authentically and truly.” You answered, casting your eyes low to his erection and rubbed yourself against him. “I love you because you’re a good, kind man, even if you don’t want to see it.”

His breath snagged in his throat as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking his length and circling your palm around the head. You felt his hips lift under your, yet continued with fluid, rhythmic pumps. “I love you because you always try your best, you always do what you can with whatever circumstances are given to you.”

Even when in the clutches of pleasure, he was absolutely beautiful. His teeth caught the dim light when his mouth fell ajar, and his hair was a luscious bed of curls around him. You found it a bit humorous that you could elicit such a reaction from him, being what he was. But, you always believed him to more human than vampire.

It was after giving his cock a few harder strokes that he gripped your wrists, halting you. “Enough of this. I want to feel you, give yourself to me.”

You held no qualms to what he wanted.

Convinced by your nod, he released your wrists to grip at your thighs instead, massaging the back of them and then your ass when you rose to your knees to guide him inside you. His expression twisted deliciously the lower you went on his shaft, his fingers pushed deep divots into your skin when you acclimated to his girth and began rocking on him.

He didn’t let you go, not once.

Hot air hissed through your nostrils, lips taut and brow furrowing in your concentration to angle him just right as you rolled forward and then back. More than your own pleasure, you were careful to watch for his; the subtle twitch of his lips, the tension between his eyes, and the unyielding stare he fixed you with.

This moment was solely for him, yet you could say you were surprised when he began stroking your sides, raising his hips in unison with your thrusts, sending quakes of pleasure racing through your limbs and core.

There was a new glimmer in his eyes now, a coddled flicker that had grown in such enormity that even you felt embarrassed to be on the receiving end of it. He helped you in your motions, lifting you high enough for the tip of his cock to just nestle in you, bucking his hips to plow deep inside, luring a rather harsh gush of air from your lips.

At that point, you loomed over him, fingers splayed across his chest to keep yourself from completely collapsing on him. Your breaths quivered as you touched your lips against him, setting is flesh ablaze as your pants left hot, moist trails on him that then caressed his ear.

“There’s so much more I want to experience with you, Adrian. This—" you stifled a moan, body jarring as you rammed back down onto him, striking a spot in your that made your toes curl inward and abdomen clench tighter and tighter. “This—this is nothing.”

A sting of cold air touched your sides as you threaded your fingers with his, pinning the back of his hands on the bed next to his head. His knuckles bled of color as he clenched your hand tighter, pants seeming nothing more than dainty puffs of air, but your body knew otherwise.

Your sides were going to bruise, fully expecting the same of your hands. His thrusts were hard, belonging to a man creeping closer to his end. And yet, even midst all of this, you had never seen his eyes so dazzling, smoldering, encompassing you in such warmth and passion.

“A lifetime with you,” he fussed with your fingers, the back of his head digging deeper into the sheets as he writhed below you. “I—I could ask for nothing else. There is none other that I would rather have.”

As tender and genuine as his words were, you could only focus on the tension burying deeper in your gut, but spreading like a growing ember, a heat pulsing through your veins. Your walls tightened around him, the friction roused something of a harsher noise from the back of his throat, whereas you met your end.

You shook as you came, the strength in your thighs weakening and warmth in your body flourished, climbing to from your toes to your fingertips, and filled your vision with a glare of white. While the tension flowed from your body, your motions atop of him lethargic and fingers loosening from his, he thrust up into you a number of times; each reaching deeper than the last, fierce and quick.

The feeling was almost indescribable. He held your hands tightly, body halting and rigid beneath yours, cock throbbing against your walls and growing slick with cum that sent a shudder rattling down your spine. It was then that you noticed his chest relax when he released his breath, hips flattening against the mattress.

“Your love…” he rasped, tipping your balance as he lifted the back of your hand to his lips, fingers still tangled with his. “I will never understand what I have done to be worthy of it. And yet, I cannot find it in myself to refuse it.”

You couldn’t call the sensation pleasant as you removed him from your body, joining his side on the bed, and inviting the night air to dance across your skin. All but one lantern had dimmed in the room, his expression difficult to determine, though you didn’t think you would be wrong in your assumption.

“Truly, who knows why anyone falls in love. But, I’m sure of my feelings.” You burrowed your face against his neck, relishing his touch as it ghosted across your shoulder. “We’ll face tomorrow, the following day, and every day thereafter together.”

“I have no doubt of that.” There was a faint rumble of laughter in his throat. He coaxed your face higher with his fingers so as to easily reach your ear. “To begin this lifetime together, allow me to repay you the words that you’ve spoken to me so much already."

"I love you.”

divider;@/anlian-aishang

reposted from my deleted blog, cardeneiv

please interact and reblog if you enjoyed reading! 💜

#castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard x y/n #adrian tepes #adrian tepes x you #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes x y/n #adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes x you #adrian fahrenheit tepes x reader #castlevania nocturne #netflix castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania fanfic #castlevania imagine #symphony of the night

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tojiwrd · 8 months

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6: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings mentions toxic family, mentions of forced marriage, emotional infidelity, lots of crying, drama drama drama, confrontation, lots of reminiscing. also not proofread so im sorry for any mistakes !!

word count 4k

a/n sorry for late update lomls my gojo fate is fickle ver. came back into my life after three years of silence so this is chapter is coming straight from my bones guysssss . also i am so so so grateful for the support on this fic, genuinely makes me so happy i love u guys sm thank you SO much !! <3 also credit to the person of the art!! i can't find their name so if anyone knows then lmk <3

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Gojo Satoru didn’t get on one knee and ask to marry you. He did it when the two of you were in the apartment he bought just a few months prior, laying on the bed as the small opening of the curtains let a thin stream of silver streams in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared because when he slipped the question while the two of you were facing one another, a hint of sleep heavy on the eyes on his moon-kissed face, he backed it up with the ring he’d carefully tucked away in his sweatpants. You swore your cheeks were hinting a fresh glow for the next week.

Maybe it was dumb to think you and Satoru, only twenty-five, would’ve worked out when he proposed on a random Sunday in bed. It did seem dumb, though, while you sat across Hana who was relaying her own proposal story. You’d tuned it out, not wanting to hear her drone on about how it was the most perfect, breathtaking moment when he got on one knee at a rooftop restaurant. You didn’t want to be there, partially because you truly felt as though Hana was painting Satoru out into someone he wasn’t, and partially because you were human and humans tend to get jealous sometimes.

It was meant to be a simple brunch with ten people, friends of friends of friends. You had Reina right next to you, Reina, whose eyes were continuously twitching as Hana would relearn a new moment from that picture-perfect night and feel the need to share it with everyone on the table. You could also see some of your own friends who were aware of yours and Satoru’s relationship look at her, then you, with furrowed brows. Hers mostly out of confusion, and at you to ask why the fuck are you quiet?

“Ugh!” One of the girls, Jia, exclaimed as Hana finally seemed to get to the end of her engagement story. “I wish I had someone like Gojo Satoru; all these men are so unromantic and act like genuine children.”

Truthfully, if Satoru wasn’t your ex-fiancee, you would be on the same boat as the girls who were unaware of your past relationship. Hana’s story, from the pieces you forced yourself to hear, was dreamlike. A small part of you wanted to tell her that her romantic and unchildlike husband had proposed to her, too, right after he’d done some other things that would end that conversation immediately. But you didn’t because it wasn’t Hana’s fault, even though your mind kept putting some blame on her, that Satoru broke it off with you.

“I hope all of you find somebody like Satoru. He truly is the best,” Hana replied dreamily.

You clenched your fists. Reina slammed hers on the table.

“You’re so delusional, Hana, it’s concerning.” You wanted to raise your arms and pull Reina down and ask her to shut up. To not cause a scene. But Hana looked at Reina, a confused, concerningly kind expression covering her features and you realized there lived a monster in you that wanted to see Gojo Hana crumble. “Don’t look at me all coy, high, and mighty. You don’t know shit about your husband. Why don’t you skip over these semantics and really tell them the only reason the two of you got married was because your parents forced you to?”

You delighted in the flash of anger that slid across Hana’s face as she pursed her lips, trying to find the right words. You leaned back and stared, an uncharacteristically numb look covering your features. This, a part of you realized, might be detracking you from your healing process but it was fun.

Hana looked around the table and noticed how all eyes were fixed on her figure. If there was one thing you’d learned from girls' brunches, it was that everybody loved when it blew over and left one or many people scathed. She sputtered over her words, the tangle coming out completely incomprehensible and you almost felt bad. Almost felt bad because it wasn’t expected of her to admit to a whole group of socialites that the marriage to the Gojo heir wasn’t out of love, but out of an arrangement that went in their favor. If you were in her place, you, too, would’ve waxed poetic about your marriage because if the truth would bring the palpable exciting energy down, you would feel bad.

“Perhaps it was suggested by our parents,” she started, glaring at Reina with faux sweetness. “But it was only because our parents saw how in love we seemed with each other.”

You tried to hold yourself back but it was just so simple for you to scoff at her words. When Reina looked at you, a sheen of anger coating her eyes, you pushed yourself to talk. “It’s not love if he cheated on someone with you.”

You had thought about this moment before; you’d wondered if, were you to ever meet Hana again, you would drop the ticking time bomb in her presence that might either blow up her entire marriage or just cause a small blip in the working systems of it. But saying it now, after hearing her say all Satoru had said about you was that your fathers worked together, felt completely underwhelming. Though the shoe was dropped and it was clear everybody managed to get a small tatters of it to whisper about with other people, it felt wrong. Wrong because the way Hana looked at you, eyes brimmed with tears and brows coming together in sadness, you had most likely broken a piece of her.

She gulped then cleared her throat. “Can—Can we talk outside? Alone?” she asked and, without sparing a glance at anybody on the table except for you and Reina, she walked to the sliding doors of the restaurant and into the glaring sun above.

Reina placed her hand on your forearm and said, “Come on, let’s go.” It was surprising to see a miniscule hint of guilt on her features, and you realized you had to have the conversation.

Hana had most likely heard the clicking of yours and Reina’s heels because she didn’t turn back to face the two of you. “I know you and Satoru had something going on.”

You froze, stunned and silent.

“I had heard from my mother that you both were in a relationship. He never mentioned it to me, though, and I didn’t mention it, either.” She turned around, eyes wide as she looked down and shuffled her feet in anxiousness. “I don’t know how it ended or when it ended, but I thought when he—he finally acknowledged there was something between us, the two of you were over. I didn’t want to know. We did get married because our fathers told us to, but I wasn’t lying when I said he was sweet and caring.” Her stare burned you like a billion matches. There was truth in her words, you knew—

“You homewrecking bitch!” Reina’s voice cut off your train of thought as she walked towards Hana, an accusatory finger pointed in her direction. Once again, you didn’t stop her even though you probably should’ve. “If you knew he was in a relationship, how could you even think of flirting with him? They were engaged. God! I swear, both you and Gojo are two peas in the same pod. You deserve each other.” Her words were also ringing through your head and there was confusion bubbling up within the same pot as growing anger.

“Why’d you pretend not to know when we saw you at the club?” you asked, finding your voice again, in a calm tone that surprised you, too.

Hana shook her head. Her face had curled up into fury, and you wondered if her nice, docile, angel-sent-from-above personality was a card she held up her sleeve the entire time. “I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know because Satoru was mine—is mine. You weren’t a part of his life anymore, so I didn’t want to add any worries that were misplaced.”

You wondered if you should tell her that Satoru had tried reaching out to you at Suguru’s gallery.

“If he had told me he was with you, I wouldn’t have tried anything with him.”

You were sure you had moved past everything.

After more than a year of avoiding any fire from your past with Satoru, the past two weeks had been filled to the brim with situations revolving around him. It was easy to ignore what you had with Satoru when he seemed like a distant memory and then a mere ghost in your thoughts. But when he’s insistent on giving you answers you never asked for, answers you didn’t want to know, and his wife had made an appearance that caused your brain to run without stopping, it was difficult to treat him the way you had.

No matter how much you wanted to ignore everything and reset your brain back to its default settings, you couldn’t when the world was caving in on you and reality seeped through its cracks to light a bright, pertinent light in front of your eyes. You hated Gojo Satoru with every inch of your bones, but you were never truly able to forget just Satoru himself.

Your mind had an interesting way to deal with the pile of information dropped onto your shoulders. You should’ve been reliving how Satoru made your blood boil when he got engaged with Hana, how he carelessly broke your heart because he began falling for somebody else, somebody brand new while he was taking space on your bed every night. You should’ve been, but you weren’t.

‘A relationship broken is always a relationship that could’ve been,’ is what you’d read once graffitied onto a brick wall you were leaning against with Satoru once in the middle of the bustling city streets. You’d pointed it out, he’d agreed. He’d agreed. You wish he hadn’t because there was a fragment of you that wished he remembered those words now. The devilish part of you wished that’s what he remembered, recounted abruptly while he was sleeping next to his wife.

You wished he’d think of the could’ve been’s instead of the measly fears he told you about at the gallery.

You also wish you had those fears, too. You loved Satoru to a point that he was in everything you did; your clothes smelt like his detergent because you would always take your laundry to his house for the weekends. The lamp next to your bed had his bracelet wrapped around it because he thought it was too loose on his wrist and he’d lose it. You would always accidentally call him because his contact was on your home screen, causing you to press on it when you were scrolling (he always picked up and he always talked to you for hours after, making you forget why you had opened your phone in the first place). The tattoo, a small design of baby’s breaths, on your hip reminded you of how he had held your hand through the pain.

You knew Satoru’s dreams. You knew Satoru’s biggest fears. So, why did he never tell you the fears he had for the two of you?

As soon as the thought hit your mind, it was followed by you harshly reprimanding yourself by reminding you that it was because he was getting excited over someone else’s calls, someone else’s dreams.

“Y/N, honey.” You heard your mother’s voice call from your ajar bedroom door before she hesitantly stepped in, heel-clad feet grazing over the off-white floor with footsteps following behind her. “Your friend from the gallery here to see you.”

You knew exactly who she was talking about which is why you raised slightly from your bed, a panicked look in your eyes, and only began pleading with her to tell him you weren’t here. Before you could even utter a complete, coherent sentence, Suguru had walked in with his head down and your mother simply walked out of the door, sparing you a sad smile. She didn’t know any of what had happened, but she most likely sensed it wasn’t anything worth toasting to after seeing Suguru’s mood and your reaction.

“Please, Suguru.” Your voice wobbled, a slight hiccup in your words because this was too much. Even though Suguru was somewhere on the top of your least-favorite people list at the moment, he didn’t deserve to see you get angry at him without having control over your words. “Leave.”

“Listen, listen, Y/N. I just… I heard some stuff and I needed to check on you.” His words were hesitant, as if he’d rehearsed them but had changed the script at the last minute. He walked closer to your bed and you couldn’t find the words to ask him to leave. “Hana told me—”

You snorted, cutting him off. “Hana told you what? That I ended her perfect, dreamy image of her marriage in public? Are you here to—what? Reprimand me? Tell me I was wrong—”

“Fuck, no. Stop, just for one second.”

You did stop because Suguru seemed more tense than you knew what to do with.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly addressed, his body finding its way to the edge of your bed. “I want to say I’m sorry, and you don’t have to accept it. I was wrong—I realize that now but… I was scared, Y/N.”

“Scared of what? I wouldn’t have been any worse if you’d just told me what you knew, Suguru. You hid it from me when you saw how I was going insane the month after the breakup.”

“I was scared of this. How you’ve been feeling since Satoru told you the truth himself.” You couldn’t reply to that. “But I want to tell you that even though I hadn’t told you about it, I did let Satoru know really well what he did was wrong. Not that it’s any better, but I never supported what he did. I—I couldn’t stop him from marrying her because… well, because he’s Satoru. I shouldn’t have assumed you were okay, especially not after finding out about Hana after three months. But I thought you were and—I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking straight.

But I heard from Hana earlier today about what had happened at brunch. She said she was scared Satoru would find out what she said and I—I have no idea why she trusted me with that information. I’m not friends with her. I don’t know why she told me.”

You took in a deep breath processing all the information Suguru kept on dropping. “I’m not telling Satoru anything.”

“But she—”

“She nothing. I don’t want to hear it, Suguru. Whatever she did, even if she actively tried to sabotage me and Satoru, it was on him that he let her.” Your phone lit up from beside you and you glanced at the time, internally thanking whoever controlled it for the real excuse to kick him out of your house. “I have plans with Kento. You need to leave now, actually.”

You didn’t miss the way Suguru’s face flashed with a hint of disappointment at your words.

Kento Nanami wasn’t understanding—not truly—which is why you were surprised that halfway through your date, when you told him you had to talk to Satoru, he understood. He walked you out of the restaurant, a calm, unwavering hand on your back and told you that no matter what happened, he’d be there by your side.

