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the-lonelybarricade · 8 months

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A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 52

Chapter Title: Watch the Flames Climb High Into the Night

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 ⟡ A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist

The second throne in the Hewn City was carved from the smooth black jade native to the mines beneath their feet, a more elegant twin to the unforgiving ebony throne beside it.

The sculptors had explained that they had elected to carve the seat from such valuable gemstone as a testament to the new High Lady’s grace and majesty. But with the long slit that ran along both sides of her shimmering black dress, stretching to the jut of her hip, Feyre felt convinced that the ancient sculptors had actually crafted the throne from ice.

Her bare thighs stung where they flattened against the frigid stone. She fought a shiver, casting a sidelong glance to her mate on the throne beside her. Though having a throne of her own was more dignified, she admittedly missed sharing one with him, if only for the body heat. If she was feeling flirtatious, she might have said as much to Rhys down the bond on the chance that he would offer to warm her up.

But if the stone against her skin was cold, her mate’s expression was colder.

The assembled crowd wouldn’t have found this unusual. There was an air of apprehension hanging in the room, as could only be expected by the unanticipated arrival of the High Lord and Lady. Aside from their wariness, the residents of the Hewn City continued mingling amongst each other as if this were no different from any other appearance from the Inner Circle.

But Feyre knew, by the way his grip on the armrest lightened the peaks of his knuckles, that Rhys was not wearing a mask today. Cassian, too, was stone-faced at the foot of the dias, standing warrior-ready beside a brutal, yet devastatingly dressed Nesta. She wore a gown of impenetrable black, its neckline skimming the base of her pale throat.

Those sharp eyes were narrowed, assessing every inch of the throne room, from the dark polished floors, over the stilted audience, to the towering carved pillars and the scaled beasts twined around them. But every so often, Nesta’s eyes flicked to Cassian. And her expression shifted towards a concern that mimicked Feyre’s own each time she glanced towards Rhysand.

Soon, Eris would arrive with the fate of Azriel in his hands.

Mor had volunteered to stay in Velaris with Elain, and Feyre certainly couldn’t blame her. Eris has once held the fate of her life in his hands, too. And though they could guess, none of them knew for certain what Eris would ask in exchange for Azriel’s safe return.

Feyre skimmed her fingers along the scaled serpent climbing up the arm of her throne, letting it guide her to Rhysand’s hand. His flinch was imperceptible, but she felt it through the bond. How that slight touch had jolted him back into his body.

He turned his head, violet eyes unreadable, and managed a sideways grin. “I missed seeing you in a crown.”

Feyre knew what he was doing. She indulged it, just as he had done for her many, many times before. A distraction, a tunnel out of the dark pit that threatened to collapse beneath him the longer Eris made them wait.

“You get to be the one who takes it off of me,” she said back to him, voice pitched low.

Rhys leaned closer, moving his hand from where their fingers brushed to trail his fingertips up her arm. “I’ll save it for last,” he murmured. His eyes swept the black tulle draped over her body like he was already deciding precisely the order he’d be disrobing her.

Her bones turned to hot, molten liquid. But now was not the time. Even when his damned fingers made her pulse flutter as they danced over her collarbone, up her neck.

“A shame we don’t get to share a throne anymore,” he said, eyes fixed on her mouth.

Feyre laughed. “You threatened to flay their skin from their bones last time there was only one.”

“I stand by it.” And indeed, he’d seemed to perk up at the reminder.

Until the towering doors to the throne room yawned open. In stepped Eris Vanserra, accompanied by two of his brothers who trailed in rank behind him like the smoke of a raging bonfire. He wore his signature arrogance, regaled in the finery of their court. He was draped in rich red and gold cloth, fastened at his shoulder by a jewel-encrusted brooch. A wreath of golden leaves emerged from his red hair, glinting off the faelights as he approached the dais. The brothers at his back were similarly dressed, each entertaining their best impression of Eris’s self-satisfying grin.

“Eris Vanserra.” Rhysand’s voice was a rumble of thunder bouncing off the cavern walls. “It’s been five centuries since I’ve had the pleasure of welcoming you to my city.”

“Yes,” Eris said, dragging his eyes over the faeries scattered around the carved pillars and banquet tables without bothering to hide his distaste. “A pleasure then, as it is now.”

His tone implied it was anything but.

Rhysand’s mask of cold amusement didn’t waver. He smirked as if Eris had made a particularly interesting first move in this elaborate game between them. “Let us resume this conversation in the council room.”

“My brothers and I are quite comfortable here,” Eris said, still surveying the assembled audience. The residents of the Court of Nightmares had already been dismissed to make merry, though all conversation and dancing had lulled, with not a single head turned away from the Autumn Court scions who had just refused an order from their High Lord.

Kier hovered near the front of the crowd. He, at least, had been given warning of Eris’s impending arrival, though from the scowl twisting his face, it was clear he considered the Autumn heir an unwelcome guest. When Eris met the steward’s eyes, his grin became especially vulpine.

“We were beginning to miss the nightly revels beneath the Mountain. How wonderful that you continue Amarantha’s tradition. Well,” his eyes dragged to Feyre, who tilted her chin beneath his assessment. “Some of it. Did he make you dance to sit in that chair, too, Cursebreaker?”

What game was he playing? Cassian stiffened. Feyre could imagine the snarl already curling back from his lips. He wore his anger more plainly in this court, unlike Rhysand, whose jaw had tightened. She could feel him treading against the angry riptide pulling at her through the bond, threatening to tow them further from the shore of reason. From the focus of why they were here.

She pulled her painted lips into a taunting smile. “Are you wanting to swap notes? I’ve heard you’ve done your fair share of dancing for a throne. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Another intricate dance to earn your High Lord’s approval?”

“I’m here to negotiate in the best interest of my court,” Eris said smoothly. His eyes twinkled. “As you’re aware, my High Lord is in possession of something the Night Court values greatly.”