And though you knew you had people by your side, you really couldn’t remember who and felt a flutter in your chest.

By the time you reached Satoru’s (and Hana’s) apartment, the urge and confidence you felt when you came up with your plan ebbed away into pieces and left you lying there in a situation you weren’t sure you could face. You raised your hand up to press a finger against the doorbell regardless, trying to force away the thought that you would see the apartment you helped him move into and decorate. You briefly, for a second, wondered if he had changed it. You also wondered if it would hurt to see the small paintings you’d bought as a present for his new apartment not be in the spots of the wall Satoru put you on his shoulders to pin.

When the door opened, you were met with the same eyes that had haunted your dreams and nightmares. His mouth opened, wide enough for a fly to fly into, then he schooled his features into mere curiosity. You realized that you were the one that sought him out this time, you were the one who dropped in unannounced at his house, which meant you should speak.

“I need to talk to you.” And frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care if Hana was lurking behind him and able to hear you initiate a conversation with her husband. That was what he was: her husband before your ex-fiance.

He breathed out and shook his head as if willing himself to speak, too. “Yes. Yeah. Come in, Y/N.”

And you did. You saw the walls, the paintings, the small hearts on the corner of the dining table you drew with a sharpie, the couch you picked out, and even the necklace you had forgotten that peeked from under his coat on the coat hanger. You didn’t comment on it, though.

“Do you want water? Tea? Liquor?”

You almost laughed at the anxiousness in his voice. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”

Satoru’s expression was what you could confidently call crestfallen, and he didn’t try to hide it this time. You forced yourself not to think about it. You merely went down to the couch in his living room that you picked out and placed yourself on the left corner because you always used to sit on the right. It helped you see the TV better.

“She isn’t home.” You knew who he meant by ‘she.’

“Goj—Satoru, I need you to do something,” you said, unsure of how to start it off. In all fairness, you hadn’t prepared what you were going to say, it was just a messed up, jumbled backbone of stuff that you knew you had to tell him.

His reply was instant. “Anything.”

“I need you to not feel guilty or—I don’t know, keep feeling guilty but just keep it to yourself, okay?” You sounded like you were talking like a preschooler, and it wasn’t much different because Satoru looked at you with the hopeful eyes a kid has before you reject their wishes. But Satoru wasn’t a kid, Satoru was a man who made poor choices and hurt someone by doing something unexcusable, and that made it okay to tell him to stop.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t talk to me. If we’re in the same place, don’t talk to me. Don’t ask me not to hate you. Don’t tell me you regret what you did to me.”

It hurt to break your heart by your own words.

“Y/N, don’t do this,” he trailed off, eyes wide and filled with fear now. “Please.”

“Stop.” Your own eyes brimmed with tears you weren’t going to shed. It was fine dealing with Satoru when he tried to talk to you, but doing it on your own terms gave you an inexplicable feeling of sadness you hadn’t expected. “You’re being selfish.”

“No. How…”

“You take when you want, Satoru. You know more than anybody else that I loved you and lost myself when I couldn’t. You were there that night in the car, holding me when I cried when you left me. You left me!” you exclaimed, pointing your index in his direction that would’ve jabbed him in the face if he wasn’t further away. “You were there even after you left me. You’re there now, making me all confused and angry, when you know you can’t give me anything. You don’t have any intention of being somebody I need in my life, so leave. Make this easier for me and leave. Let me live my life while you live yours.”

He had shifted down the couch, and though he was still not too close, it felt too close.

“Don’t—fuck, don’t say that, love. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You flailed your arms in the air, his words not helping your case at all. “You can be sorry a million times over, but what’s done is done. You can’t… Fuck, Satoru. You can’t do this.”

A moment passed. Then another. He placed his head in his hands, facing ahead while you faced his shaking body.

“I love you,” he said, and you were lost.

“Don’t do this to your wife, Satoru. You love her. You’re supposed to love her. Don’t do this to someone else.”

“I love you,” he repeated, his eyes now looking into yours with a familiar fire of determination. “You know that, right? You know that I love you?” His words broke out into a sob that ripped directly from his scratchy throat. “Tell me you know that.”

“Then please leave. Don’t show up. Stop showing up, and stop explaining something that can’t be understood.”

And when Satoru placed a hand on your cheek, you didn’t push it away because you saw that previous fire dwindle within a second. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he scanned your warm face, your glassy eyes, and he noticed how you were shivering under his touch. You didn’t push it away because Satoru might’ve been selfish, but you were, too. And you would inhale the embers of him before they turned into ash.

“You want this?” he asked, but you could see he knew the answer. You didn’t reply. He continued, “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. But—But I want you to know I wanted it to be you. When Hana walked down the aisle, I thought of you. I wish you’d come. I would’ve never said ‘I do.’ I swear. I’m sorry I fucked up—I fucked us up. I got carried away and…”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t do that to her. You have a chance at being happy, Satoru. Don’t ever do what you did to me again.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have that chance at being happy?”

You thought about the question and Kento’s name flashed in your mind. It might have been small compared to the colossal amounts of feelings you felt with Satoru back then, but it was something. Even though you didn’t shake under Kento’s touch or feel your stomach turning upside down everytime he smiled at you, you felt safe and you knew that if you could stay, Kento would stay, too.

“I do.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, a single tear falling from his eye. “Is it wrong that I still wish it was me?”

You wanted to say no, it isn’t because a part of me wishes it was you, too. You didn’t.

He continued, “I can’t let you go, Y/N.”

Another tear, then another, till they continued streaming down his face. You couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t react to them. Not even when he took his hand away from your face to messily wipe them away between sobs and hiccups.

“You said you didn’t deserve me, and you were right. Remember that.”

And even though a larger part of you didn’t want to leave, you left, afraid that you might end up entangling yourself in his arms to cry with him. To get one taste of his lips for the last time before deciding to fuck it all and make one kiss more. To hold onto him for longer, forever. You left because you weren’t sure you could tell Satoru to leave again. You thought you still loved Satoru just not in the way you used to. But when you saw him pleading for nothing because there was no good outcome for the two of you, you realized you might still love Satoru the way you used to, just less and concealed by the hurt. You would’ve chosen all the bad outcomes and then some more if you stayed a minute longer.

#gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

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iamadequate1717 · 6 months

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Stede's Strange Day

I want to talk about Stede Bonnet's very strange day. Let's look at the progression of just what Stede sees.

He spends the night with his boyfriend for the first time, and his boyfriend brings him breakfast in bed like Doug did for Mary. They talk about their reunion. Stede is very happy right now!

His boyfriend tells him that he envisioned him as a beautiful merperson and that he thinks he saved his life.

They get dressed, and they go out on a breakfast date on the town. Stede tells Ed about the letters he wrote, and Ed loved that!

Stede then discovers he has a fanclub! Ed laughs and is happy for him! They're going to go down to Jackie's so Stede can enjoy this some more!

Ed throws in some light banter/teasing about this turn of events, and Stede literally squeals before they run off giggling together.

They get to Jackie's, and Ed continues to encourage Stede!

Ed leaves him to it! "Enjoy the night" are his parting words.

So Stede enjoys the night!

He's being accepted! And he still talks about his boyfriend while being fawned over!

Everyone tells him he's awesome! He offs an assassin while saying something cool! No one is making fun of him!

After a bit, he goes to find Ed to share in his fun! He's had a great day.

Only, he's immediately met with this with no context: Ed regrets being with him! Ed is leaving immediately!

Remember: Ed's last words to him were "Enjoy the night!" This is complete emotional whiplash. Stede knows right away what the problem is, but Ed shuts it down.

Ed wants to be a fisherman! A proclamation completely out of the blue! Stede tries to talk him down. That fish wasn't so awesome that it should completely change Ed's life trajectory, casting Stede out of the way.

Ed disagrees and abandons Stede with no real explanation or listening to what Stede was trying to say, which isn't a great move for a healthy relationship.

Basically, Stede spent a few hours (only a few hours!) enjoying himself (in a manner that Ed encouraged him to!). He did nothing awful (because murder is cool in this show), and was a lot tamer than what Ed and company were doing in 1x8 (turtle vs crab is mean!).

I'm going to go more into Stede defense in another post. "Last night was a mistake" is an egregious phrasing to use with the man you love who has self esteem and trauma issues (we know what he means but it can be interpreted much worse), but Stede took it in stride. But for some reason people act like Stede committed war crimes with the fish comment? Ed sharing his day and Ed excising himself from Stede's life are different contexts and the fish is viewed differently in each lens. It was an OK fish, and Stede did nothing wrong. Stede is right that Ed is a coward, and I don't think Stede saying a few slightly harsh things in the heat of the moment when being blindsided like this is a character flaw.

Ed behaved appallingly in shutting down the conversation and refusing to even give context to what was going on. With 1x9&10 and Stede deciding Ed was better off without him, I saw plenty of comments about how Stede couldn't make a major life decision for Ed like that. With this, Ed has made a major life decision for Stede (I'm going to dump him and remove myself before he can choose piracy over me!), but I have yet to see the same comments, and I know exactly why that is.

...

More Stede defense!:

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2e7 #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #miscommunication #stede did nothing wrong #ofmd #our flag means death #stede defense #ofmd 2x07

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amoreva · 1 month

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FEIGNING FOR YA’

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

CHAPTER 1.5

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: as a little childish act of rebellion, you try dating your friend, Luke Castellan, to really piss off your perfectionist parents (for a actual real reason, not the small things they hate). what was supposed to be no strings attached turned into a little more than just childish revenge.

warnings: slow burn, college au, smau, fake dating to dating, cursing, clarisse x chris, aged up! pjo charcters, yn is older sister figure to percy, luke and thalia are older sibling figures to annabeth

a/n: smau! the posts that happened during the chapter today!!

series list | next

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

FINAL DAYS OF SPRING BREAK!

seaweedbrain

♫ The Temptations - My Girl

Liked by juniper.xo, racheleliz, travisstoll and 59 others

seaweedbrain yeah, that’s my girlfriend 😎

📍greece

tagged wisegirl

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juniper.xo aww 😍

yn.ln percy is in loveee

seaweedbrain when I get back, watch yourself 😒 yn.ln okay loverboy 🙄

wisegirl ❤️

travisstoll eww, cooties

connorstoll eww, PDA seaweedbrain hello, i need to buy a gun 🙃 tyson for rock paper scissors, right? tyson percy, right? tyson right.

lukecastellan thaliagrace, annie is kissing boys

thaliagrace womp womp womp 🎺 seaweedbrain woot woot 🙌

clarisselarue

Liked by silenabeau, chris.rod and 231 others

clarisselarue last days of spring break 💋

📸 - chris.rod

tagged silenabeau, chris.rod, lukecastellan, yn.ln

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yn.ln literally my wives are so pretty

clarisselarue my wife is gorgeous 🫵 silenabeau love you sm yn 😘 chris.rod clarisselarue ???

chris.rod camera creds, oh yeahh 💪

seaweedbrain w/o me 😔

wisegirl we’re in another country?? lukecastellan you’re literally 12 yn.ln we don’t condone underage drinking 🙅‍♀️ seaweedbrain I’M ALMSOT 20

user1 location? 📍

yn.ln GORGEOSU BABES

thaliagrace otw back rn

silenabeau ❤️❤️

clarisselarue posted a story!

thaliagrace posted a story!

juniper.xo

Liked by yn.ln, wisegirl, groverunderwood and 23 others

juniper.xo he said “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” 🙃

tagged groverunderwood

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groverunderwood loml<3

wisegirl where did you guys go?

juniper.xo festival!!!

yn.ln cutie patooties

racheleliz the color palette 😍

groverunderwood it is beautiful!

silenabeau he’s a keeper

yn.ln

Liked by clarisselarue, cbeckendorf, silenabeau and 191 others

yn.ln your honor, i have a confession to make

tagged lukecastellan

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silenabeau UH YEAH YOU DO??

chris.rod this was not on my 20XX bingo card

user2 another baddie bagged 😔

clarisselarue cheating on me with castellan?

yn.ln NOOO, i promise babe it’s not like that yn.ln i’ll make it up to you 🙏 clarisselarue make it up to me with an explanantion, please. clarisselarue please? clarisselarue yn.

travisstoll since

connorstoll uh

travisstoll WHEN??

seaweedbrain what.

seaweedbrain not yn, she’s too good for him

lukecastellan ikr 🧎‍♂️ seaweedbrain DISGUTISBG yn.ln be nice

racheleliz so I need to throw my blue hairbrush at both of you now? 🤔

thaliagrace luke henry castellan, explain.

lukecastellan 🤫🤫 lukecastellan also not even my middle name?? seaweedbrain sounds like someone with the middle name henry would say

user3 cute!!

user4 whattt

chris.rod the radio silence??

silenabeau answer your texts 😒

cbeckendorf yn. silena is freaking out and running around the dorm, explain. please 🙏

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

taglist:

@happy-mushrooms @m00ng4z3r

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fic series #college au #pjo smau #smau #luke castellan fluff

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thecreelhouse · 3 months

Note

and what if i said “on your knees” prompt with st…s…ste…. oh i can’t even say it……

loml hello!!!!!!!!! 🥹 hope u like this bestie<3

———

“O-okay, you’re— you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Shoving Steve against a filthy wall in some stranger’s house, you’re determined to make Steve think of something, anything else, other than being trapped in the Upside Down. “C’mon, Steve. I’m not fucking stupid. You’ve been staring at me non-stop lately. Any reason why?”

“Because you’re- you- well,” Steve is trying his hardest to be a gentleman. Or, whatever else is close to that at this point. After diving through the watergate, he’s shirtless and wrapped in bandages, and you’ve only got a mini-skirt on (Yeah, great fashion choice before doing anything related to this hell of a different dimension. Great job!), and somehow lost half your shirt in the process.

You’re not a believer in much, but you’re sure as hell this is fate, or something close, pressuring you to finally make Steve realize you like him just as much, if not more. With your hands holding his arms to his sides, you glance up at him with the biggest gaze, one that sets off the storm awaiting inside him.

It’s the same stare he’s dreamed of time and time again, staring up at him while you’re choking on his cock.

“We could be stuck here for a very long time, y’know.” You purr, running your hands up his sides, careful as your fingertips run over his bandages. “The others are at Nancy’s anyway. We got time to kill. I literally saw you palming yourself when we were walking down the street away from the group— dude, please tell me you’re aware you weren’t that sneaky. You know that, right?”

“I— I don’t want to be mean.” Is all he can bring himself to say, but you laugh, startling him.

“Steve? As much as I love when you’re a gentleman, I’d fuckin’ love to see the old you tell me what to do. C’mon, babe, I know it’s still in you.”

You’re both the worst and best thing to happen to Steve Harrington. You’ve been such a badass through this entire adventure— it’s what you’re calling it, not him— and now you’re begging for King Steve to make a special appearance, boss you around and maybe make you cry, if he’s lucky. He wishes that thought alone, the idea of you crying while he’s ruining you, didn’t make his dick so goddamn hard. You realize how conflicted he looks, wanting to be respectful, wanting to treat you like a person, not just another piece of ass he’s chasing for one night only. You also see the way his eyes darken when you ask him to be his old self, to be mean to you, and you’re determined to lure that part out of him.

“I’m a big girl, I can tell you to stop if I need. Promise, Steve.” You’re hoping this helps, it comes off as begging, like he’s in control, but you’ve got the reins here, even if it’ll all be in his favor. “C’monnnnn, you nearly died, don’t you wanna—“

Steve’s fingers wind through your hair, soft at first, but once he has the handful he was searching for, his grip tightens, hard. You whine at the way he tugs your head up closer to his, nearly meeting him at eye level, but you’re on your tippy toes regardless.

“Nearly died saving your sorry ass. We nearly fucking died, and all you can think of is getting off? Seriously?” Steve’s eyes drop to your lips, pouting with need. “Open.”

Your eyes widen at the way he’s switched so suddenly, mouth falling open on his command. He spits into your mouth, thriving over the sight of you gagging on his own spit, without even kissing you. “That enough? Or you need more?”

Unsure what he was asking this for, you shrug, pussy throbbing as he tugs harder on your locks. “Heard you had the best mouth in our class, wanna prove it?”

Dizzy, you nod softly, in awe of how quick it was for him to jump back into his old ways. “Please? Can I?” A mixture of his spit and yours spills between your lips, right onto yourself. He watches the mess you make with a smirk, one that would’ve killed you back in high school, and still kills you now.

“Only ‘cause you sound so goddamn pathetic right now.” Steve loosens his grip on your hair, but has enough of a hold to push you towards the floor. “On your knees, honey. You said we got time to kill, don’t fuckin’ waste it.”