That stirred a murmur through the crowd. Feyre didn’t need to poke inside their minds to know that the Hewn City nobles were speculating what Beron could have in his possession that would warrant a sudden visit from an enemy court. She could practically see them mapping out the game afoot, vultures circling overhead as they tried to determine what Rhysand had lost possession of, how Beron had acquired it, and whether it exposed a weakness ripe for the taking.

Rhysand waved an idle hand, as if Eris were talking about an artifact in a treasure trove and not his very own brother. “Yes, you said as much in your letter.” He sounded distinctly bored. “I’m keen to discover what Beron desires so urgently that he would send his precious sons to an enemy court during wartime. After your allies have attacked this very city, I’d sooner capture the three of you as prisoners for my own negotiations with your father. Cut out the middleman, if you will.”

The younger Vanserra’s bristled at the threat and, indeed, at the way the Darkbringer guards, positioned like rows of obsidian statues along the edges of the room, seemed to take a step forward, pressing them in.

Eris only flashed a pretty, cultivated smile, edged like a rough-cut diamond. “You would have no assurance that my father would keep his possession intact were you to resort to such archaic negotiations.”

All of the stars blinked out of Rhysand’s eyes. When he spoke, every word was laced with the velvet promise of violence. “Nor could I promise the same.”

From the far side of the room, the orchestra hidden in a screened-in mezzanine burst into song. Since Feyre had not given the order, and Cassian and Nesta were still standing stiffly at the front of the throne, she could only assume the directive had come from her mate to divert the listening ears away from the conversation.

Indeed, many of the listening nobles began pairing off and fell seamlessly into the music, while the remaining onlookers decided to at least filter to the tables under the pretense of averting their interest. Only Keir remained, listening to the negotiations through tightly pressed lips, his Darkbringers still lurking on the outskirts of the court, prepared should the meeting take a turn into violence.

What Keir didn’t know, and what Eris knew with enough certainty to keep a snide grin curled over his mouth, was that Rhysand would not be making good on any of his threats. Not while he risked Azriel’s life in doing so. But—did Eris know what he risked in threatening Azriel? Had Lucien made contact with his estranged brother in the time since the High Lord’s meeting, so Eris was aware the Night Court was a delicate ally?

He knows, Rhysand said, opening an antechamber in his mind for Feyre to slip through.

Then, just like that, Feyre was seeing the Hewn City through the eyes of her mate. She could feel the power thrumming through his veins, siphoning off the vast ocean of darkness that lay just beneath the surface, righteous and ancient and cruel. Feyre didn’t need to wonder just how deep that well of magic flowed. She had seen it when he’d poured every last ounce of it into restoring the Cauldron.

There was enough of it to hold the weight of creation in his palm, to meld it back together, to breathe life into existence. Her mate possessed the might to rival the Cauldron itself, and every ounce of that power was now concentrated on the male in front of him, who had the audacity to look Death Incarnate in the eyes and smile.

Azriel is safe, Eris was saying, voice like black smoke against the mental talon Rhys had curled around his mind. He came to us in rough shape, but I’ve been keeping my brothers distracted to keep them from inflicting anything worse.

Furious, rumbling darkness. Rhysand’s mental voice was unlike anything Feyre had heard from him before as her mate gritted out: Where. Is. He.

Carefully guarded beneath layers of stone and rot and about a half dozen wards, in the deepest layers of the Forest House. You won’t be able to retrieve him by your heavy-handed methods.

“I’m growing impatient,” Rhysand said out loud, gently pushing Feyre back into her own mind. His shields slammed tight. “Tell me your High Lord’s terms before I find a way to make this meeting more satisfying.”

The youngest of the Vanserra brothers shifted his weight, even Beron’s brood not impervious to the bloodlust seeping into Rhysand’s smile.

“He wants access to the Spring Court.”

Rhysand chuckled darkly. “Then he should have plundered something precious to Tamlin. The Spring Court, and what happens within its borders, are far outside of my jurisdiction.”

“True,” Eris said, “but you and Tamlin are allies, are you not? Even before he was taken Under the Mountain, your Courts had forged an alliance that has endured into this War. Perhaps you could influence—”

“Beron is a greater fool than I thought if he believes I can influence Tamlin’s stubborn ass to do anything. You may recall that our relationship has been… tentative throughout the centuries.”

Eris’s eyes sharpened, the amber flickering in the faelight. “I do recall. And perhaps, after all of these centuries, you are finally in a position to repay the Spring Court for the blood they spilled. If the rumors are to be believed, that is.”

Azriel. Rhysand’s mother and sister. Even if this negotiation was a farce, Eris knew where the fracture points were to apply just the right amount of pressure. Her mate’s fingers curled into the serpent’s head, baring its fangs at the edge of his armrest, threatening to crush the sculpture beneath his grip. Black, inky darkness roiled off of him, sinking down the steps of the dias, where it wafted over the throne room floor like steam curling off of hot water.

The darkness was benign, for now, but even so many of the fae scattered back as it pooled over the throne room, coating them in darkness. In rage. In grief.

Rhysand.

He didn’t respond. He kept his razored gaze fixated on Eris, who returned it with all of the burning fire that could be expected from an heir of Autumn.

“If you believe Tamlin and I have a relationship that involves trading sensitive intel, then you are mistaken.”

“When you called the High Lord of Spring for aid in the Winter Court, he provided it.” Eris grinned. “We ask only that you would do the same again. Ensure that the High Lord and his troops are occupied on a day of my father’s choosing, and he will return your priceless belonging.”

Betray Tamlin to see Azriel safely home? In another world, one that Feyre had lived, that sort of offer would have felt like killing two birds with one stone. But now, Eris was asking them to put the Prythian Alliance at risk. They would lose the support of Tamlin and his troops, as well as any of the High Lords who would deem this as too great of a betrayal to overlook.

Then, there was the question of what Beron wanted with the Spring Court in the first place. Access to The Wall, if Feyre had to guess. Which meant that agreeing to these terms would mean that they aided whatever Hell was unleashed on the mortal realm.

They could choose to accept, and warn Tamlin and the other Courts ahead of the chosen date, but then that would risk whatever retaliation Beron decided to inflict on Azriel.

We can’t agree, Feyre said down the bond, knowing that Rhysand had already long concluded the same. Her dread threatened to swallow her whole as she brushed a hand down her mate’s mental shields, colder than the stone at her thighs, darker than the wafting shadows coiling around her ankles.

He had an opportunity to save his brother, and he needed to turn it down for the greater good. But what cut more profoundly than that, what she knew was turning over and over like a spit in his chest, was that he needed to condemn Azriel to protect the very same male who had once played a part in tearing his family away from him.

Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me.

That was a different Rhys, she reminded herself. One who had spent half a century alone Under the Mountain, who had lost all sense of hope.

“What day?” Rhysand asked, his jaw clenched tight.

Feyre snapped her head to her mate. Rhys. I’m willing to do whatever we can to bring back Azriel. But this would violate the treaty we signed at the High Lord’s meeting. This could cost us the War.

She winced, needing to say it. That the War should take precedence over his own brother. A hateful, ugly truth.

“It will be decided at my father’s leisure,” Eris answered.

We can find a different way to bring Azriel back. If Lucien succeeds in his mission—

“I will think on it.”

Eris’s face tightened. “You should consider thinking quickly. Like you, the High Lord of Autumn tires quickly of games. If you take too long, he might find a better use for what’s in his possession.”

With a flick of Rhysand’s wrist, the doors to the throne room swung open. Rhys sat back in his seat. “Scurry back to your High Lord, Eris. Before I decide to keep you here and renegotiate the terms.”

An idle threat, but one Eris had no intention to challenge. With a mocking bow, he turned on his heel and took several slow paces towards the door.

Then he paused.

Rhysand sat up.

Feyre wasn’t sure how to describe the shift that she sensed in the world. Like an earthquake, though the ground didn’t tremble, and the cavern didn’t shake. It was something more powerful, more otherworldly, a tremor that couldn’t be observed with the eye, but was felt all the same—rattling in her skull, in her chest, in her teeth.

A surge of power erupted in the throne room.

Eris cried out, falling to a single knee as fire leaked out of his skin, spreading over his body as though he’d lost all control of his magic. That flame crested, shooting to the cavern ceiling in a burst that was so bright, so powerful, that Rhysand threw his body protectively over Feyre like he worried the flame would reach them on the throne. Many of the faeries in the audience cried out, either scrambling away from the magic or winnowing from the room entirely.

The blaze slowly died down. Feyre lowered the hand she’d brought up to shield her eyes from the blinding light.

Now, she could see Eris rising to his feet before the entrance to the Hewn City, haloed in flame. His eyes were glowing, the brightest color of molten amber.

Eris cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice shook, but still carried enough to be heard throughout the cavern. “It appears that my father is now…” he swallowed, mimicking grief, or fighting triumph. “The High Lord of the Autumn Court is dead.”

No, he isn’t, Feyre thought, noting that the flame had melted away Eris’s wreath of golden leaves. Now, fire licked along the shape of his hairline, rising in a ring of small spires.

A burning crown of flame.

No, the High Lord of the Autumn Court wasn’t dead.

He was standing right before them.

#Dropping this and running away #A Court of Faded Dreams #ACoFD #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre

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busymagpie · 1 year

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Uhm.. I have no excuse

(The preview picture does not accurately advertise what is being shown in the actual piece)

#russingon #in a way #nastymagpie #dropping this and running away

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tawnyevergreen · 2 months

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I was feeling nostalgic and this fell out of me

#dropping this and running away #stone cold bitch is my favorite ice cream flavor #I’m so sorry for any memory this sparks in the people #happy valentines #hazbin #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #charlie hazbin hotel #vivziepop #art #hazbin fanart #2p Charlie #digital art #lgbt #fanart

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hungerpunch · 2 years

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if i fucking speak

#dropping this and running away #pierre gasly #f1 #fuck saaaaaake god fuck god

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watchingwisteria · 5 months

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listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded psychopath happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

#seeing some discourse and im not saying lucy grey didnt know #im saying she never dropped the kind of hints that she knew like she did in the movie #or if she did snow isnt worried about them until he very suddenly is consumed by them #snow is not concerned about whether or not she believed him. of course she did! hes snow!#but then shes gone…. for a while……#and its the sudden immediate drastic unravelling that comes across so clearly in the book #that i knew wouldn’t translate to screen yet still cant help but miss #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #tbosas #lucy gray baird #not a crime or anything just a note that i cannot stop thinking about #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #this is all from memory of reading it quite a while ago. so maybe 3 pages is an exaggeration #but i remember it happening VERY quickly and without much external cause #like we as the reader have no indication as to whether shes nearby or not.#snow has no idea either. he just SUSPECTS. and his suspicion breeds the hatred that has been bubbling inside him all this time #he hates how she undoes him. he hates that he WOULD run away with her if shed let him keep his secrets #and he HATES more than anything that she makes him WANT to tell his secrets #he wants to be vulnerable and reveal the ugly nasty parts about himself and still be loved #but he does not let himself and it is everyone’s downfall #he chooses cruelty bc it is easy and familiar and makes him feel more powerful than the vulnerable give and take that real love requires

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leafyolive · 5 months

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f1 driver omi with some atsumu on the side

#dropping art then running away #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #sakuatsu #.🌷 my art

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christronomy · 3 months

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sugar daddies (maybe slight pervs?) chan and changbin who enjoy giving their bimbo/sugar baby reader the best princess treatment by getting her everything she wants, especially cause she likes clothes. they absolutely loooove when you dress up cause cause you always wear the skimpiest clothing—thigh highs that are super tight they make the plushness of your skin spill over the fabric ever so slightly, the thinnest shirts that show your bra and nipples and short skirts that just barely cover your ass, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. they enjoy the thrill of being able to bend you over any surface in the huge house they got for you and lift up the skirt anytime they want, ruining your cute pink cotton panties by fingering your puffy clit through the fabric, and it makes you sad, but, "we'll buy you new ones pretty angel," changbin says as him and chan exchange lustful gazes. they want to absolutely ravage you right now.