#aaagdgyfdjhfdg im gonnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa lose my marbles just wanna- bye #hope u enjoy this pal ty for sending this!!#prompts #answered #blurbs #steve harrington smut #ns/fw

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starlingflight · 8 days

Text

loml

Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3 TTPD Several Sunlit Daylights challenge.

Read on AO3 or below:

I. lesson of my life

Every illusion Ginny has ever had is shattered over the course of a single night.

She doesn't go into the chamber willingly. She claws, and scratches and fights against Tom's commands with all her might. She cries, and she struggles, but in the end it makes no difference. She isn't strong enough. As the darkness swallows her up, her final childish hope is for a rescue she knows isn't coming.

When she opens her eyes again it doesn't feel like a miracle. The cold from the stone floor has seeped through her skin, a chill has settled deep in her bones and she knows, with absolute certainty, it will never fully go away.

Of course Harry is there, holding a mighty sword, a dead monster behind him. The very image of the conquering hero she's always fantasised about, but this isn't like one of Ginny's fantasies. He's covered in blood, and his eyes are wide with the same terror that's taken root deep within her soul. There's no triumph in this moment, only horror.

This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare. One that Ginny won't fully wake up from for a very long time.

She learns many lessons that night, but the most important one will come later. After she's spent weeks, months, years putting herself back together, because Harry might have rescued her from the chamber, but, as Ginny will come to realise, the only person who can really save you is yourself.

II. light of my life

Harry's never known a darkness like this. It starts when he watches Sirius fall through the veil, tiny tendrils of black slowly leaking out from his heart, unfurling with increasing urgency until he's overwhelmed by a cold, empty abyss that he's sure nothing will ever penetrate again. How can it when Sirius is never coming back?

He doesn't even notice the first ray of light. It happens so quickly. He's in the hospital wing, trying very hard to let Hermione's commentary on the latest news from The Prophet distract him from the aching chasm in his chest, and the unbearable weight of the prophecy, when it happens.

Luna says something completely ridiculous about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – whatever they are – Harry can feel Hermione's exasperation from across the small gap that separates her bed from Ron's. Ginny's chocolate eyes meet his, and something happens that he'd assumed would never happen again.

Harry smiles.

It's fleeting, lasting less than a second. There's very little time to dwell on it before they're looking away from one another, and the grief washes over him again, a tidal wave that steals the air from his lungs.

That's just the beginning though… or maybe the beginning had been years ago. Maybe the blush he'd once thought of as the setting sun had actually been the opposite; Ginny's light rising, her warm, rosy glow beginning its ascent into his life.

She continues to rise that summer, forcing the darkness back with her sheer brightness. Her smile turns black to grey; her laugh is powder pinks and bright oranges; the jokes she coaxes from him are pure, cloudless blue.

When she runs at him across the common room months later, she's blazing, burning red. When she reaches him, when Harry finally kisses Ginny, the sun reaches its apex and his whole life is awash with bright, brilliant gold.

For a few shining weeks there are only sunlit days.

III. loss of my life

Fittingly, they're at a funeral when it happens. Ginny always knew he had great comedic timing. She's not laughing, however, as Harry lays out all his stupid, noble reasons why they can't be together. She's not crying either, though; that feels like a small mercy. The only one she's going to get for a while.

She does cry when she finally makes it home. It's silly, she knows. Silly, foolish, naive Ginny Weasley, a familiar, cold voice whispers through her mind. For once, she doesn't try to argue with it, but she doesn't try to stop either.

Instead, she buries her face into her pillow and lets herself sob until her eyes run dry. Her tears aren't just for her broken heart, but for everything Ginny's already had to sacrifice; her childhood, her innocence.

It isn't until weeks later that she realises the true magnitude of what she stands to lose.

“And then what does she think's going to happen? Someone else will kill off Voldemort while she's holding us here making vol-au-vents?”

The fork Ginny is holding almost slips from her grasp. Her heart falters in her chest. Harry playing his flippant comment off a joke does nothing to return it to a steady rhythm.

It plays round and round in her mind that night. Her knuckles are ghostly white where they grip her bedsheet. Vaguely, she'd known what he'd planned to do, but vague notions and knowing with absolute certainty are two very different things. The task Harry brought up so nonchalantly in the kitchen is nothing short of a suicide mission. It hits Ginny with the force of a barrage of stunning spells, knocking the air from her lungs; Harry might not come back to her.

Two days later, when she kisses him in her bedroom, it doesn't feel like she's saying happy birthday, it feels like she's saying goodbye.

When Harry follows Ron out of her bedroom door, he takes a piece of Ginny with him, one she prays she hasn't lost forever.

IV. longing of my life

She haunts him like a ghost. What was once screaming colour and pure unfiltered brightness is now just a memory, a pale imitation permanently stuck on repeat in his mind.

Harry moves stoically from one hiding place to another and, though they're separated by miles, Ginny follows him to every single one.

He can hear her laugh in the wind that shakes the canvas sides of the tent. He can see her smile in the sunlight that penetrates the thick canopy of the forests they move between. At night, when he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend the sheet brushing against his skin is her fingertips.

It's worse when he has the locket on. Then, he's tormented with visions like the one he'd imagined on his birthday; of her moving on. Finding someone else. Living a life that can never be his.

Horcrux or no, he can't stop himself thinking about her. Aching for her. Longing for her.

He clings to memories of Ginny like scraps of driftwood, the only thing keeping Harry afloat when he's been set adrift.

V. lament of my life

It's like the chamber all over again. Ginny's whole world is flipped upside down in the space of a single night.

She doesn't see Fred go. She doesn't know the last time she sees her big brother that it's the last time.

“Take care of yourself,” he'd shouted over his shoulder as Ginny had gone hurtling down a corridor in pursuit of a Death Eater.

“Don't I always?’ she'd called back.

What if she'd told him to do the same? Would he have listened? Would he still be there?

There's very little time to dwell on such questions in the middle of a battle. Especially not when every passing second brings another devastating loss.

Lupin. Tonks. Colin.

Ginny's heart shatters into a million little pieces until it doesn't exist at all. Or so she thinks, until she sees Harry's body cradled in Hagrid’s arms.

Then she knows she still has a heart, because it's in unbearable agony. She doubles over from the pain of it. His name escapes her lips on a scream, as though she might be able to call him back to life through sheer desperation.

Tom Riddle talks; for the second time in Ginny's life, she's unable to hear him, but this isn't like the Chamber at all. This time Ginny wishes she was dead.

When the battle resumes, she jumps straight into it with wild abandon. Ginny's lamentation is not filled with tears, or wailing. It's fire and rage for everything that's been taken from her. Tom Riddle already stole her past. Now he's taken her future. She will take everything she can from him, or die trying.

VI. lowest of my life

He's never truly let himself imagine what it might be like to actually defeat Voldemort. If he had, Harry doubts he would have pictured it like this.

If it's a win, why is there so much loss?

He doesn't know whether the grief or the hope is more overwhelming. They mingle together, like waves in the ocean, swelling and breaking, threatening to pull Harry under.��

He can feel it crash over him as he stands in the great hall the day after the battle. The bodies are still there; all the people who don't get the second chance Harry does are laid out in front of him. Lifeless eyes staring, unseeing, up at the enchanted ceiling.

The guilt and the pain sweep through him like ice water, filling his lungs; rising up in Harry's throat until there's no possible room for air. He takes a step back, desperate to flee somewhere he can sink down into the cold, lonely depths.

Before he can, a hand, small and warm, slips into his, pulling Harry back to the surface. He releases one, long, deep breath before looking at her.

Ginny's attempt at a smile is tinged with sadness, sunlight peeking through dark grey clouds.

Only hours ago, he'd contemplated all the things he needed to say to her, but now no words are exchanged at all. Only a look. It's all they need. All they've ever needed. Everything has changed. But he's still Harry, and she's still Ginny.

Instinctively his arm comes around her. Ginny buries her face in his chest, sagging slightly against him, as though she was waiting for this moment to let herself rest. Like she needs him as much as he needs her.

Harry's head rests against hers, the floral scent of her shampoo is faint, lingering beneath everything that's happened. It makes his heart falter anyway. He holds her tightly to him, something he never thought he'd get the chance to do again. As he's come to expect, time seems to stop for her. They stay like that for what might only be seconds, or possibly an entire lifetime passes.

Eventually, Ginny pulls out of his grasp. It takes less than a second for her hand to find his again, fingers entwining. She pulls gently, silently commanding him to follow her. Harry almost asks where they're going, but he doesn't really need to. He's free to go wherever he pleases now. He'll follow her anywhere.

Ginny looks up at him as they walk towards the double doors. He can still see the embers of her blazing light smouldering in the dark depths of her eyes. He was right, there will be hours, days, and years in which to talk, but he doesn't need her to say a word now to know where she's taking him. He lets her pull him forward, lets her light guide him to a future he's still not sure he deserves to have.

VII. loser of my life

For a while, Ginny thinks she'll never recover from the loss, from the grief and the heartache. It's not the first time she's felt this way, but this time she doesn't have to face it alone. Once she has Harry back, he doesn't leave her side again.

They fall back together naturally. They stitch themselves back together slowly until one day, years later, the sun is blazing brightly in the sky, the pleasant summer breeze is ruffling the grass beneath her feet, and Ginny feels whole again.

“Ready?” Her father asks, holding out his arm out to her.

“Ready,” Ginny agrees, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow. Holding her colourful bouquet of wildflowers in front of her with her free hand.

There have been times, in her darkest moments, when she wished she was someone else. A girl who hasn't dwelt in a darkness that most people don't ever see even in their worst nightmares; a witch who hasn't looked into the eyes of evil and refused to bend, refused to break; a woman who hasn't lost things that can never ever be replaced.

Now, as soft music begins to swell in the summer air, and her gaze locks on Harry, waiting for her at the end of the makeshift aisle formed by the rows of chairs that have been put out in her parent's orchard, Ginny doesn't regret any of it. Everything she's lost is a step she's taken towards this.

She can feel dozens of heads turn towards her, but Ginny only has eyes for Harry, and he, it appears, only has eyes for her. His smile makes the sun look dim in comparison. Still, the corner of his mouth trembles; even from a distance, Ginny can see emotion well up behind his glasses.

‘Don't you dare,' she mouths, feeling her throat tighten as she does. Her arm stretches out, lifting her bouquet like it's a wand, miming hexing him. She's closer now. She can hear the tremor in his laugh as he puts his arms up in mock surrender.

It's too late; the laughter she's coaxed from him doesn't stop the tear that slips down his cheek. Of course, one of her own escapes only a half a second later.

“We look like such losers,” Ginny informs him, shaking her head, as her fingers slip from her father's arm into Harry's awaiting hand.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, quietly enough for only her to hear. He's still smiling as another tear slides unconcernedly down his face. His free hand reaches up, his thumb swipes away the ones that are currently leaking traitorously from Ginny's eyes. “But you're my loser.”

It takes her a moment to regain her breath. A fleeting second in which she can't quite believe they're here; that they made it. Then she smiles even wider than before. “Not officially – not until we get through this ceremony.”

Harry's gaze holds hers. Ginny almost forgets they have an audience. The world reduces down to just the two of them, grinning madly at one another. Harry's fingers squeeze her hand. “We'd best get on with it then.

VIII. legacy of my life

Books are filled with what many consider to be his finest achievements. Tales of thrilling battles, speculations on unsurvivable curses, and records of great victories are inked across the pages of history.

As are the many titles thrust upon Harry; The Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Saviour. To him, they're little more than noise, assumptions from people who don't really know him, and never will.

When he slips the wedding ring onto Ginny's finger, Harry gets the first title he's ever chosen for himself: husband. Her husband.

Not long after, he gains another one, this one unplanned, but no less momentous. James, tiny, and so precious, is placed into his arms, and Harry becomes a father.

His real legacy begins there. It's not just his, it's hers too. Their legacy.

It's recorded in baby books and photo albums rather than history books. It's memorialised in finger paintings and handmade Christmas ornaments (made under Ginny's expert supervision) instead of plaques and statues. It's hundreds of little memories of their family that will never see the inside of a newspaper, but that doesn't make them any less noteworthy, not to Harry, who'd never dared to imagine that this life could be his one day.

IX. love of my life

“Dinner!” Her mother calls from the back door of The Burrow, her voice ringing out across the garden.

The sun is setting, dipping below the topmost branches of the orchard. The sky is a tapestry of pinks, purples and golds, stretching out for miles above them.

“What do you think?” Ginny asks as her feet meet the ground, dismounting from her broom. “Could I make it as a pro?”

Harry lands beside her. His eyes sweep appraisingly over her. Ginny's stomach swoops like she's still in the air. “I don't know,” he says thoughtfully. “The League is brutal. It requires rigorous training.”

Ginny shrugs unconcernedly, hoisting her broom onto her shoulder as she does. “Do you know any Quidditch captains who might be interested in helping me with such an undertaking?”

“I know one who might be able to make some time for you this summer,” Harry says as he falls into step beside her. He inclines his head towards her broom.“I can take it for you?”

Ginny's eyes narrow, prepared to tell him she's perfectly capable of carrying her own broom, but, when she turns, the way he's looking at her makes her heart race, and the words die on her tongue. without her permission, her expression transforms into a grin. “Very chivalrous of you.”

A weight is lifted from her as Harry settles her broom beside his on his shoulder. “That's kind of what I'm known for.”

“Only ‘kind of’?” Ginny's eyes wander to the quickly darkening sky above them as she laughs. “In that case, I'll be sure to let people know of this latest act of heroism – personally, I don't think you get enough attention.”

“Well, if that's how you feel, you could always give me more.”

Ginny stops midstep. Her head turns sharply back to Harry. She should keep walking, the words that are on the tip of her tongue will lead to something that neither of them planned for on this particular summer evening.

Harry's eyebrows rise upwards; even in the dusk, Ginny can see the challenge sparking in his eyes. Unbidden, she takes a step towards him. “Are you flirting with me, Potter?”

He doesn't back down, but he doesn't make a move towards her either. The brooms he's holding clatter together as he shrugs with just a bit too much tension in his shoulders to be truly nonchalant. “I might be.”

Ginny's blood thrums in her veins as she takes another step towards him. “Need I remind you that I'm spoken for?”

“How could I forget?” Harry's head lowers despite her reminder, until he's so close Ginny can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “I suppose he's deeply in love with you?”

“Yes,” she nods with absolute certainty. “And I feel the same about him.”

Harry's head dips lower, the determination in his eyes making his intention clear. Ginny rises on her tiptoes, unable to fight the pull that always inevitably beckons her to him.

Barely an inch of space remains between them. Her heart flutters wildly–

“Oi!” The loud, obnoxious shout comes from the far end of the orchard, making Ginny jump. She turns towards it and finds a lanky figure glaring at them from where he leans against the fence. “When you're done being disgusting, Nanna says to hurry up – dinner’s ready and the rest of us aren't allowed to start without you.”

James doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and marching back towards the house.

Ginny rolls her eyes at her son's retreating back. Her hand slips into Harry's, the most contact they're getting, at least until after dinner. “Remind me again why we had children?”

Harry sighs, allowing her to lead him towards the gate James has just departed from. “You said they'd be cute.”

“Well, they used to be,” she says fairly as she pushes the gate open with her free hand. “I wasn't thinking as far as them becoming teenagers.”

Harry nods seriously. “Really, who could've predicted such an unforeseeable outcome.”

Ginny looks up at him as he follows her through the gate. Brown eyes meet green through the burgeoning twilight. Two identical smiles bloom like flowers in spring.

“Certainly not you, judging by your appalling Divination grades.”

#several sunlit daylights #hinny #harry x ginny #TTPD

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rassvetsky · 1 year

Note

i was wondering if u can come up with ‘a trust issue who needs reassurance all the time’ reader and ‘i dont know how to communicate my feelings’ bucky. basically a miscommunication trope.

i will accept however storyline and ending you make because i love you and i love ur writing💕❤️❤️

hi babe!! i really really hope i did your wonderful request at least some justice because i got too carried away-- i hope you like it! thank you for existing ♡

Out Of Mind

bucky barnes x reader

"Falling in love with you terrified Bucky, enough to push you away. He was sure that it's better this way. But merely a week later, when you disappear without a trace, Bucky realized that he couldn't handle being without you."

[5.2k] | angst with a happy ending, miscommunication, arguing, bucky being an asshole at first but he has his reasons, natasha being protective, sassy tony, canon level violence, fighting, reader getting minor injuries, clint is the loml, bucky is an idiot in love my dudes, they're so cute god help me

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

Bucky used to be a simple man, Steve had told you long ago. After all those years of torture, he developed… Complexity.

And you couldn't agree more.