they loooove that you're so sensitive and responsive, and how you can get so uncontrollably loud at times too. chan would be the one pinching your clit gently through your already drenched underwear, coaxing out yet another orgasm from you while changbin plays with your tits, suckling on and gently grazing his teeth against your nipples. they know that even if chan wasn't touching you, you'd definitely still cum just from the stimulation bin is giving you alone, but chan is enjoying this too much—the pathetic little puppy like sounds that escape your lips and the way your thighs tremble every time he so much as grazes his fingers over your clothed pussy, and god do they look so pretty in those thigh high socks you've got on. it makes him want to rip the fabric off, bury his face in between them and give you another reason to whine so pathetically, "like the dumb little slut you are," he'd say.

he's too impatient to undress you or himself so he just tugs your underwear to the side, pressing two fingers into your sopping hole and curling them just the way you like, reveling in the way you jolt and let out a squeal of surprise. they've already got you where they want you—all dumb and fucked out. you're their pretty little fuck doll and you best believe they're gonna have their way with you, taking turns filling you up til your body gives out.

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kissatoru · 8 months

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★ ₊˚ WEAK FOR YOU

content. college au, dom/sub dynamics, bratty sub!eren, mean to soft dom!reader, gn!reader, dry humping, humiliation, nipple play, degradation, praise, edging, handjob, blowjob

wc. ~6.8k

house parties aren’t really your thing. you’ve been to a few but you quickly discovered that they involve a lot more vomit and interpersonal drama than you have the tolerance for, so you tend to avoid them. you would’ve turned down the invitation for this one too, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was eren jaeger who offered it up to you. that’s why you’re here, at the house of someone who’s a friend of a friend’s friend, at sometime past midnight. you’re leaning against the wall, sipping on a half-empty can of pop.

you finally spot eren, making his way over to you with a grin much too wide for someone who’s late to a party he invited you to. he looks good, dressed in a white tank top that brings out the musculature of his arms and black skinny jeans you’ve only ever seen him wear to parties like this one, since he usually wears sweatpants everywhere else. his hair is half-down and half-up in a bun, not too different from the usual messy man bun he goes for.

once he arrives at your side, beer can in hand, you exchange greetings and small talk, talking about nothing and everything. in the middle of a conversation, some drunk rando throws up by your feet, so you and eren migrate to a different room. on the way though, another person bumps into you and spills their drink down your shirt. it doesn’t help that you were already damp with sweat from how hot and stuffy it is, as well as nauseous from the lingering stench of vomit mixed with alcohol and BO. you meet their eyes with hellfire on your tongue and in any other situation, you would’ve let it loose, but the way they paw at your clothes and slur their apology reminds you that you’re in a house full of clumsy idiots just like them, so you just shrug it off and focus on finding a bathroom to clean up in.

that’s what eren likes about you. you’re down-to-earth and keep to yourself, but don’t let people walk over you and speak out when you need to; you’re not exactly timid, but you’re soft-spoken in a way that suits your voice and nice to people without being overly nice. oh and don’t get him started on your witty humour and the way you play off other people’s jokes so effortlessly; even when you shake your head or roll your eyes or just ignore him after he tells a joke that doesn’t land, he’s buzzing. that’s why he’s been ogling you during your shared lectures, the reason he keeps ‘losing’ his pens and asking to borrow from you, the reason he keeps ‘forgetting’ to give them back, the reason he asked you out to this party! something about you just got eren hooked, to the point that he couldn’t stop thinking about you, to the point he would wake up with a boner almost every morning and jerk off from what he remembered of his dreams about you; to the point those dreams turned into fantasies, imagining what your body looks like under your clothes, what your moans sound like, what faces you’d make.

you, on the other hand, didn’t have any strong feelings toward eren until later. you thought of him as kind of average, if not a little loud and annoying at times, such as when he disrupted class, but in a word, tolerable, and definitely not the worst classmate you’ve ever had. usually, you’d never give a guy like him the time of day unless he actually tried to pursue you (instead of just flirting and joking around aimlessly) but your interest was piqued after your friends passed on to you some rumours about him being a self-proclaimed ‘hardcore dom’. from that point on, you were just as hooked. you became less dismissive and a little more friendly, playing along with his game — long enough so that he’d never see it coming once you finally sunk your claws into him.

that’s why, when you finally find the bathroom, you stop in the doorway, turn to eren in your stained shirt and say, “do you mind helping me clean up?”

the excitement in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed as he answers a nonchalant, “yeah, sure,” and follows you inside. the soft click of the lock has eren’s pulse jumping because he knows exactly where this is going. he knew you had to feel something back, that you couldn’t resist his advances forever. his eyes scan you shamelessly while you pull your top over your head and start wiping your chest down with a towel. he leans against the door and comments, “hey now, you might give a guy the wrong idea taking off your clothes like that,” and that’s what sets everything else into motion.

“yeah?” you say as you step closer. your voice is hushed, lowered, as if to whisper a dirty secret. “how do you know it’s the wrong idea?”

eren falters at your forwardness, but runs a palm over his hair and regains his composure. “i guess i don’t,” he says, not even trying to hide the way he’s staring at your lips. “so, is it?” his dark gaze flicks back up to your eyes. “the wrong idea?”

you smile and make sure to bat your eyelashes extra prettily as you whisper, “why don’t you kiss me and find out?”

his lips are on you as soon as you finish the question and his hands grasp at you while he backs you up against the door. he kisses you feverishly and as impatiently as you’ve been feeling this entire night. you let him kiss along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone, but before he can get too carried away, you guide him back to your lips. this time, you take over leadership in the kiss. eren smirks, mistaking it for eagerness, until a skilled tongue slides into his mouth and your hands begin to touch him with confidence and ease. his breath hitches once, twice, and it only spirals from there. he’s gasping and panting in seconds, overwhelmed and barely managing to keep up. slowly but surely, you’re pushing back, and he can feel himself giving in, involuntarily yielding to you like it’s a biological instinct. he doesn’t even realise how bad it is until it’s too late, until his back is pressed against the door and his centre of gravity becomes you, staring at him with a look he’s never seen on your face before.

“you’re real pretty, you know that, right?” you tell him as you tuck some of the loose hair from his bun behind his ear. eren opens his mouth, presumably to bark out a retort at your (what he believes to be) demeaning choice of words, but all that comes out is a quiet moan as your knee rides up between his legs. you take advantage of that and slip your thumb inside, pressing down on his tongue and opening his mouth wider. “so pretty,” you add in a croon, but then he brings his teeth down and bites your thumb. you don’t give him the satisfaction of a pained reaction, settling for a disappointed glare and a tight grip of his jaw. “don’t be a brat now, jaeger. you don’t wanna know what i do to brats.” interestingly, the lump against your knee twitches. you arch an eyebrow. “oh? or maybe you do?”

his eyes are on yours, seemingly stern and rebellious but you know it’s just a ruse; you know begging for mercy when you see it. such eyes suit him, you’ll give him that, but you’d have to be a fool not to take this opportunity, to give him that final nudge, those final few centimetres he needs to be all yours. so you whisper into his ear, the kinds of things he’s used to saying and worse, until he’s flushed and speechless, stuttering over his breaths and holding back whines. it’s almost too easy when you lean down to his neck, and he just lifts his chin and gives it to you, without you even having to ask. you reward him with red kisses and purple lovebites that have the skin beneath your lips thrumming with suppressed moans. it’s such a treat too, how affected he is when you’ve barely even started.

some part of eren is still screaming at him to steal back his dignity and the role he’s made a reputation out of, but his pants are damp and so tight it hurts, it’s really not his fault when he starts grinding against your knee in search of relief. you find it adorable, really, and smirk against his neck as you press your knee forward in an act of pity. a whimper slips from him and he ruts against you faster, more desperately, so desperately. he almost sobs because he was sure your actions would be as cruel as your words, but he’s too caught up in chasing his high to feel relieved or thankful. he focuses only on moving his hips, back and forth, back and forth, and holy shit, is he really about to cum already? in his pants, like some teenager?

he stops his movements, shaking with the effort of keeping still. with clammy hands, he hurries to undo his jeans, but you snatch them away and pin them to the wall. your curled lips indicate that you understand the situation just fine without an explanation, yet you still have the audacity to say, “what’s the matter? don’t you wanna cum?” your tone all flowery and pure as you pick up where he left off, mercilessly rubbing his cock through the fabric.

“no, no, no, fuck,” eren chokes out, even as he betrays himself by meeting your knee halfway, but he just can’t stop! his peak is drawing closer and closer and his downward motions just get harder and faster. it feels so good and he’s so, so close–

“don’t cum yet.”

eren’s first thought is: how the fuck is he supposed to do that? but then his second thought is: why would he listen to you anyway? what authority do you have over him? and yet what comes out of his mouth is, “please–”

“begging so soon?” you say against his lips. “that’s sweet, it really is.” you let go of his wrists and trail your hands down his arms to his chest, then over a nipple experimentally, grinning when you feel it pebble under your light touch. you give it some more attention, circling and rubbing it through the fabric until eren’s hands are clutching your shoulders and he’s curling in on himself trying to escape the foreign sensation. he never thought that part of his body could feel... good?

you suddenly pinch and twist it and eren whines. the pain is sharp, and yet that’s what has his orgasm returning. with only a few more grinds against your knee, it’s hitting him fast, from all angles, and the thing he’s been dreading finally comes true. he soaks his underwear with cum, hot and sticky and disgusting. he moans weakly, digging his blunt fingernails into your shoulders as his head raises up against the door.

you sigh, disappointed. “i didn’t say you could cum.”

eren is standing there, trying to catch his breath and too out of it to respond to you, when you suddenly grab him through his pants. his back arches at the overstimulation and you’re smiling because of course you are as your hand massages over his bulge and the horrid squelching sounds remind him of his shame. he tries to get away from the stimulation, gasping out, “stop, stop, stop!” but when you don’t hear that lovely ‘please’ you only quicken your ministrations.

“you’re such a pervert, eren,” you taunt, soft and sultry, as if you weren’t humiliating him with your words. “cumming in your pants from having your nipples played with? and it’s only been like, what, a minute?”

his cheeks turn pink, his eyebrows knit together, and all he can say is a shaky, “shut up.”

you snicker. “aw, don’t be embarrassed. it’s cute! you’re just like a virgin.”

“i’m not a virgin,” he croaks out, and it’s true, but you pretend to be unconvinced so you can watch him rush to make you believe him while his face blooms a darker shade of pink and his cock hardens at your touch — or maybe your words? either way, you continue palming him until his defiant expression fades, until it’s replaced by parted lips and hooded eyes.

then you pull away, just as he’s starting to buck into your palm. you relish the way he looks at you, so questioning and betrayed. you wish you could see what other faces you can get him to make, but now that you’ve given him a taste, you intend to take it all away. it’s the funnest part of this all; leaving him wanting after planting the seed of what could be into his mind, letting him continue with his life of hook-ups and one-night-stands before he inevitably comes running back to you. it would be so easy now to lose your patience and ravage him like a starved man, sure, but that takes away the fun in taking him apart piece by piece. you’ve come all this way; it would be a shame not to savour it.

“why did you stop?”

there it is, you think, and you can’t help smiling. “you told me to,” you answer as you take a step back. eren stands there, the start of a protest falling from his lips. you don’t wait for him to finish, instead reaching for your shirt and putting it back on.