He was a tender lover to begin with, the one to always make sure that you were alright, the one to put your wellbeing above his. He wasn't good with words- wasn't the most expressive man out there, but you understood him. You understood why he never included cards in the flowers he sent to you, or sometimes didn't say anything back to your love declarations other than a bashful smile; you understood that for him, these things worked in different ways now.

And that's why he loved you so much. That's why he was terrified.

Because the deeper he fell for you, the more intense his feelings got. The harder his separation anxiety hit, the more mushed his brain became.

And in any other scenario, that would be lovely. Those butterflies that one would feel in their stomach, or the sweet little dumbification that came hand to hand with love. In another life, he'd bask in the feeling. He'd see the world around him under a different light, a light that you cast on his life.

But in this life? It was nothing but dangerous. Nothing but absolutely horrendous.

Because he was supposed to focus. He was supposed to be alert. His fight or flight response had to be on at all times and no matter what, he was supposed to prioritize his life to save the others.

He couldn't do that when you were involved, not anymore. The paranoia got too much- he was terrified of seeing you get hurt, of losing you in any way. That fear brought out the worst in him, causing fights to break out whenever you willingly got yourself in trouble, distracting him, making you drift apart further.

You didn't want that. He didn't want that. But life for you wasn't always just movie nights at the compound, breakfasts on bed, long nights of talking about the future.

He had to let the chips fall where they may.

You needed reassurance, he knew that. But suddenly, after the last mission you went on with the team including Bucky, he suddenly… Stopped doing that. That bashful grin was nowhere to be seen when you told him you loved him, when you held his hand it just didn't last as long as it usually did, he… He didn't even look at you properly. And that went on for days, each day worse than the one before, until he barely even talked to you.

And the dread you felt on your chest was unbearable.

The night-time fell quicker than any other day that one evening, as you prepared yourself a warm tea to accompany your book. Carrying the mug up to your shared room with Bucky, you slowly got under the sheets, holding the book open with one hand, mug with the other.

The plot was barely interesting to you with all the thoughts running through your mind, snatching your attention from the words, making you have to go back and reread the same paragraphs over and over. It wasn't anything new, this type of distraction, but more often than not, it was the aftermath of the latest mission plaguing your mind. Not your boyfriend being excessively restrained towards you, as if your sole existence was a problem for him.

Speaking of, maybe it was. Maybe you were too high-maintenance for him, maybe you weren't giving him enough space, maybe he was just going through something. Or maybe, he was done with you. He didn't need you anymore, now that he got rid of the vivid nightmares and dissociations-

How cruel of you to think that. How cruel of him to leave that open as a possibility.

With your tea half-drank, you set the mug back on the nightstand, pinning the bookmark between the pages before leaving it by the mug. You didn't feel like laying down- didn't think you could fall asleep with your mind on overdrive like this anyway. Getting up from where you were laid across, you slowly made your way over to the window, arms crossed on your chest as you heaved a sigh. The view was nice, moonlight illuminated enough of the surrounding trees, and if you were to squint, you could see the grass shine wetly, with a layer of dew upon them.

You couldn't help the way your shoulders tensed a bit when the door knob twisted open, hearing the heavy steps of your lover and a sigh leaving his lips. Your back was facing him still, and you didn't dare to look at him, figuring he was busy changing his clothes judging by the shuffling sound of fabric.

The slight squeak of the mattress brought a bitter grin to your lips as you spoke up. "Not even gonna talk to me?"

He was quiet for a full minute. "Sorry. I'm tired, sweetheart."

"Of me?"

"What?" he sounded surprised. "Wha- why would I be tired of you?"

"I don't know." you sighed. "You've been acting incredibly distant for the past week. Figured I was tiring you out."

Another squeak, he was on his feet now. Slowly walking towards you, he rested a hand on the small of your back, but you still didn't look at him. You wouldn't admit that to yourself but you really didn't want to know the truth.

"Don't be ridiculous," he spoke, tone quiet. "It's just that… The missions, you know how they-"

"We went through rougher missions back then," you chuckled. "On the verge of death, covered in blood. Missions that went on for months. You didn't treat me like this then."

"How am I treating you?"

"Like I'm a fucking nuisance!" you finally snapped, pushing his hand away from your body before turning towards him. Your eyes were wide with anger, chest heaving. "You're treating me like you don't even want to see me!"

"You're my girlfriend!" he was bewildered, albeit a bit guilty. "Of course I want to see you, what the fuck are you even talking about?!"

A scoff left your lips. "Fuck that! You used to treat me better when we were barely friends," you watched him look away, annoyed. "I've been trying to give you some space but you- you just won't tell me shit! You're barely talking to me, anyway! How the hell am I supposed to know what I did wrong if you won't even talk to me, Bucky?!"

Bucky felt his heart getting heavier. "Stop assuming that you did something wrong-"

"Then what else?! What else can I assume? For fuck's sake, am I supposed to assume that there's someone else, or you're just- you're just sick of me. That you don't need me anymore, is that what I'm supposed to think?" you could feel the tears building up by your waterline. "Fucking hell, it'd hurt way less if I was sure that it's all my fault! Or- even if you were- I just- just tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, please?"

"Nothing!" he was loud, suddenly. The sudden outburst had you taking a step back in instinct, and he panicked so hard for a moment that he almost took a step towards you.

He knew he shouldn't.

"Nothing, okay? Just one of those weeks. Leave it alone."

"Fine." you sighed. "Fine, I'll leave it alone. I'll leave you alone, Bucky, to figure your shit out and- please, for the love of God, don't talk to me until you do. I'm done being treated like garbage." and with a final shove to his chest, you walked out of the door.

Bucky knew that he deserved that.

Hell, he deserved a solid punch for the way he was treating you but he didn't know how else to act. He didn't know what else to do. He was so sick of worrying, being in a constant state of paranoia because of you, so sick of his heart hurting like someone reached right into his chest and severed it off whenever you got hurt.

Was he protecting himself, or you?

"Hey," Sam swiftly sat by Bucky's side with a bowl of cereal on his palms, not giving the other a chance to walk away before speaking up again. "You good? You look like… Hell, I can't sugarcoat this. You look like absolute shit."

Bucky felt like absolute shit.

"I'm fine." he muttered, eyes trained on the big TV screen in front of them. The compound had been pretty quiet for the past few weeks, with the main troublemakers scattered around the globe for a mission.

Sam saw right through his bullshit, though. "Your girl ain't talking to you?"

"None of your business."

"She looks like absolute shit too."

Bucky took a moment to process that.

"Did you guys fight?"

"Again, none of your business, Sam." heaving a sigh, Bucky slowly pushed himself up to his feet, leaving Sam sitting on the couch all alone. Natasha, who was busy making herself something to eat to get through lunch, decided to chime in after Bucky managed to take a few steps away.

"You push her away the second things get hard and then wonder why she hates you."

If looks could kill, Bucky's would murder everyone in that room under three seconds. "She doesn't hate me."

"You want her to hate you."

"Bullshit."

"Because you hate yourself. Isn't that it?"

Sam's eyes were wide when he looked at Natasha. She was the one to deliver a hard kick on the shin when one needed it, tough-loving and relentless with her words- not to hurt the other, but to give them a chance to see things from a different perspective.

When Bucky didn't say anything, Natasha decided to continue. "I don't know how you're justifying this in that 'cyborg' brain but you don't have one single right to punish her. For absolutely no reason, too."

"Natasha-"

"Shut it, Sam." she shook her head. "We get it, you don't like fights. But I never took you for a coward, James, and you're not being anything else but that with the way you're refusing to fight for her."

Nobody said anything else for a solid minute, while Natasha kept glaring at Bucky. His eyes were on the ground now, the harsh nature of Natasha's words hitting him right across the chest- and it hurt. It hurt bad, because he knew that he was hurting you on purpose. "How do I make it right?"

"In my opinion? Leave her the fuck alone-"

"No, no. Natasha, calm your horses," Sam got up from where he was seated, approaching the two with a relaxed expression to calm them both down. "Just tell her how you feel, man. Be real with her. Be completely honest- if you don't love her anymore, just say so. If that's not the case, then-"

"I love her, Sam."

A soft sigh left Sam's lips. "I know. Just talk to her. She'll understand."

Bucky shook his head in a nod. The idea of talking to you was nerve-wracking, to say the least. You hadn't talked to him in a week, despite living in the same compound. Didn't even dare to step into your shared room when he was there, instead deciding to take on a vacant room for a while and get your work done in silence.

You were afraid of continuing that argument, honestly. Because you and Bucky- you two weren't the type to argue. Problems would be solved in peace at all times, with both parties admitting to their faults. So when that dynamic changed, it freaked you out. Just like how falling in love with you freaked out Bucky.

"FRIDAY," Bucky called out. "Where's Y/N?"

An automated voice answered immediately. "I'm afraid that information is classified." Bucky tensed up quicker than he'd like to admit.

"What?" Sam muttered under his breath, gaze finding Natasha's confused one. Natasha spoke up not too long afterwards. "What do you mean by classified?"

"Mr. Stark specifically requested that I keep Mrs. Y/L/N's current location confidential."

"Fucking hell," Bucky heaved a sigh. "Have any of you seen her today?"

"Nah," with a shrug, Sam walked towards the counter to set down his bowl of cereal, suddenly not interested in the food but rather, your whereabouts. "Last I saw her… Yesterday evening, yeah. She was leaving Tony's office, didn't say anything."

"Where did she go after that?"

"Man, how would I know? I'm not keepin' tabs on your girlfriend, that's your job."

"FRIDAY, where's Tony?" Natasha ignored the two, focusing on the matter at hand. For all she knew, you weren't the one to keep secrets from the team. Even on solo missions, you would always keep your tracker on just in case.

"In his office. Shall I inform Mr. Stark of your visit?"

"Nope." lips pressed into a thin line, and a not-so-apologetic shrug. Typical Tony Stark nature. "Just because you live here doesn't mean you have to know everything."

"But she's my girlfriend."

"Just because she made that mistake doesn't mean you have to know everything, Barnes." Tony quipped. "If anyone else in this room was on her position and I were to give away your location, which she specifically made sure that I wouldn't tell, I would be murdered horrendously."

"It's not like her to do that." Natasha's tone was way softer than Bucky's, understandably. She was mad at Bucky and worried about you at the same time but still, keeping her cool was an art form and she was doing it beautifully. "We're just worried, that's all."

"You don't seem like her parents to me."

"Would you tell us if we were her parents?"

"Wilson, use your head. Of course I wouldn't." plopping down on his seat with a huff, Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'd beg to differ but I'm a very virtuous and excruciatingly handsome man, and I made a promise, so… The door is right behind you. I got a lot of stuff to do."

The sound of Bucky's palm meeting the desk separating him from Tony caused everyone's eyes to find his, including Tony. "You have to give me something."

"I don't owe you anything." Tony's words were like venom as they dripped from his tongue, his challenging gaze on Bucky's rampageous one. "But if you really, really want her to hate all of you, fine. She's on a solo mission."

"A solo mission?! You sent her on a solo mission?!" Sam was quick to grab Bucky by the arm, pulling him back a little.

"Man, calm down-"

"Last time I checked, she was perfectly capable of handling a mission and taking care of herself." Tony spoke, calm despite the furious man standing in front of him. "She wanted to go. Why the hell would I say no?"

"Bucky, he's right." Natasha pushed herself up from the wall she was leaning on. Signaling for Sam to possibly take Bucky out of the office with her eyes, she approached the desk. "I'm sure she's fine and she only did that just so you wouldn't go after her."

"Yeah," Sam continued. "Let's just- let's get you out of here. She'll be back before you know it."

Tony didn't miss the glare Bucky sent his way when he left the office with Sam.

Feeling Natasha's judgmental eyes on him, he looked up at her, leaning back on his seat comfortably. "Do you need anything?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing, except for her location."

"No," Natasha shook her head. "It's obvious you didn't tell us everything. I'm not expecting you to, but I've known you for a long time, Tony. I can see it when you're leaving a crucial part out."

A sigh left Tony's lips.

"She's indeed on a solo mission. A mission that I know absolutely nothing about, and she disabled her own tracker."

"Are you sure nobody knows you're here?"

"God, Clint, what's with all the secrecy?" you weren't even sure your hushed whisper was heard by Clint, crowded streets of Hong Kong were noisy enough to usher a headache within you. You hadn't seen him in a while, with him retiring again, and God he retired a lot, but after receiving a message with 'emergency, don't tell anybody.' and coordinates, you rushed to his aid rather immediately.

You owed him a lot.

Following him to a small apartment building as he pushed the door open, you looked behind to see if anybody was following, before climbing up the stairs with him. "What's going on?"

"Extraction." he whispered. "Kind of a sensitive one. Tony didn't want anyone involved."

"I really think Laura should lock you up sometimes."

"So do I, kid."

Your time spent in his small hideout apartment was filled with intel and planning. It was supposed to be a very quiet mission, a sensitive one like he mentioned earlier- a swift infiltration to save a former SHIELD agent from where he was held prisoner, just so he could return to his research.

You didn't quite understand why Tony wouldn't want anyone to be involved and to save the agent, but you weren't going to ask. You trusted Clint, sometimes more than you did Tony, and if Clint told you that what he's doing was right, then you'd believe him.

The next day, with both of you suited up, his arrows ready and your secret knives hidden beneath layers of fabric all around your body; the quiet approach to the building went pretty smoothly. He kept telling you to keep your cool and to keep it quiet. This was a stealth op, and made sure to assure you that you were excellent at those.

Except, for all the stealth operations, your partner was Bucky. He was the one who knew exactly what you were going to do without needing you to tell him, he was the one who fought by your side, in so much sync with you that it felt like you two were one mind split to two bodies. You felt safer when he was by your side, calm enough to perform better.

You didn't tell Clint that. You didn't tell him that you felt way too insecure without Bucky by your side to perform well.

He was expecting your help, and you were going to deliver.

Except, things took a turn for the worse far too quickly. You got into the room in which the agent was kept, with Clint following from far behind to keep you safe; and saved the agent from his restraints. Before you could lead him out, though, you heard Clint telling you to stop taking your time because apparently, a swarm of people were coming your way, and he had to hide.

You helped the agent all the way down to the ground from the first floor, through the piping by the outer side of the wall and informed Clint of your current location, before spotting a few men running your way.

Pushing the agent away towards the woods where he could hide and protect himself, you pulled your gun out and managed to down at least two of the five men. You noticed one of them following the agent as the two attacked you; landing a harsh kick by one's neck before sliding out your knife and swinging it at the other's direction, but the distraction that they needed came quickly when through your in-ear, you heard Clint's voice again.

"Shit, abort. Get the hell out of there, get away from the building."

And a loud explosion right to your left followed.

Natasha was torn.

Tony's words kept replaying themselves on her head as she paced around the room, unable to decide between telling Bucky and keeping it to herself. She didn't know what she would be risking if she told him, but at the same time, you could get yourself in a much bigger situation and a supporting pair of eyes at solo missions were always required.

She couldn't bear the worry and uncertainty anymore.

Pushing the back door that led to the living room open with a loud thud, she found Bucky by the kitchen area, and Sam by the couch, watching the afternoon news. "I need to tell you guys something."

Bucky perked up at that, pulling himself away from his moping state to get back up on his feet, and walk towards the couch where Natasha approached. "She disabled her own tracker. Tony has no idea where she is, or what she's doing."

"Shit, how are we supposed to find her, then?" Sam slowly got up from where he was seated in worry. But before any of them could say anything else, a loud explosion sound snatched their attention and brought it to the screen.

"Earlier this morning, a lab explosion took place in a Hong Kong biochemistry lab, for reasons unknown. Public CCTV footage shows two unidentified individuals breaking into the building only ten minutes before the blast."

"Isn't that-"

"Damn it," Natasha whispered. "God fucking damn it, Barton."

No matter how fast the Quinjet was, Bucky felt like they couldn't get there quick enough. His heart was basically beating through his ribs, brain pumping adrenaline into every single bit of his veins as he watched the jet decrease altitude. The news didn't even provide the number of casualties, and the fact that he wasn't sure if you made it out of there alive or not was eating him alive.

The fact that he didn't get to make things right with you beforehand was outright torture.

The jet landed on a clearing by the woods, pretty close to the remote building in which the explosion took place. Bucky's strut seemed like it was made out of steel, as if nothing in this world could even attempt to stop him as he walked in front, Natasha and Sam following close behind. It had been at least twenty hours since the blast, and if you were dead, you'd be identified, right?

The news of your passing would be all over the world by now, right?

"I know where they might be hiding," Natasha spoke up, a bit breathless from having to catch up with Bucky's fast steps. "Clint has a hideout apartment, not too far from here."