“hey,” eren scoffs and grabs your arm. “you can’t just leave.” his tone is light-hearted, but you can tell he’s being serious, and that it’s more like a plea rather than the statement it’s phrased as.

“oh, can’t i?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “why not?”

eren looks at you, then his crotch. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this lost for words.

you just laugh through your nose, like he’s told a bad joke. “this is your punishment, eren. you should remember it next time you think about disobeying me.” you wave your hand for him to move, but he lingers, so you give him a pointed look, a silent demand. he steps out of the way and you open the door. “see you in class on monday,” you say over your shoulder before shutting the door behind you.

standing there with his heart still pounding with adrenaline, eren realises that he was right before; your actions are as cruel as your words, crueller even, he just guessed too soon. he should be livid — you’ve left him covered in hickeys, with an aching boner and cum that’s still warm in his pants — but all he can think about is two words: next time. even after days have passed, he doesn’t stop thinking about them. he clings to them like a lifeline, every day and every class with you after that; turning those words over, listening to the echo of your voice in his mind, the way your lips moved around those two bittersweet syllables. he thinks about them for an entire three weeks before they finally come into existence thanks to a class assignment that gets the two of you paired up.

you avoid inviting him over too soon, purposely offering to meet up at cafés and the campus library. at first, they were nothing more than that: just doing actual work for the assignment. but soon enough, you start to tease and distract him; a foot skimming his inner calf one too many times to be an accident, a hand on his thigh that rubs up and down but never more. it’s torture, yet eren feels giddy at the prospect of it leading up to something more, every single time, wondering if this will be the time you go further.

there’s one time he’s sure you will. it starts out innocent, you asking him to get a book that’s too high up for you. as he reaches for it, his shirt lifts up, revealing a strip of his v-line and the waistband of his boxers, how the edge of skin above it is slightly paler, where his tan didn’t reach...

it’s gone as soon as it appears and usually your thoughts would vanish with it — except the aisle happens to be dowsed in shadows from a broken light and the closest person around is on the other side of the library. so instead of your urges slipping away, it’s your self-restraint, and rather than taking the book, you take his wrist. then you pin him to wall and use your other hand to push his lips into yours, all in one fell swoop. the intensity with which you kiss him and the way you have him pressed against the wall brings him back to that night. he kisses back just as passionately, all slippery saliva and clashing teeth. he’s sweating already, hot with the thrill of what else you’re willing to do, how far you’re willing to go in a public place like this. would you touch him? make him cum in his pants? leave him hard?

a hand clutching onto your shirt brings you back to your senses. you pull away and eren tries to chase your lips, but you catch his jaw before he can. he’s still panting from the residual excitement of earlier. his eyes stare at you, puppy-like in the way they speak a silent plea and twinkle with the reflection of the library ceiling lights behind you. you just smile and pet his spit-slick lips with a thumb, the gentle touch distracting him long enough for you to grab the book he’s still holding and step back. “thanks,” you say, gesturing to the book before walking away.

just seconds ago, eren’s mind was racing with thoughts, but as he stares at your retreating back, his only thought is that you really are cruel — and yet it is that thought, and that moment, that replay in his head that very night as he’s roughly pumping his cock and cumming in his underwear, if only to pretend you forced him to, just like back then. he’s pathetic, he knows that, but at the same time, it’s all he can do. he just feels so... he doesn’t even know what to call it, but it has him drooling after everything you do. he’s never felt this way about anyone. he’s only ever slept around with people, too afraid of committment for even friends with benefits or a situationship. he’s not even all that great with friendships, with only two friends he’s been lucky enough to have by his side since childhood, and a few guys he talks to and has lunch with at uni, but never actually hangs out with outside of class. but you? you have something that makes him want to stay, to keep going after you; you’re the reason he hasn’t slept with anyone since the party. he’s tried to, but it’s just not the same. he feels like you’ve ruined him for everyone else. that’s why he has no other choice but to fuck his fist after every meet-up with you, imagining it as your fist while the words you left him with loop in his head.

it isn’t until over halfway through the project that eren’s pining finally reaches its peak with a single message:

let’s work at my place today, usual time

the way it’s not a question does something to him, which is when he realises how pent-up he is. he knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but by the time he reaches your dorm, he’s already half-hard. he wipes his sweaty hands off on his tee and adjusts himself in his sweatpants before knocking on your door. when you open it, you’re in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, legs bare and feet clad in slippers.

“you’re early,” you say as eren strolls inside.

he scoffs. “not on purpose,” he says, hoping you don’t see through his façade (you do). he slides his hands into his pockets and takes a look around your room. various shelves and decoration on your walls, reflecting your interests; memorabilia and clutter on different surfaces and furniture. some clothes thrown over your desk chair, a few plants and books. there’s a scent in the air too, not too strong but prominent and uniquely you.

“when you’re done snooping around my room like a creep,” you call out from your bed, “we should get on with the assignment.” your fingers clack away on your laptop keyboard for a bit before looking at eren. “i know the deadline’s next friday but i’d rather get it done as soon as, y’know?”

eren’s stomach drops. he completely forgot the real reason he was invited here; the innocent reason he was invited here. your tone was casual, gave no indication that you knew, yet as he stands there in front of you, he feels like you’re in his head. do you know the effect you had on him at the party? the effect you continue to have on him? shit, eren thinks, as he clenches and unclenches his fists. he wants to respond, play it off cool and act like he only agreed to come so enthusiastically because he cares about his grades, but his mind is blank.

“cat got your tongue?” you tease, shifting into a position that has you face-on to eren. then you slide to the edge of the bed and lean forward. “why so quiet, jaeger? that’s not like you, your loud mouth usually always has something to say.” those scrutinising eyes scan him from head to toe. slowly. “and where are all the materials anyway? the ones you were meant to bring? for the assignment?”

he feels caught, trapped like prey, and with every few-second flick of your eyes, every purposely chosen word and perfectly timed pause, he feels himself get smaller and smaller.

“don’t tell me,” you start, but with those three words alone, eren already knows his fate has been sealed, “you thought we wouldn’t actually be doing the assignment?” you’re smiling now, the same smile you had in that bathroom three weeks ago as you palmed him through his cum-soaked pants. “what did you think we were going to do, huh? please, tell me...” your eyes narrow into slits and your lips stretch out in a smile, showing off teeth that flash like a predator’s. “i am so curious.”

you’re pushing his buttons, making him feel like the desperate one, and maybe he is, but could you blame him? eren just wants another taste of what you gave him at the party, and most of all, he wants you. he realises that maybe you really did just send that text with the intention of working on the assignment, but there’s no denying that in this moment, that’s not what this is; in this moment, you’re nudging him forward after toying with his sexual frustration, and in this moment, eren decides to put a stop to it.

he stomps forward until he’s looming over you, a sharp scowl twisting his features. “stop playing dumb, (name). you know damn well what you were doing when you sent me that text,” he snarls, sea green eyes stormy and narrowed. “i’m done with these games, alright? if you’re not going to take responsibility for making me like this, then– then i will.” he almost falters from the weight of your eyes, the way they just sit there, waiting and unfazed, but he steels his composure. “you’re just a brat anyway,” he says, leaning in. “all you really want is for someone to put you back in your place.”

that smile hasn’t left; hasn’t so much as twitched. in the position you’re in, you’re looking up at him, but the way you’re doing it makes it feel as though eren is the one looking up, the one being looked down on. “well... you’re right about me knowing what i was doing,” you admit, “but the rest? not so much. not for me, anyway.” you trace the collar of eren’s t-shirt with your fingertips, drag your palm down his chest...

you suddenly bunch up the fabric and yank it with a tight fist. your other hand catches eren’s shoulder and keeps him steady as his palms land on either side of you, knees bent and head in the crook of your neck. “come now, jaeger. do you really think i’m the brat in this situation?” you say softly, your breath warm and your lips featherlight as they graze his ear lobe. “put me back in my place?” you giggle quietly and it reverberates through eren’s skull like a thunder clap. “does that really sound like something you want to do to me?” he can feel the way you smile against the shell of his ear, the wetness of your teeth. “or is that just the only way you know how to ask for something to be done to you?”

eren is hidden in your neck yet he feels completely exposed. he wants to mask the way your words make his breathing stutter, but when you’re this close, even he knows it’s no use. all he can do is stay right where he is, frozen in a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation.

you shove eren back and he crumbles to the floor on all fours. “that’s more like it.” you tilt your head at him as he sits up on his knees. “doesn’t this feel so much better?”

eren doesn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but it does feel better. his gaze drops to his lap in shame but that’s where he sees the even more shameful bulge that’s formed between his legs. he instinctually covers it up, but he’s too late, and his attempt at hiding it only confirms what you already know. you reach over and angle his head up by his chin. you have an unimpressed expression on your face, but your eyes contrast it with their fiery intrigue. “wow, eren,” you say through an amused sigh as you lean in close to his face. “are you seriously hard right now?”

he swallows nervously and presses his thighs together. his breathing is already faltering in his chest, but he tries to keep it steady as he replies, “you can’t blame me. you’ve been teasing me ever since you left me at the party. just like this.”

a hand yanks his head back by his hair and eren is unable to stop the moan that escapes him. he chews on his lip as you sneer down at him. “being left like that was exactly what you deserved,” you mutter, then you raise your eyebrows, feigning a contemplative expression, “but maybe another, harsher punishment is what you need to learn your lesson, hm?”

eren’s dick twitches and he would’ve nodded too, if he didn’t register at the last minute that punishments aren’t meant to be enjoyed.

you catch it anyway, and scoff. “of course, you’d like that, you fucking whore.” you let go of his hair and lean back. eren stares at you, confused, until you pat your lap. “sit,” you tell him. your posture is relaxed, in contrast to his, which tenses as he straddles your lap, resting his hands on your shoulders. your eyes widen and you smile incredulously. “i guess leaving you like that wasn’t entirely useless, huh?” you laugh to yourself and massage along his hips and thighs before finally tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down, slowly, along with his underwear. a shudder runs down eren’s spine at the touch of cool air on his skin. his hard cock bumps against his abdomen, leaving behind a shiny smudge of precum. you tap his wet tip and draw circles around it, making eren hiss and briefly dig his nails into your shoulders.

“don’t–” he stops himself when you glance up at him.

your eyebrows raise. “what was that?” you ask, but he just swallows and remains silent. “use your manners, baby. you’ve done it once before, so i know you can.” your other hand snakes under his t-shirt and caresses his side. “don’t get shy now. if you’re cute enough, i might give you a reward.”

eren shifts in your lap. there’s a pause. then, “please.”

you chuckle. “come on, ‘ren,” you say, “you can do better than that.”

he looks exasperated, but tries again anyway. “please,” he repeats. “please just– just touch me. please.”

he makes it too easy to tease him, you think, as you grin wickedly. “but i’m touching you right now, aren’t i?”

eren groans. “yes but– you’re not–” he jumps as you dip your nail gently into his slit. “fuck, just put your hand around my cock please.”

you surprise him by doing exactly that, a loud moan being torn out of him. your grip is tight as you drag your fingers down his length, spreading his precum. with how pent up he’s been, eren feels like he’s close already. his body tingles with pleasure and anticipation. it’s almost too much, yet not enough, the way you slide your hand up then down, up then down, steady and unrushed. just as eren is about to ask you to go faster, you rotate your hand over his leaking tip and he chokes on his words. you do it again, and again, before returning to your previous motions. you repeat this, changing your pace a few times, just to watch him squirm, before resuming your steady pumping. eren begins to wonder if you’re waiting for him to beg more, if you’ll just keep doing this until he asks you to go faster, but the next time you change your pace, it’s fast and doesn’t stop, just goes even faster. eren stumbles over his breaths. he’s relieved, but at the same time it’s too fast. “fuck, slo– slow down,” he says in a strangled voice. he is hurtling toward his orgasm, he’s definitely not going to last. shit, how were you able to go so fast and hard at the same time? it felt like he was on fire. he’s so–

you stop.

a single meek drop of precum trickles down eren’s dick.