"Fuck!" your loud cry was enough to land a grimace on Clint's face, as he let out soft shushes, trying his best to wrap your injuries up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he mumbled, taping down the bandage wrapped around your thigh before giving it a slight pat. "Just a contusion. I know it hurts but you could have it much worse."

"I know, but it still hurts, you idiot!"

"And whose fault is that? Not mine!"

Letting your head fall back on the cushion with a thud, you let out a slight groan. "How's the agent?"

"Called somebody to pick him up," he sighed, pulling himself up from the floor to sit next to your laid out figure. "I genuinely didn't know that they had explosives laid out through the building. Some sort of eradication. Must've been big, whatever they were hiding."

"Couldn't really keep it quiet, huh?"

"Unfortunately," he chuckled. "But we saved him, at least. Probably going to get an earful from Tony when he finds out… But you did a good job. Thanks for coming."

"Didn't have anything better to do," a grin made its way to your lips. "Don't even wanna go back, if I'm being honest."

A frown took over his features. "Did something happen?" and he continued, when your only response was a slight nod. "Bucky?"

"That easy to guess, huh?"

"Nothing else has an impact on you," a soft chuckle followed. "It'll be fine. You two- you shouldn't lose each other. Not over anything."

"I don't know if I can make sure of that anymore, Clint."

"Look, I'm saying this from a man's point of view," he repositioned himself on where he was seated, now completely facing you. "And I don't ever want you to think that I'm sexist or something, but, um… We're different. In a bad way- we're not… Complicated like your kind."

"My kind? Okay, now that's-"

"No, shut up, you know what I mean," he laughed. "Every single woman that I had the pleasure of meeting knew what they wanted. Maybe it was a bit rough around the edges, maybe it was just a scaffolding but there was a plan. There was an… expectation of how things are supposed to go, you know?"

A short silence followed. "And because of that scaffolding, you folks don't freak out as much as we do. And when you do, you still make sense. We don't. We freak out over the smallest inconvenience and everything goes shit because we don't know how to restructure our own plans that quickly. We take longer to adapt. Because we're a bit more primitive, does that make sense?"

You smiled at him, earnestly. "That's… vague, but it makes perfect sense. Thanks."

His hand found yours then, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry about it."

That night, Clint woke up to footsteps across the apartment. He was sleeping on the armchair by the side of the bedroom, making sure that you were safe on his bed since you had to take a pill or two to manage the pain and fall asleep quicker.

Quickly getting up to his feet, he grabbed the pistol he placed on your nightstand earlier, slowly pulling the door open- only to find Natasha, with a gun in her hand, seemingly relieved to see Clint.

Clint brought his finger up to his lips, signaling the room as to let her know that you were asleep. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"That was a sloppy op, don't you think?" Natasha whispered back, teasing. "Gotta warn you, Barnes will be here in a couple of minutes and he's going to be mad, Clint."

"Let him be," he sighed. "She's-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the front door got pushed open, revealing a worried and seething Bucky and an apologetic Sam following suit, shutting the door slowly after the other. "Where is she?"

"She's in the bedroom-" Clint stepped in front of the door, shutting and guarding it. "She's exhausted. Be quiet."

"Why the fuck is she with you?"

"Hey, not like I kidnapped her, alright?" Clint rolled his eyes, still speaking as quietly as he could. "I needed her help and I couldn't call anybody else. I'm sorry I kept your girlfriend away from you for literally two days, Barnes."

Bucky took a step back, heaving a deep sigh. He was angry, angry at you, angry at Clint, angry at himself… Yet he didn't know where to direct that anger. He didn't know how to calm this feeling down. "Why didn't she tell anybody? Not even Tony- what the hell did you make her do that she felt like she needed to hide from everyone?"

A scoff left Natasha. "Bucky, stop making assumptions."

"No- you know what?" Bucky was getting louder by the second, and nobody in the room had the guts to shush him down. "My girl doesn't hide anything from me, ever. I need to know what was so important that she had to turn her tracker off and you had to lead her into a building full of explosives."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that the lab would explode?!"

"You were supposed to make sure that it's-"

"Bucky?" your frowning, sleepy figure appeared by the door that everyone was too busy watching the argument to notice opening. Bucky's gaze visibly softened when he saw you, tense shoulders relaxing before Clint stepped out of the way and with a few steps, he approached you to pull you into his embrace.

You didn't hug him back at first- instead sending a confused look to the rest, to which Sam shrugged as a response. "Are you okay?"

"No, are you okay?" he asked, pulling away to get a good look at your figure. A few cuts and the bandage by your thigh was visible as you were just wearing one of Clint's old shirts and underwear. "Are you okay?" he asked again, tone more stern this time.

"I'm fine," you pushed his hands off of you. "Why the fuck were you yelling at Clint?"

"Yeah, alright, have that conversation without us," Clint sighed, pushing the two of you into the bedroom gently before offering you a small wave and shutting the door, to give you some privacy.

Bucky sighed before looking at you again, wanting so bad to just cup your cheeks and leave kisses all over your face- but he knew he fucked up, and you were mad. "I was worried about you. You left without a word, and when I heard that your tracker was off-"

"I don't owe anyone any explanation." your tone was harsh. "And I'm sorry if I thought that you wouldn't give a shit, Bucky. You made it pretty obvious that you wanted me to leave you alone."

"I never said that," he ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to stay calm and work this out- but you were almost as stubborn as him, if not more. "I never- I care about you, alright? You're my girlfriend, and you should've told me where you were going."

You shook your head to both sides in disbelief. "You're not entitled to that."

"Y/N-"

"No, you're seriously not entitled to knowing anything about me. Not when you have the audacity to treat me like I'm nothing more than an absolute stranger, and then to not even make an effort to talk to me for a whole week."

"I freaked out, alright?!" he sighed. "I was fucking terrified because- because of you!"

"How the hell is that my fault?!"

"It's your fault! You're the one who made me fall in love with you!" he was loud, and you got cryptically quiet.

He never dropped the L-word before.

"It's your fucking fault because I can't stop thinking about you, I can't stop worrying about you, I can't stop making everything about you and it's putting everyone in danger!" you were biting back a smile now, as he kept ranting. "Including you! I can't- do you have any idea how hard it is to look at you and not just burst into tears because oh my fucking God, you're the love of my life and-"

You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, your hands cupping his face. He was shocked at first, unable to comprehend the sudden switch from arguing to kissing, but he wasn't going to complain. Wrapping his arms around your body delicately, he deepened the kiss, exhaling softly against your mouth when your fingers massaged the nape of his neck.

"You're such a fucking idiot," you whispered against his lips. "You're like, the dumbest person I've ever met. Your IQ is so low that-"

"Okay, okay. I get it." he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry. I genuinely am. I'm sorry for making you feel like I don't love you- because I do, I love you so much that it's physically painful."

"I thought you were tougher than that, Bucky."

"I'm just a coward, honey." with a shrug, he pulled you closer to his embrace. "I'm just a fucking coward, nothing more. But you know what? Seeing you so angry at me, telling me that I don't deserve to know anything about you- that hurt more. I guess I- I really can't be without you."

"I can't be without you either," you sighed. "I've been so cranky, just ask Clint."

"Oh, I'm still kicking his ass."

"No, Buck," a soft giggle left your lips. "He actually plays a grand part in me forgiving you. And he's one of my favorite people in this whole world, so, I won't hesitate to punch you if you ever yell at him again."

"In that case, I'm thanking him. And kicking his ass in my head."

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superblysubpar · 10 months

Note

hi loml

can i get king!steve with the prompt “touch me. anywhere.”

*characters are over 18

A splash of water over your ankles, a holler of ‘turn it up’, the music thumping through the speakers inside the home straining to be heard by the entire town at this point. Warm beer on your lips as your eyes pretend not to roam over the Harrington backyard, searching for the only reason you show up to these sorts of things.

He leans against the side of the garage, a cigarette hanging between his lips, unlit, rolling his eyes and fiddling with the lighter in his hand. Tommy’s in the middle of telling a story that’s probably false. Wild hands gesturing, a too loud voice and beer splashing from his can onto Carol’s arm as she shrieks.

No matter how many times you’ve done this with each other, the sting from his eyes never quite meeting yours, the way he’s able to walk right past you all night, it never quite fades. It’s like a bad burn on your skin that never heals, always making you a tad too vulnerable for your liking.

Which is why your giggle is a little louder and forced tonight, your dress hem a little shorter than normal. Why your hand rests on the chest of the idiot basketball player in front of you, shoving teasingly at his joke that you don’t even remember the punchline to. This time was going to be different.

The boy in front of you leans forward, and you turn your head, his lips meeting your jaw, then your neck and your eyes meet smoldering ones by the garage. Suddenly the summer night is not the reason you’re feeling too hot, the alcohol not the reason your stomach flips. His arms cross, the muscles in his forearm flex as his jaw clenches. His foot presses to the cigarette he took one single drag of and he pushes off of the wall, slipping through the sliding doors inside. With the excuse of needing another drink leaving your lips, you untangle yourself from the handsy basketball boy, heading inside for a different one.

It’s easy to pretend that you’re looking for the bathroom, for an unoccupied room. Everyone inside is either too drunk, too stoned, too passed out, or too busy with their lips locked on someone else to notice you tiptoe up the stairs. You find him in his bedroom, swiping at his lips and crushing a can, tossing it into the trash from across the room.

The door clicks closed behind you as you whisper, “Wow, impressive on and off the court.”

“Don’t you have a throat to go stick a tongue down?”

You look over your shoulder, a hand pressed to your chest and eyes widening in faux innocence, “Me?”

He sits on the edge of the bed, rolling his eyes. The sight of his denim covered thighs spreading wider has your barely covered ones pressing closer together.

“Don’t be cute.”

A smile tugs at your lips, a timid step forward with the sway of your hips to accompany the batting of your lashes. “You think I’m cute, Steve?”

“Sweetheart, don’t start this shit here.” His words hold no real threat, not when his eyes roam over your body all greedy, not when his palm rests on your hip as you come to a stop between his legs.

Your fingers ghost over his lips, thumb holding his jaw as you lean forward and whisper in his ear, “Where should I start it then? You know, for future reference. Outside in front of all your friends? How about at the game? In front of your lock-”

The hand on your hip grips you harder, his other tugging on your chin and turning your face so he can look you in the eyes. The fingers so close to your neck has you extending it a little for him, wondering if he’ll wrap his hand around it like last time. But no, he just holds your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and tugging a little meanly, but the result is still the same. Thighs slipping together in a search for some sort of friction, your breath catching in your chest just a little.

He notices.

He always notices.

Honey and moss eyes that glint with something that’s a little sharp - but never cruel - glance down at the movement and then back at your lips as he leans forward, voice just as quiet. “You’re being pretty fucking smart for someone who was just begging me to touch her, anywhere, in my car only a few hours ago.”

It only takes your lips parting under his thumb a little more when he smooths over it again, the hint of tobacco mixing with beer on his lips hitting your senses, and the buzz of his fingers pushing the hem of your short little dress higher for your hands to fall from his jaw, for the pretend confidence to falter. It’s how it always goes.

So you shouldn’t be surprised at how your panties grow more damp when he kisses your bottom lip before he juts his out in a fake pout. “Poor baby,” his fingers have climbed higher, his smirk only growing more smug when his fingers brush over the wet lace, “She’s just a greedy lil thing, huh?”

Your whimper is embarrassing, and so is the press of your thighs around his hand. Your fingers curl into the sleeves of his shirt as he pulls away, a silent plea for him to stay.

Steve leans his arms on the bed behind himself, propping up. He pushes his knee between your legs, nodding towards his thigh. His eyebrows raise, and you want to smack the smug look off of his face when he speaks again, his voice low, tinged with his own greed and want for you that he’d deny.

“You want it? Take it.”

It’s not a surprise to either of you when you straddle his thigh, his fingers on your bare hips bruising as you rock back and forth. He’s still fully clothed, marking you up with pretty little bites across your sweating skin that you’ll never get to return the favor for. The party only gets louder beneath the two of you, the sky only grows darker, and your ache for it all to go differently for once never dulling.

There’s always next time.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #superbly subpar steve spice #superbly subpar steve angst

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mins-fins · 8 days

Text

where do we go

&&. conversations between lung destroyi— i mean, smoking cigarettes.

pairing: lee donghyuck x gn!reader

genre: some weird thing idk..

warnings: smoking, readers got some bad friends

word count: 0.9k

notes: can you believe this.. TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY!??? okay my first hyuck post today was a timestamp i posted while on the bus home but hey!! two posts in one day is crazy.. also both of them being for haechan, i don't like him guys i just had two good ideas containing smoking and he was the first idol that came to mind 😖 he's the loml fr 💗 but no no no im not a sunflower dont get it wrong 🙏 also i dont smoke, based this off shit i've read and observing all the adults in my life who smoke around me 🙁 dont crucify me for not being accurate #smokers

"you have a lighter?"

the question strikes you as odd. you snap out of your street lamp gazing and turn to the stranger beside you. you blink a few times, as if you couldn't fathom why such a question would be asked. the stranger waits patiently for your answer, mouth seemingly zipped shut after asking the question. "what?" you inquire like an idiot.

"a lighter" he reiterates, raising an inflammable joint tucked between his index and middle finger in the air. you allow for your mouth to form a small 'o', and you clear your throat, suddenly feeling flustered. he snickers lightly, and your almost afraid that he's laughing at you. "you don't smoke?"

you smile weakly, just sighing as you begin rummaging through your pockets. "no it's just.. today's not my day, i'm upset about some shit that's all" when you finally find the lighter you remember you placed into your pocket, you passed it over to him with a throw. "here".

the stranger doesn't seem to be that interested in your lighter anymore, his face coloring in concern at the sound of you being upset. you aren't sure why he even cares, there's no reason for him to. you ignore his look of concern, just rubbing your eyes. "oh? what's upsetting you so much?"

you allow for yourself to snort at the words. "it's nothing, really, i don't want to burden you with my issues" you dismiss him with a wave, watching as he lights the cigarette and takes his first drag of the joint.

"no please" he responds, blowing the smoke out through his lips. he tosses you back your lighter. "you gave me your lighter, so i'll sit here and listen to you vent your issues" he places a prideful hand on his chest, as if you were supposed to celebrate him for that or something.

"wow, should i clap for you to honor such generosity?"

"well you don't have to, but i would love if you did" oh! so this guy is a comedian, your tongue pokes through your inner cheek as you let out another silent sigh, straightening your posture in your seat. your train isn't coming for another ten minutes.

"oh lord where are my manners? lee donghyuck!" he pairs a charming smile with his introduction, and you almost laugh (key word: almost) at the allure of this stranger. he holds out his hand for you to take, presumably for a handshake, and it's not like it'll kill you or anything, so you take his hand, shaking it.

"l/n y/n" you respond, he doesn't hold your hand for long, his grip quickly slipping away from yours as he leans back in his seat sighing.

"alright then, y/n" he begins, playing with the joint in his fingers. "what's making you so upset tonight?"

"do i have to tell you?"

"would you rather sit here in silence and watch me destroy my lungs?"

the answer to that question is easy, no, when given the ultimatum, talking about your issues seems much easier than whatever else he was saying. "it's just— my friends suck! they call me overdramatic for wanting birthday gifts and then they proceed to blow up my phone with texts!"

donghyuck raises an eyebrow, blowing out more smoke. "they didn't even try to get you gifts?"

"they didn't even remember my birthday!" you shout, getting more and more irritated as you recall the incident. "i've literally gotten ignored all day, they only just remembered like two hours ago! can you believe that?"

"what a bunch of assholes.." he mumbles, a smell of burnt cigarettes in the air. "what kind of friends are those?"

"right? and now they're just expecting me to answer their calls!? they can go to hell for all i care!"

"petty" donghyuck comments absentmindedly, his smile doesn't go unnoticed by you, he has such a nice smile, you note. "i like it" he says again, playing with the joint in his fingers.

"i have every right to be petty, they don't deserve my attention.." you brush dust off your sweater, looking forward at the train tracks, your eyes cast up at the board which usually displays how long until your train comes. "you've gotta be fucking kidding me".

"what's wrong now?"

"train is delayed".

"ah" donghyuck resists the urge to laugh at your look of defeat, he doesn't want to upset you. "guess were gonna have to walk home".

you groan at the idea, but you stand up, though begrudgingly. "i don't live anywhere near this place" you shove your hands into your pockets, now annoyed by the fact that you'll have to walk home, just another horrible thing to add onto your horrible day.

"well, we could always walk together".

at donghyuck's suggestion, you give him a baffled look, and he finally does laugh at the look you share with him, taking another drag of the joint tucked between his fingers. "were still strangers, i'm not sure that's safe".

"you gave me your lighter, were basically soulmates".

the statement makes a baffled chortle escape your lips, and you click your tongue at his words. you try your best to ignore the constant buzzing of your phone. "wow, your a comedian aren't you?"

"a proud one too".

the words get another laugh out of you, and you look down at the floor, at your moving feet. "at least let me walk you out of the station, i don't want to leave you here".

"how endearing, lee donghyuck" you tease, finally looking up at him and meeting his eyes. he seems to like those words, because he allows for his lips to turn up into a grin. he drops his cigarette onto the ground and puts it out with his foot. "fine, i'll let you walk me out".

"thank you! i won't disappoint!"

#lee donghyuck #haechan #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan drabbles #haechan scenarios #lee donghyuck x reader #haechan x reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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emmyrosee · 1 year

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GUESS WHO’S BACK!!! WITH ANOTHER RANT!!! your resident haikyuu simp, that’s who. (a simp who is currently listening to her friend argue w her bf send help this is so awkward)

Today I offer: sunarin teasing a (slightly) jealous reader.

Okay so let’s just say that your relationship was more on the private side- no one outside of friends, his teammates and family knew he was dating anyone. But you’ve been together for so long?? Like years. And his fans for some reason seem to think he’s been dating some other public figure (up to your imagination) bc they’ve been at the same events a couple times now and somehow keep ending up in pics together. These two have like, never spoken aside from awkward small talk to be polite. Very un-relationship like. So anyway. You’re starting to not like the fact that every single time you open social media you’re flooded with fan pages shipping them, and Suna picks up on this and just??? Posts you one day??? Randomly??? And it’s both the sweetest and most annoying thing ever bc aww cute caption and stuff but “really, rin, did you NEED to add the picture of us from two years ago when my hair looked like that?” (He might have also posted a suggestive pic of you two or a video of you kissing or something at the end and you just haven’t scrolled that far yet so he basks in the peace and hides away before he can hear your shriek when you realize hehe)

Either way it’s sweet and things calm down after that, but he teases you RELENTLESSLY about the fact you were jealous and makes it known that you’re the only one for him ever. and that he would never even make you jealous on purpose or anything, he just likes the feeling of belonging to you as much as you belong to him <3

I’m just soft for rin, my next couple rants might be suna-centric :3

anon <3

WOULD LIGHT MYSELF ON FIRE FOR ONE (1) SUNA RINTARO, HE IS THE LOML AND I WILL ABSOLUTELY DEVPUR ALL THE RINTARO RANTS-

Ahem.

He’s a shit. I love him so much.

Because like, yeah, okay, paparazzi are the worst, and while he’s still able to live his life like a standard person, he knows what people do to celebrities who are in relationships, and he doesn’t want to put you through that. Your friends respected that, his teammates completely close lipped -atsumu actually has it in his interview agreements he’s never to talk about any relationships, and honestly, it’s been a life saver for so many of his teammates- but nothings perfect.

Sometimes, like an idiot, Rin leaves the house with hickeys on full display. Just. Out and about. The media loves that, and usually, Rintaro doesn’t even care, whatever makes them happy.

But then it happens.

He gets out of a limo at a sponsor event, with a ‘mysterious woman,’ dress shirt wrinkled and tux closed haphazardly.

And of course, a hickey just above the pristine white collar.

This. Blows. Up.

Because of course it does, and of course people now assume this woman is the one who leaves marks on your boyfriends body, and how cool he is for dating someone uNdErGrOuNd and whatever the bloody hell they try to spew.

And it hurts, okay, because this woman- Atsumu’s stylist, literally because the man child can’t go one damned day without spilling something on himself, and that’s actually why she was helping Rin, dumbass spilt champagne all over his-damn-self- is very obviously not his partner, you are, and it’s just. It sucks watching them get fan edits and theories on how long they’re been together when you know the truth.

It turns you pretty sour towards him, almost resentful, and he tries to remind you that it’s just a rumor and you’re the only soul he’d ever want to be with, but it gets hard to believe when you open your Instagram and it’s about how stunning “Rin’s girlfriend” is.

And you, obviously, are not that person. You’re you.

Instead of sitting together, you’re sitting on one end of the couch, far from him; he tries to snuggle, and you get up and leave the room. Instead of holding his hand in the car, his hand tries desperately to paw for yours or even your thigh, just to hold onto you, but you turn towards the window. Instead of going with him places when he goes to see his buddies, you croak out an extremely sad “how about you go with the pretty lady who gives you hickeys?”

He feels bad for you, obviously. But in his own mind, he’s at his breaking point. He needs your attention and affection, he thrives and breathes and lives because of it, and now he’s losing his mind that he hasn’t had it for weeks.

So, against telling you, and hoping to smother any other rumors about himself and Atsumu’s stylist, he makes his post.

None of them have your whole face, maybe an eye or a smile or wearing a mask (he put some thought into this okay-) but it’s very obviously not the stylist. He posts a picture of a shadow in which your hands are holding, the next one is a picture you took, where your hand was shaped in half a heart and on the other end, he held up the other half to match, and finally, a video; one where he’s laying on top of you with his eyes closed, your hand in his hair and scratching his scalp while he sleepily mumbles how much he loves you (the last video is actually one he took of you suckling and marking up his neck, his raspy breath on the other end; extremely not safe for the internet, and naturally, when you saw that, you shit your pants and chased him with a shoe, but that’s not the point.)

It’s something he clearly wanted to fix, but also wanted to keep you as safe as possible. And you certainly appreciate it, and when you see what he did and how the comments are now hyping you up, you shuffle your way to find him. He’s on the couch, carding his own hair, and smiling up at you as you approach him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he shifts one of the legs sprawled out on the couch to rest on the floor so you can lay between them, which you do. “I hated being so far from you but… but I couldn’t-“

“I get it,” he assures, nosing softly at you. “It wasn’t fair to you. I know how much you hated it.”

“She was very pretty, though,” you confess, and he lowers his eyes to peek at you through his lashes.

“You think so?” He asks, shrugging as you nod. “Wasn’t really my type.”

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youunravelme · 2 months

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Who are some other writers we should check out?

Love your fic recs 😁

omg i LOVE this ask! (and i love that you trust me to rec things/blogs/fics! it's a huge honor)

i'm gonna put this under a read more because there's a lot of people i think are worth following (and if i rec'ed you and got your pronouns wrong, please tell me and i'll fix it!)

so i'm gonna attempt to organize this list by player. disclaimer: i don't read for every hockey player in existence.

mat barzal (obvi number one bc he's the loml)

@barzysunflower - lolo (she/her) is the first mat barzal writer i actually read and when i tell you i binged her masterlist???? it's so good, my favs are the you are in love series and the unexpected series!

@thewintersoldierdisaster - literally anything she writes is great, i go feral for it tbh. she writes for a few canes players as well, but my favs are the mat fics (for obvious reasons being that i'm in love with him). especially the fics with the baby (whose name i cannot remember) and when mat calls reader squeaks???? i'm in love.

@islesnucks - clara (she/her) has so many good mat fics and headcanons (seriously, headcanons are underrated and need more love in general). i think she was also a writer that made me fall in love with mat because she just writes him as the dream romantic hero every single time.

@hockeywhy - i am almost positive that they are tired of me tagging them, but the truth is, they are the writer of my all time fav mat series caught in the middle! but they also have other great mat fics and matthew tkachuk fics that i've enjoyed almost as much! i don't think they're as active anymore writing wise BUT if you want amazing writing and haven't checked them out, you should!

auston matthews

@bagopucks - ella (she/her) hands down my fav auston series is her single mom!reader series. it's the perfect balance of angst and found family and it's just flat out wonderful. she also has a masterlist full of other fics too, that series just happens to be my favorite. but if you wanted another fav of mine, read the jack hughes fic "a little funky," it's about a reader with ocd and as someone with ocd, it was really impactful!

jack hughes

@chewingcyanide - emme (she/they) literally writes the most poetic fics i think i've ever read. everytime she publishes something new, i am stunned. seriously, i honestly take notes from her writing style. stories aside, if you wanted to become a better writer, check out her stuff, it'll really inspire you to use more descriptive words! her breakable heaven series is what introduced me to her writing and it's phenomenal!

@babydollmarauders - faithlynn (she/her) i'm almost positive that faithlynn was the first hockey writer i really followed because jack hughes was my gateway drug into the hockey world. she has so many fun series and aus going on not only for jack but for other devils players, so if you love the devils, definitely check her out!

@jackhues - naqia (she/her) also has a really fun series called mockingbird and it's technically more focused on the friendship/brother-sister relationship jack's gf (reader) and quinn have but it's really sweet. she also has a great auston au as well!

others

@ladylooch - b (she/her) is great! i put her in this category because i feel like she writes a lot for a lot of different players. i've loved her stuff with nico and mat alike. she also has a pretty consistent schedule as well from what i've gathered (which, girl, share your secrets please)

@troubatrain - kim (she/her) wrote my fav beau fic (set it up) and has written some really good fics for matthew tkachuk too! i absolutely adore the soccer player!reader fic and the blurbs that go along with it!

@comphersjost - m (she/they) again, i've said it once, i'll say it again SHE WROTE MY FAV MATT SERIES OF ALL TIME (all for you). I GO BACK AND READ IT OFTEN. literally had me weeping at times. she also wrote some other fics for auston that i've really enjoyed as well!

@sydnikov - sydney (she/her) has written some realyl great fics for andrei and some for nico hischier and jack hughes (and a few others i think, but those are the ones i've read) and they're just fantastic! she's also a canes fan if you want more canes content!

feel free to reblog this with your own author recommendations (in fact i highly encourage it! there are so many good writers on this godforsaken site and these are just the authors i find myself reblogging every time they post!

#kenn's fic recs #fic rec #screaming crying throwing up #author fic rec #ask

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levmada · 1 year

Text

summary: You have an interesting gift in mind for Levi’s birthday—a game of sorts.

And that gift? You.

wc: 6.3k

content/warnings: switch(but mostly sub)!Levi, copious mommy kink, impact play (f!receiving), edging, toys (cock cage; cock ring; vibrator), begging, degradation+praise, modern!au, LEVI BIRTHDAY FIC, face-fucking, multiple orgasms, humping, rough sex, one use of ‘babyboy’, dry orgasm, brief subspace (m!receiving), panties as a gag, lingerie, dirty talk

a/n: this is one of the hottest fics i’ve written i think :) HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABYBOY LOML LIGHT OF MY DAYS.

Levi straddles your hips. With a whispered flutter, his meticulously pressed work shirt drops on the bed behind him.

As he eagerly crawls on top of you, you fold your hands behind your head, smiling girlishly. There's nothing special about Levi getting home from work today, except that his birthday is a week from now.

But that's exactly what's special about it.

"What're you smiling about?" he remarks.

You just keep smiling. Further, his brow puckers as you make no move to touch him—not even to lean up. When he goes down to kiss you, you return it only chastely.

Eyeing you, he kisses again and again, but you refuse to let him deepen it. That's not like you. He leans back, and palms through your panties. You're wet, but all he gets is you nibbling your lip.

He deadpans. "What do you think you're doing?"

That's the question you were waiting for—have been waiting for since this morning when you came up with this.

You lean up, and reverently kiss his forehead, then his lips. You can barely contain your excitement. "I have an idea for a birthday gift. One you'll like," you whisper.

A stranger on the street would care more about his birthday than Levi himself, and that's how you hooked him in. A mistake. He was a fool, in earnest, to agreeing to the game you made up. Between now and his birthday, you'd tease and edge him so that when the day came, he'd receive an incredible gift: you.

The condition? Obviously he was to be deprived of you. He'd soon realize he couldn't just not handle that, but after he agreed, you took out the cage. Flawless stainless steel traps his cock. It squeezes the bottom of his balls, so there's not a chance in hell he can get some relief at any time, let alone come. It's deceptively ornate, square cells just enough to let him receive the bare minimum of stimulation. A long silver line arcs down from his balls, and ends at an especially mocking opening at the tip.

He hates this fucking thing.

As soon as you looked up from between his legs, smiling in that devious way that never fails to strike the fear of god in him—frustration was already alive and rising in him. What he thought at first to be an interesting game that would make him appreciate his birthday more would be much more challenging than he thought.

No attention below the belt for the next week. No squeezes or stroking. You might as well be teenage lovebirds taking it steady.

Another reason he agreed was that he had confidence in his own self-discipline. He prided himself on it. A week without sex was going to be no big challenge—not even that painful.

The first night wasn't so bad. The next morning (six damn days to go), he found himself squirming and huffing from the innocent pressure of your backside pressed back against his pelvis. You were still asleep for fucks sakes.

His lips would gravitate towards your neck, his hands to your waist, or your soft tits that threatened to spill over your bra as you dressed for errands in the afternoon.

Little by little, he finds his self-control wilting.

So as it turns out, the man with the endless patience doesn't last three days before there's an incident. At every turn, you gently and coyly wiggled away from his advances with an encouraging reminder that he "only" had five more days to go.

That evening, Levi had been oddly avoidant after he got home from work—silent treatment and all. All you heard was a thanks for dinner before he padded upstairs, seemingly intent on making you cave.

But you watched him go with a placid smile, because he was the one getting edged, not you. Even though it wasn't nearly the same... you've kept yourself satisfied enough with a vibrator so far.

But you didn't like his attitude.

Not that you planned to be cruel. This was a gift after all—or it culminated in one. If he was so grouchy already... you ought to take pity on him.

In the depths of your bedroom, you took an extra minute in the bathroom to retrieve what you needed.

The flick of the lightswitch turning off, the whine of the bathroom door opening. You let it idle, and then crawled into bed, faced with Levi's back. He was practically hanging off the opposite side for maximum attitude.

"You're that mad at me?" you ask, faking offense. "No cuddles?"

As you thought, he's awake. His voice rings out solid and clear. "Too horny to let you have your way with me."

You gape at the phrasing, laughing soundlessly, and begin to squirm over. Your right hand is occupied, making it difficult. "Don't be like that. Say the word, and I'll free you... Tell me your gift isn't fun."

He peers at you over his shoulder with a petulant expression. He's pouting. "It's torture."

"For nooww..."

He turns back with a huff.

"I mean it. Maybe I've left you too high and dry," you acquiesce with a voice of silk, and drape yourself up against his back, like two spoons in a drawer. "You need a little attention, huh?"

Levi slowly relaxes in your arms as you speak. He feels himself caving in without hesitation. The idea of a touch to melt off some of the ache raging below. His dick has been interested since you creeped up behind him.

"You're still not allowed to come."

His stomach sinks, but the feeling the rubber head of something—the good vibrator—pressed against the front of his fluffy flannel pants makes that dread evaporate. You have him tensing all over again, mashing his cheek in the pillow, already horny. Horny enough to hump this thing whether you turn it on or not.

You stroke the length of his crotch with the dull head, but it isn't on. "Would this help?"

He pins his lip between his teeth and sinks back into your arms. He feels feverish all over. Will this get him anywhere? No. Would it help? "Yes," he whispers hotly. "Do it."

To his utter surprise, you cycle up to the higher vibrations right away. Gasping, he clings onto the pillow, tugging it to his face for some damn thing to hold onto while the thick vibrations coat his cock. It strains in the cramped cage, pulling a whine out of him. He grinds into it fitfully as you murmur and coo in his ear.

"Mm." His hips kick into the vibrations without his consent, making him swell more, making the ache seethe.

It's fucking evil.

You stroke the toy up and down his shaft under thick layers of fabric, probing his swollen, full balls, even. Little teasing jolts shoot up his cock.

"Is that better, baby?"

His eyes squeeze shut. He's willing to do or say anything to make you break after the silent treatment got him this far. A weak moan is punched from him as he says, "More, c'mon, just a little... lemme come, mommy... Fucking one time."

That name. That will work on you. It always works on you.

"That's cheating, sweetie."

That's not even an answer. Because he already knows what it's going to be.

Fuming, he whines miserably and pushes back into your arms as the vibrations swallow up his tip and circle rapidly—again, cut off through the fabric. Doesn't help that it was already wet, so now there's a bigger mess. Dammit, he'll need a shower.

"Fuck you."

"You know who whines and complains when they don't get their gifts before Christmas?" you ask lightly. "Dirty brats."

Fuck it. When his hand shoots down and tries to bury the head of the toy deeper between his thighs, you promptly wrench it away from his grasp and switch it off.

"Fucking. Dammit," he grunts. He squirms in vain, squeezing his thighs together has his heartbeat pounds in his fucking dick. That does nothing of course. The ache is fucking unbearable, but nothing's going to make it better until he gets this thing off, which is still days away.

He's weak. He swears. He has never once in his life looked forward to his birthday... until now.

You whisper sweet nothings as you peck his jaw and the shell of his ear until he gathers his breaths, and once again relaxes in your arms. This time in defeat.

He's not actually resenting you, he doesn't doubt that this will be a great gift or whatever mushy terms you put it in—and in fact, it is making him look forward to his birthday—but his cock doesn't care. He needs you now.

The hours creep into sunsets creep into one day, then two, closer to Christmas and his birthday. He abides by your shared routine as normal as normally as he possibly can when, majority of the time, he's burning and delirious. He needs to come whenever you so much as hug him when he gets home from work. He needs to come when you embrace him from behind. When you shower, he pictures himself invading the bathroom and pushing you to your knees.

He never realized before, but they're too short, the goodbye and hello kisses in general. Kisses at this point are all he has.

The 24th arrives, somehow, and somehow you roped him into watching a Christmas movie together—something from your childhood you both end up watching every year—cuddled up close on the sofa. He can barely focus, but he can't say no to the attention, even the bare minimum. A movie distracts him a little from his dizzying desire.

But then, you decide to play with him. For the past week, you've danced around teasing him—swinging your hips when you so much as you cross the kitchen to grab something he needs, sleeping in those skimpy pajama shorts despite it being the middle of winter... but Christmas Eve is different.

Behind him, you've been stroking his chest for the past fifteen minutes, occasionally catching on his hardened nipples. He fucking loves your hand. And your lips, pressing to his neck in random places when he doesn't know it's coming. He's as hard as a rock.

You do it again, and flick his nipple at the same time. He moans under his breath, craning his neck to give you a little more space, begging wordlessly. The thick outline made stiffer by the wretched cage is pitiful to the point of shame.

You peer over his shoulder.

"You're so hard..."

"Please..." he whispers, stretching the word out as you stroke the soft slopes of his chest. His cheeks feel hot. He rocks his hips rock fitfully, up into nothing. "Fucking loosen it or something."

You cradle his hot cheek lovingly, a touch he easily leans into, pinning your palm to the sofa underneath so you can't go away. "Don't want me to touch?"

"No! It's gonna be fuckin' worse, 'cause you're not gonna let me."

He presses his thighs together without thinking. He feels lost in you, an endless burning pool. Relief is nowhere to be found. If you don't touch him, though, he's pretty sure his dick will fall off.

You play with the idea of giving in now. There are about a dozen other things planned for his birthday—with and without friends—but you know now what's going to take priority. There's not a chance he's going to demand his gift any later than the moment he wakes up.

Hm.

"Stay here, m'kay?"

He's cautiously skeptical. "For what?"

"It's your birthday-eve, right?" You kiss him. "How about an early gift?"

Levi has a feeling this "gift" will be more for you than him. You're fucking with him. This is a joke.

He nods.

You wiggle out from behind him, and stand. Levi shamelessly stares at your ass as your form retreats.

Then you call over your shoulder, "Pants off, by the way."

He gets chills down his spine, squeezing his eyes shut against the heat that's replaced the blood in his veins. Hell. If you promised to let him come under the condition to lick your shoe and hump on it, he would. He would.

He shoves, then kicks down both his stretchy bottoms and briefs at the same time, causing him to sigh in both relief and frustration.

He can't help but glance at the debauched state he's in. It looks like the cage is barely containing his swollen cock, bulging against the steel, colored like an over-ripe strawberry. A pathetic amount of cum has welled up in the iron at the tip. He lifts his hips, and moans weakly.

He tilts his head back. Just staring kills him. He's so fucking trapped, he needs it, but at the same time, the knowledge that he's playing an active part in his gift—besides the fact that this gift will end in him finally coming his brains out—burns desire and satisfaction into him like a brand. You're his gift.

Ages later. He can't quit from nibbling on his lip with the return of the whispered sound of your socks against hardwood. A tiny thrill shoots through his stomach, which grows into a bird's feather brushing his insides as he spots the opaque ring fit for his cock. In stainless steel (just like the cage), it's intimidating. He inches his legs wider.

You smile knowingly, sweetly, even, and crawl on top of him, evenly straddling his wide thighs. your eyes rake the sight of his cock trapped in the tight steel.

You're staring. Involuntarily, he drapes his arm over his face, and waits.

"I'll take this off..." you trace one of the silver cells. "...And replace it with the ring instead. You've really turned into a little slut this week. You've been so pitiful, so miserable, huh."

"…Uh-huh."

"Are you a slut, Levi?"

He sinks his teeth into his arm. "Mhm. Your. Slut," he whispers.

"That's right."

He moans as your thumb flirts with the locking mechanism, and curls his toes. Tears involuntarily rise and sting his closed eyes.

"But you're more than that—you're the birthday boy. You're lucky I love you so much, hm?"

As the pressure starts to relent, and give little by little, he finds himself nodding like a bobblehead, breaths rushing in and out. "Uh-huh. I am I am..."

"Look at me, babyboy."

When you use that name, he has to. He pries his eyes open and peers up through his heavy lashes. At least you don't look totally ambivalent—your eyes are like pools of lust.

"You've been a good boy. Wanna fuck my thighs? For a little while?"

You ask like there's a chance he'll say no. His eyes widen comically. The way his cock chooses that moment to throb is disarming, fucking humiliating, but he doesn't wait to feel the shame.

Yes. Yes. Your warm, cushy thighs, hugging and rubbing on his dick. It's not your mouth and far from the squeeze of your pussy, but he'll take anything. Anything.

"Then don't move." Your hands float over to his raised hips. "Not the slightest twitch. If I hear a single sound, then you don't get anything."

He grinds his teeth into dust. With some effort, he forces his hips to lower and nods, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths and readies himself. Not a twitch, not a sound.

The metal dully clinks as you release him, and his slit oozes cum. He's freed.

A whine instantly builds in his chest, but he locks his throat and reels from the blunted surge of relief. He keeps his eyes shut. If he watches your hands flit around so close to his needy cock, a sound will escape for sure.

That almost happens anyway when your fingers brush his shaft. Then a new, chilling metal is worked down his cock. It tightens severely, squeezing his base and choking his heavy balls. As his toes curl, he bites his fist. The harsh wrinkle between his brows deepens.

"Not too tight?"

In two measured movements, he shakes his head.

No. But. He wants to break out of this position—shoot up and pin you down with your feet behind your head, tear off your panties and shove right in. He bets you're wet. He can already taste it. Soft silky pussy on him. All that fucking heat massaging, cradling, sucking in his fat, needy cock. That sounds like the birthday gift of a lifetime and what he needs right. Fucking—

Your hand comes down hard from the side, slapping his tip. A cry leaps up in his throat. He kills it at the last second, but to do it he has to throw his head back. It hurt so fucking good.

"That's no, mommy."

He shudders, sobbing dryly. "No, mommy."

"That's better." You soothe the tremors in his thighs with your hands. "But you still moved."

His stomach plummets into the abyss. He rips his elbow off his face and gawks at you. "What? That's not fucking fair."

"You needed to be disciplined. You moved. Your fault." You raise a brow. "A gift isn't good if it's badly wrapped, right? If I just let you get away with whatever you want, then..."

"I get it," he groans, and starts to squirm. "Off. You're evil."

You pin your lips between your teeth to stave off a smirk. "Evil enough not to watch the rest of the movie with me?"

Levi is nowhere near calm enough to be able to fall asleep and make tomorrow come faster. He grunts, sits up, and snatches his clothes off the floor.

He grumbles, "Cuddle. Now."

After the night before, it happens just as you predicted. You're not surprised at all that you wake up early to grey light penetrating the bedroom, and heavy breathing in your ear. He clings to your back, so you get every heavy inch pushed up against your backside.

"You already want your present?" you croon sleepily. He's humping feverishly and holding on tight, as if he's been at this for several minutes.

"Didn't sleep," he whispers, practically pinning you to his chest now that you're awake. His lips bury in your neck. "Every time I did, I just dreamed about fucking you."

Oh. You shudder against him, and curve your back so he has more to rub up against. "You dreamed about your birthday present."

His teeth sink in, nipping and kissing. "Ngh, mm-hm. I need you. S'that what you wanna hear? I even... made the gift better."

"Oh?" You're fully awake. "You didn't have to do that."

You reach behind and sink your fingers in his hair. To encourage him even more, slowly, you grind your ass back on his crotch, and feel your lower half throb as his breaths immediately starts to tremble.

He's close again... but he won't admit it. Really, he's been close for days.

"Mm. If you wanna see, then gimme my fucking gift."

He didn't even need to say it once.

You shuffle around in his arms, pressing him back, and Levi goes like putty in your hands. He spreads his legs wide, leaning up into your palm as it spreads over his chest, adorned in a wool sweater. You play with his nipples, and feel the hints of a coarse texture underneath, but it has to be sheer for his nipples to still poke through like this.

He begs you with his hazy eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm giving it to you." Placing a hand on his fiery cheek, a doting expression on your face, has him leaning into it. You'll miss that. Between his legs, next to nothing is left up to the imagination despite the plush pajama bottoms.

You lick your lips. "Is it your gift from last year?"

"Find out," he rasps, leaning his hips up.

Your chest lifts. You push down on the swollen bulge between his legs, feeling for the firmer outline of the ring. If it weren't for that he would've come just humping you in his sleep. Once or more. You hum.

But you don't idle, you skip the foreplay. It's finally his birthday, and Levi deserves his gift.

You shove his sweater up and over his toned abdomen. Nothing here besides the gorgeous view you know already. "Arms up."

He yanks it over his head just as fast, revealing skimpy, lacy, snow-white. A brazier hugs his big chest tight and shows shameless cleavage at the same time. His blushing nipples are just visible to your hungry eyes.

His arms lay above his head to give you the best view from where you're sitting, awaiting your reaction.

"Oh," leaves you in a big breath. "Oh, you're so beautiful." Your fingertips dance along the frills flared out at the shoulders. "You're gorgeous."

He turns flustered, flinches almost. His cheeks darken into the color of cherries. "There's more."

You shuffle down his body, and drop between his legs. Unlike all those other days, you don't bother hiding how wet you really are because of him, from the sight of him alone.

"Up."

He lifts his bottom up as his fists squeeze above his head. He could use his hands as freely as he wants, though—it must be ingrained in him now to submit to you. It's incredibly sweet.

As you peel off his sweatpants, hot ache rises in you.

Anticipation balloons in Levi's stomach.

The skirt—it's flawlessly stitched to look like a skirt—is really a frilly white thong to match the brazier. It only leave the tops of his thighs and hips to the imagination, and none of his cock. It looks ready to split the soft silk, added by the wet spot darkening the snowy white to a faint grey. He looks fucking delicious. Tiny bows even decorate the sides, beside his hips.

More syrupy warmth oozes into your panties. You're so captivated that down, even further, you miss the kneesocks at first. They're as thin and silky as his panties, and the same shade of snow. Ruffled frills and lace, stitched in shapes to look like flowers, decorate the tops of his knees. You trace the delicate design, and he inhales. As low as they ride, thick pale flesh still spills over the tops of them.

You fold his knees back to watch them wave in the air, the little pair of panties, his pretty cock and his shapely plump ass. You drink him all in, the full view of your precious husband already undone and whining shamelessly underneath for you to make him come.

To, "F-Fucking do something."

Oh, you're dying to, but you don't want to see him without that frilly little skirt. You tug down the waistband just enough to free his engorged cock, which slaps his navel with no preamble. A low moan of relief falls out of his open mouth.

He squirms. You feel a little pity for him. His hard-on looks painful by this point. Despite the ring, he's made a mess of himself so his cock seems to shine, and make him even more enticing. He's not just swollen, but his flushed cock and even redder tip is engorged above his fat balls. The black ring hugging the base looks extremely out of place.

Above, his brows are pinched, lips parted to show a tease of his pink tongue. "Mommy," he mumbles weakly.

You pin his hips with your knees—having long-since sensed his desperation—and scoop up his heavy balls in one hand. Pearls of cum have dribbled all the way down, leaving them easy to squeeze and massage.

"Fuck!" he gasps. His head tilts back as his hips immediately try to leap up, pinned in place by you. "Fuck fuck."

You snag the front of his panties and slowly tug back and forth, digging the fabric into his taint and asshole while working his balls.

"Can you handle it?"

"Gonna—!" Gasping, Levi blindly grabs for the pillow behind his head and makes useless attempts to close his bent legs and shy back from the overwhelming stimulation. "Agh, coming please please—"

His poor cock pulses before your eyes, but of course, he still can't get his release. Even by your expectations, he's so much more pent-up than you thought. Too much to give it all to him right away.

He can definitely come with the ring.

You take that route first so he isn't overwhelmed later. Either way, you plan to give him what he deserves.

"Shh..." you soothe, still rubbing using the crotch of his panties, and tugging on his balls. He continues to writhe. "I need to make you less sensitive first."

He groans. "Whose. Fucking. Fault is—"

"Look at me, birthday boy." You slide the panties down—or rather up—to his folded knees, until they dangle off his ankles. He looks like a slutty model fit for a Christmas porn magazine. You leave his rumpled panties alone, and rub his cock.

In the opposite way, he thrashes his head from side to side, whining eagerly. Is he even listening?

You pick up his chin. "Look at mommy."

A big gasp fills his chest as his hazy silver eyes, swimming in lust, focus on yours. Then fall into slits as you properly get your fist around him, and start off with steady, tight pumps.

"Agh need to—come..."

"Eyes stay on me. I wanna watch when I make you come. You wanna come for me, right? For mommy?"

A cry that hardly sounds like Levi bursts out of him. His jaw slackens, moaning what sounds like an affirmative as the slippery sounds get louder and more soaked.

His squirming starts to grow into thrashing. You pin him under more of your weight as toes in those kneesocks curl.

"You can do it with the ring—I know you can. Then you get my mouth on this pretty dick"—you push your thumb through his slit—"and then you can have my pussy."

"Fucking please! Ah. Ah..."

You push your thumb in his gaping mouth, not to pacify him, but to trap his tongue so nothing can be muffled, swallowed, or hidden in any way.

As if he's cognizant of his noises at all. Someone could hear him keening and crying from across the house right now. He humps and writhes in vain under your weight—at your mercy even now.

"Can'," he gasps, hindered by your thumb. "Off."

"No," you state firmly. "You're coming like this."

In the span of only a few minutes, his nonstop writhing stiffens. He cries out girlishly as a slew of dry waves surge through not just his cock and balls but his whole body—curled toes to his empty mind.

It's nothing and it kills him at the same time. His dry climax fuels the tight arch his back takes, then a thick gush of cum dribbling down his dick. More drool drivels down from either side of his open mouth, and drips down his chin.

You groan at the sight. "Good boy... I knew you could do it."

Levi moans heatedly. What are the words?—He just hears that honeyed praise in your voice.

The weight on his hips disappears, along with your thumb as you get into place between his legs. Your hand lands on that evil ring, causing his breath to tremble, then catch as your tongue darts out and licks his tip. "You can do anything you want with my mouth, remember?"

"Ah—uh-huh... P... Please..."

He seems in a whole other world, more than just dumb on the sex—but floating away. You don't want him to go into subspace when it's up to him to take what he wants. Adorable, but not your intentions.

"Stay with me, baby."

That's hard right now. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. His chin tilts back, revealing his bobbing adam's apple as you free his heavy cock. From that moment, he's inches from the edge again. If you just licked him again...

You kiss his lips, getting his hazy eyes to crack open. "This is your day—you can have any part of me you want, so you're in control now. Come back to me, baby."

Your voice, and your reassuring touches help ground him. Coming down from that floating place, he rasps, "Anything...?"

"Mm, I'm yours." You lean down, and kiss his silky lips. "I'm your gift."

A new sheen enters his eyes. He finally lowers his hands, and they fall on your shoulders, pushing your head down into the position from before. Your palms land evenly on the wide planes of his thighs.

"Suck," he whispers.

Your lips obediently close on his tip, suckling and lathing it in your tongue eagerly.

He reels. The soft soaked heat of your mouth effortlessly steals the thoughts from his mind and all sense of patience from his hips—what little he scrounged up after that weak climax.

"Need—" manages to escape him as his fingers make a fist in your hair, and he jerks, stuffing your throat in two thrusts. He feels your throat close on him, and he gasps, "S-Sorry."

You make a disapproving noise and recover quickly. A moment later you bear down even harder, hollowing your cheeks and nuzzling deep into the black curls at the base. You're his.

"Fffuck," he whines, humping shamelessly. His balls slap your chin. To go from nearly nothing to this tight sea of heat eviscerates any notion of an unneeded sorry.

He folds one of his socked legs back to get it deeper. Trying to match his movements becomes completely pointless in a flash. You brace yourself on the sheets outside his waist, and whine. His grip on your hair that he uses to hold you in place creates a sweet sting as he ruts, and then fucks a little deeper, using your mouth for a fucktoy. The blunt, slippery sounds are obscene.

Soon, he starts to ramble, "Fuck your mouth, love your pretty fuckin' mouth I need to come—s'gonna make me come"

Drool pools at the sides of your mouth as he rapidly slides over your tongue. You flare your nostrils to do the bare minimum to breathe—you devote more of your energy to being a hole.

Under a minute. His wide thighs draw tense like iron. He gasps, calls out your name, and dissolves into violent shivers when he comes. Hips snap with reckless abandon as he drains his balls down your throat. You swallow fitfully, and mewl.

Hot tears paint your cheeks that you rapidly blink away as his needy thrusts slow to needy rocking. He doesn't go soft.

When he's trembling, but still, you pull off coughing, still swallowing. A few drops ooze down your chin, besides the drool. You swipe your arm across your mouth.

But it's worth it. It was worth it before he did it. And the way he gazes up now, longing and more than a little wrecked makes it more so.

He sits up on his hands, seizes you at the sides and easily manhandles you until you find yourself shoved and bent in a tight kneel, ass in the air. With a hard grunt, you go down and arch your back. Somehow through all of that, you kept your tank-top and sweatpants.

"Get this fucking shit off," he growls.

"Take it—"

In one rough tug, he rips down your pants. He doesn't bother to take them off—just enough to expose your cunt. You suck in a breath as he spreads your lips, and the cool air touches your glistening pussy.

It's just begging for something to be stuffed inside it. He slides three through your slit, and sinks them inside with ease, making you croon. As soon as they're in, and thrusting in quick sloppy motions, you get tight.

He wanted to make sure—and this. Out again, he stretches his fingers apart, webbed with cum, and licks them clean as he mounts you.

"Fuck me," you moan.

"Shut up."

You shut up.

He spreads your lips and guides his cock through your soaked slit, groaning roughly along with your gasp. He could come just from this, pressing on your folds, getting him soaked in your cum.

"You ready?" he asks.

Levi shoves inside, filling your cunt to the brim in one swift thrust—you barely get the chance to cry out, gaping. Suddenly you're full. Firm balls clap against your ass.

He moans from the bottom of his chest as your tight heat clamps down on him. He missed it, so he grinds in deep, savoring it, and giving you a moment to adjust.

Only a moment. Finally, he gets to fuck. He rams in at a rapid, ruthless pace from the start, deep, so you get to feel it all in a flurry of thrusts from his tip to his fat balls rapidly clapping against your lips. It's loud—almost as loud as you.

"Fuck! Yeah just like—"

"S'my birthday," he moans. His thrusts drag.

Then he lurches forward on the next inward thrust, and pretty white lace is shoved past your lips, stuffing it. He plants your head down. "Toys don't talk."

You whine, throaty and high, and submit. His panties were wet before, but they get soaked quick. You suckle, tasting peaky salt and coarse lace.

His fucking resumes harder than ever. He pins your hips in place. The soaked slapping sounds are loud even over his panting, and you can't help but cry out.

More than fucking you, he uses you. Uses you up for all the last week has been worth.

You purposefully clench down on him, like a massage. You want to make this even better for him, and you reap the reward of hearing him moan, breathy and full.

He bears down harder than ever, ramming in, then dragging out, taking his time. To the tip, to fill you up all over again. He loves watching your cunt almost as much as he loves fucking it. It's puffy, and full of him. When he pulls out, his thick shaft is slathered in it.

"Shit. Your cunt's fucking mine." The hand not pinning your hip comes down on your pussy with a wet slap. You arch your back, and wail, managing to nod.

You got tighter. He whines, and his hand comes down again, his jaw falling slack as your silky cunt squeezes deliciously tight. "Yeah."

His pace resumes as his hand fumbles for your tanktop and yanks, causing your tits to spill out. He scoops one up in his palm and squeezes with abandon, as if staking claim. "I'm gonna fuckin' come in it, then it's really gonna be mine."

A shiver shakes your whole body. Tears ooze down your cheeks as your arch your back. All fucking his, not just today, but especially.

His cock pistons inside at a blinding pace—his hips can barely keep up with his rising climax—before his balls give a deep throb, and he stills. His thighs lock outside your hips as he gasps. He's stranded at the highest peak before the first wave takes him under. "Coming."

You bite down on the lace. As liquid heat shoots inside, you moan with the feeling, head swimming. He never held back—and especially not now that he pumps his cum deep inside you. He moans so sweetly.

With the dying throbs, he braces himself with his hand gnarled in your hair. Delightful shivers shake through him. As they recede, he grinds deep inside in weak rolls.

In the aftermath, he pants harshly, and taps your chin. The soggy panties sag from your mouth. His cock, completely soft, slides out.

You catch a look at his face. His flustered cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his forehead are the picture of fucked-out. It could be a trick of the light, but his heavy silver eyes gleam almost. One side of the frilly brazier sags hafway down his shoulder.

He asks, "You alright after that?"

You nod with a gravely hum. Fleetingly, he affectionately scratches your scalp and leans back. He's satisfied to see your pussy oozing him.

Very satisfied. He falls down next to you on his back, and tugs at you to follow.

You groan, and collapse, resting your head on his chest. You're still horny, but that can come later... if he wants you to.

He's unmoving, except for his chest rising and falling quickly. Slowly, you both recover and catch your breath.

You smile wearily, and reach over, carding his damp bangs off his face. You fucked the life out of him. "Did you like your gift?"

He turns his head for more. "Water wet?"

"Mm... Not technically."

He deadpans, and drags you into his arms, practically purring under your touch. This is one of those rare instances that he looks ready to doze off right after. Considering you kept him pent up for a week straight... and the way he stepped into subspace for a minute there, you're not surprised.

"You can nap for a little while. It's still early."

"Mm. Mhm. Maybe." Finally, his eyes crack open. "Kiss."

Beaming, you lean down and do just that, the press gentle, but deep. One that says, I love you.

His lips capture yours in kind, but sluggishly. You want to run a bath for him a little later—although he's tired now, you're in for an especially grumpy Levi when he wakes up if you don't—but for now, you murmur against his lips, "Happy birthday, angel."

#LEVI BIRTHDAY FIC #levi ackerman x reader #snk smut #levi smut #levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi ackerman smut #aot smut #captain levi x reader #levi ackerman x you #aot lemon #captain levi x you #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi x you #aot imagines #levi oneshot #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman scenarios #levi ackerman x female reader

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thisfanisgonesorry · 9 months

Note

hi if you're still taking requests, I can't get the idea of arthur somehow being in the epilogue, alive and thriving, working on the ranch with john and his family and just being happy

IM IN LOVE WITH YOU!! omg thanks for the req <3 i hope u enjoy it cutiepie, sorry it took me a lil bit

ending cowrote by @megbimbo loml

tags: yall are in the epilogue, making this an xreader since im basically useless if i dont but its light so dw, canon deviation obviously, high honor arthur. very angsty because my little gremlin brain could not just make him healthy but HE IS HAPPY!! MY BOY IS A HAPPY CAMPER!!; i usually write 1st person but i got possessed so heres a 2nd person fic (never doing this again, sorry if its shit), genderneutral but implied fem reader. milking the cows was the most pleasurable part of the epilogue after the absolute shitshow i had to endure that was chapter 6. arthur milks the cows for that exact reason. some medical terms i know that probably werent viable to use back in the day but idc. some cowboy stuff i learnt as a wee lass when i had a horsey. so many tags ill shut up now. (i got sad at the end of the fic because i realised you cant kiss him. that made me sad.) also water pump distance ref because its.. not as close as i thought it was.

♡

You and Abigail tended the house while Arthur and John were outside, doing god knows what, their manly chores. Jack and Uncle had a day trip to Blackwater, running errands and such, getting groceries, the works. Jack needed to get out of the house and Uncle needed to get out of doing work.

“I’ve got this.” Abigail spoke, taking the plate from your hands. A brisk nod and you wandered off outside to check on the boys, mostly worried for Arthurs wellbeing, as you tended to be. As the years dragged on, the remaining gang had been accustomed to not treat Arthur like he was fragile, which often than not, resulted in him being injured or overworked in some capacity or another.

You knew well enough that John would take care of Arthur and not work him to exhaustion, especially in this blazing heat, but nursing him back to health after things went south all that time ago wasn’t an easy job, and when they were building the house, he had a pretty bad flare up.

There was a slight sound of wheezing coming from the distance, your ears perked slightly, rushing down the main steps and looking around. You could vaguely see them over by the water pump in the distance.

Arthur was sitting on the ground, John hovering over him, rubbing his back slowly as Arthur coughed and spluttered. You rushed over to them, evidently worried.

“What happened?”

John looked over to you, softly speaking. “He pushed himself too hard.”

“Yeah.” He spluttered. “I’ll be fine.”

You kneeled beside Arthur, rubbing his back as John pulled away to fill the bucket with water to continue their water run, also so Arthur could take a handful and drink some, hopefully hydrating his throat enough to stop him from tearing his oesophagus.

Water Runs; They were dreaded, the water buckets would get heavy, and in heat like this, you’d need to do the runs multiple times a day to keep the animals hydrated. It got worse if the water troughs were under direct sunlight, the amount depended on the day, the weather and the animals, but the horses needed the extra water this summer, as did the sheep and the cows. All around, it was an awful chore.

Arthur, being the horse lover he is, would be quite adamant in keeping the horses up during the heat, making sure they’re okay. Though, because of the humid air, it was causing his illness to worsen. He slurped up a handful of water, and his coughing let up slightly.

“You need to rest.” You spoke firmly, as John picked up the bucket and walked it over to the remaining troughs, walking over into the sheep pen so he could keep a keen eye on Arthur momentarily.

“I know, I know.” He groaned. “John and I have a lot of things to do.”

“This is John’s ranch, not yours. Sit down for a bit.”

“But the horses—”

“But nothing. You can care for them later this evening.”

Your voice hung in the air sternly and he pouted like a child, he needed to sit down and rest, to be removed from the hot and muggy air. Once the blazing sun begins to set and the air begins to cool, he would be allowed to go back to his duties.

John waddled back over with the bucket, filling it up but lingering before he delivered it to the other animals. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I can do this on my own.”

“I want to help.” He spoke sternly, trying to stand up but weakly clutching his chest as he required the aid of you and John to get to his feet.

“How many other chores have you got today?”

John took the conversation away from Arthur, now more than just on board with the concept of letting him sit down and rest for a while. “Just the water, feeding, and milking the cows.”

“I can milk the cows.” Arthur objected.

You sighed, looking over at him, knowing he would rather keel over than be useless. He was a helper; for as long as he’s been known by any of the people on this ranch, he’s always been willing to help people. His need to work died down drastically since he’d been adopted to live on the ranch, but that didn’t mean the lack of drive didn’t eat away at him.

John raised his hands in a defeated shrug. “Let him milk the cows.”

“Fine, but I’m keeping a close eye on him.”

“That’s probably for the best.” John shrugged, with his shoulders this time, grunting as he picked up the bucket, continuing the water run.

Arthur had a horrendous side eye on him, though he restrained the urge to say something snarky, “I can do this on my own.” He spoke instead, as he began to stride his way to the barn.

“I know.” You responded, following behind him.

He seemed upset at the sudden switch of attitude, even after all this time, he wasn’t used to people treating him like he was sick. For the most part, people didn’t, but, for equal parts, he didn’t often tell people that he was sick, instead playing to be super cautious whenever around anyone new.

He took a seat on the stool beside the cow and you stood behind him, leaning against the pillar.

“I’m fine.” He reassured as he slowly milked the cow, the metal panging sound of the bucket being hit with liquid filled the barns silence.

“I know.” You repeated quietly, not really paying attention to the words leaving your mouth. “Jus’ making sure you’re okay, we’re bein’ careful, ‘s all.”

“I don’t need it.”

“I know you want to act like you’re okay, but you’re not. You’ve had a few close calls. We’re just trying to keep you...” You trailed off, not wanting to say the blunt words that weighed heavy. We’re trying to keep you alive.

He stayed silent as John slowly opened the barn doors, entering almost silently and taking the milk pail as it filled to the top.

“I’ll deal with this.” He said briefly, leaving us quietly to continue our discussion.

Arthur stayed painfully silent as your words lingered heavily in the air, John was quick to disappear into his jobs, and Arthur stayed on the stool, petting the cow softly.

“I get it.” He spoke after a long pause of silence. “I’m sorry, I just...” He rotated his hands in a motion to gesture the continuation of his sentence, not really wanting to finish it himself.

“Just come inside for a bit.”

He sighed in defeat, standing up from the cow and patting her softly as he removed himself from her side. He really suited this life, and it’s a darn shame that he can’t do too much with it.

He walked inside slowly, dragging his feet.

“Don’t get sulky.”

Uncle and Jack returned from Blackwater, pulling up in the wagon. Abigail had left the house to greet them and assist them while John did god-knows-what, something or other to do with the milk.

Jack and Uncle were having a conversation, or maybe an argument, about something in Blackwater, and they were asking Abigail her opinion as they unpacked the back of the wagon.

Arthur didn’t necessarily expect anyone to understand the struggles he had to deal with, he was dealt a poor hand, and partially, it was his fault. His days were numbered, and despite the unconditional love and support that everyone offered him, it only did so much into elongating that timer. It was a silent rule that we all knew it’d happen, and once it did, we’d most likely all point fingers on who’s to blame.

“Arthur.” Jack called out, grabbing his attention from his dreary thoughts and tossing him a fresh notebook. It lifted his spirits almost immediately. “I noticed your old one was getting full.” He responded plainly.

“Thanks, kid.” He smiled, still very clearly unwell and needing to rest but his mood had been lifted slightly. He walked through the front door quickly, wanting to get through before they’d be rushing things to and from inside the house.

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold glass bottle of water, looking over at you begrudgingly as he sat down on the dining room table and flipped through the soft new pages of the notebook.

“Any idea what you’ll do with it yet?”

He shook his head plainly. “No, I might draw some of the horses. Been a while since I drew Boadicea, or Rachel.” He shrugged. “Could draw Neil if he’d stand still.”

“That’s good.”

“Might go up to Owanjila at some point.”

“You could make a day of it.”

“Yeah, I could.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Can you stop doing that?” You cursed at him, agitated by how he was acting. “Don’t get upset at me over this.”

“I was fine.” He gritted his teeth.

“You were on the ground struggling to breathe.” You bit back, emphasising every word. He didn’t respond, just glancing away from you. He knew you were right, but didn’t want to admit it since it was inherently showing more weakness. “You...” You trailed off briefly.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, interjecting the conversation. “Jus’.. Don’t wanna be useless.”

“You’re not useless, you’re sick.”

“I know but—”

“Don’t you even try to compare yourself to Uncle.” Arthur stayed silent as you hit the nail on the head. “You did enough work today. Relax. Draw, journal, something. You have a few hours until the sun sets.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

“What?” He was beginning to come across as overly defensive, though softened into a defeated sigh as you tried to compromise.

“Abigail gets angry at me, she don’t like how I do the dishes or clean clothes.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll pro’lly try to help with the yard work. You can do more with less hassle.”

“I guess.” He shrugged.

“Weather forecasts think that it might rain sometime this week, means less work here, we can go to Owanjila.” He wasn’t too keen on it being babysat but he accepted it nonetheless.

“That’d be kinda nice...” He trailed off.

“We can do some fishin’ so they don’t think we’re bein lazy.” It was clear who the ‘they’ was in that sentence, which made him laugh in a silent exhale. “You can draw some of the scenery, set up a mini camp and just.. Have a day off. Hows that?”

“But—”

“Stop. You need to stop.”

“I’m bored!” He said, clearly agitated and exhausted. “I need something to do, ‘nd everyone jus’ wants me to rest but I gotta do somethin’ or I feel like shit.”

“I just suggested something.” I said sternly.

He looks around the dining area, chewing the inside of his cheek as he considers the idea. He sucked on his teeth slightly.

“Tch... Fine.” He admitted, like a defeated child.

There’s a long moment of silence, and you reach across the table to hold his hand. He continues to avoid eye contact, and his hand doesn’t hold yours back.

Arthur’s voice is barely above a mumble; so sulky for a man so strong, or so he claims to be. Your eyes flickered between his gaze and him, waiting for him to speak. Arthur, desperate to look literally anywhere else, found himself staring at John’s taxidermied squirrel. If you didn’t know any better, one would probably assume he’s admiring the finest piece of art the 1900s has to offer. He seems to linger on the concept for a while, which worries you. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that mind of his.

The silence blares in your ears for a bit too long. Clearing his throat, Arthur looked you in the eyes.

“We’ll see how things go.”

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