“no–” he groans. “what the fuck? why did– why didn’t you–”

“did you forget already?” you interrupt, grinning from ear to ear. eren’s lips remain pursed in frustration. “this is your punishment, remember?”

a range of emotions pass over eren’s face: realisation, horror, anger, desperation, self-pity. you watch his inner conflict set aflame, how he looks down at his aching dick, how his fingers twitch and one hand even goes as far as to dip down to try and touch himself, but you grab it and place it back around your neck. “only i get to touch you, and only i will decide when you get to cum,” you tell him and eren curses under his breath but stays put. from there, you go back to touching him. you bring him to the edge, over and over, abusing your knowledge of all his weak spots, squeezing and rubbing and pumping vigourously for what must be at least eight times; until his speech is slurred and his pleas are barely intelligible.

when you let go for the final time, you hear him sniffle against your neck.

“that bad, huh?” you mumble, mostly to yourself. you slip your hands beneath his shirt and trace the smooth plains of his torso, up and down, feeling the muscles ripple and writhe from the barely-there touch. “okay,” you say, “you’ve been good, so i’ll reward you now.” his hips jut out violently and grind against your stomach. you grab his drenched cock and suck your teeth in disapproval. “don’t ruin it by getting too greedy now, eren.”

he stares at you, turquoise irises engulfed in black pupils, and licks his lips. “what’s my reward?”

you just smile. “you’ll find out soon enough,” you answer. you pull up his waistband and snap it against his sensitive cock, making him yelp. “first, i want you to get up and take off your clothes.”

eren is eager and obeys quickly, making a show of it as he does; flexing his muscles a little more than necessary, his movements slow and sensual and tempting because that’s just how he’s done this every time before this. but the sooner that usual ego of his rises, the sooner it falls, because once he’s down to his last item of clothing — his boxers — he just stands there like he doesn’t know what to do next. he does, of course, but he’s feeling what seems like dread at the idea of being completely naked in front of you. not because he’s insecure, but the fact that it’s you he’s showing it to; you with your fox grins and cruel, humiliating words, your rough treatment and watchful eyes... fuck, just the thought is making him harder, and then even harder as he wonders if you can see it. will you point it out? will you make fun of him? call him names?

eren jumps when you graze his crotch with the end of your foot. “having second thoughts?” you say, teasing but serious all the same.

“no,” he says without hesitating.

“then go on.” you lift your foot and eren tenses in anticipation, but you just grin wider and point to the head of his dick, peering out slightly from his boxers, without touching it. “don’t keep me waiting.”

he slides the waistband down his thighs and lets it drop to his feet, then steps out and tosses the garment aside. you’re still fully clothed and relaxed while you look him up and down. eren slides a hand over the top of his hair, pushing away the fallen strands. he thought he felt exposed earlier, but now it’s even worse. your eyes are practically devouring him, but you can’t help it. the way he’s standing there, completely nude while you aren’t, waiting for your next command while staring at you with those dark aqua eyes from under pretty dark eyelashes. no number of late-night fantasising would do this sight justice, yet you wonder if you can make it even better. you wonder if you can push him just a little bit further, see how much more you can bend him before he breaks.

“you look nervous, eren,” you say. “are you sure you–”

“yes! yes, i’m sure,” he all but gasps out.

you arch an eyebrow at his interruption. “i was going to say are you sure you want this? are you sure you want me?” you clarify. “for all i know, you’re just a slut who’ll pounce on anyone. how do i know i’m not just a set of holes to you, hm?”

eren frowns. “no, that’s not–” he steps closer to you and sinks to his knees in front of you. “i only want you, (name). no one...” his cheeks flush hot and he looks away from your eyes. “no one else could fuck me as good as you.”

it’s not the entire truth and you know that. you’ve always been good at reading people. though eren may be better than the average person at lying, around you? all of that depletes and he becomes an open book. “and how would you know that?” you say as you lean back on your palms.

“i don’t,” eren says as he places his hands on your knees, “but maybe you can show me?”

it’s pathetic yet so beautiful to see a man like eren jaeger like this: on his knees and at your disposal. it’s almost a shame you couldn’t get here sooner, but you’ve always believed in delayed gratification, in trusting the process and the like; that’s why you adore men like him, who’ve only ever been doms and have never even considered anything else. it’s so much fun to string them along, allow them to unknowingly fall into a false sense of security, to make them think you’re just another obedient little sub, and how once you’ve built that up enough, breaking them is all the sweeter.

the shift of you leaning forward makes eren sit up. he’s not sure what he’s expecting, but you gently petting his hair definitely isn’t it. he melts, dropping his head and resting his cheek against your knee, just like you thought he would. after all, you noticed that pushing back loose hair is a nervous tic of his, and so naturally this kind of touch comforts him. you smile fondly at that.

the tender moment is broken by eren humping your leg. you’re not sure if he even realises he’s doing it. his eyes are shut and he’s whimpering like a dog. the grasp he has around your knees tightens. “eren,” you say to him and he seems to regain some awareness, stopping his movement and looking up at you. “would you like your reward?”

he breathes out like he’s been holding it. “please.”

you pat the space behind you. “come lay down.”

he does so and you wait for him to get comfortable before perching yourself on his lap. you begin by sliding your hands up his torso and back down again, tracing the dips and curves of his body. you litter kisses from his neck to his collarbone and chest. your breath ghosts over a nipple and eren shivers. you take a second to smile before flicking your tongue over the dark pink bud. his chest raises off the bed and into your mouth as you latch onto the nub and swirl your tongue around it. your hand makes work of his other nipple and eren’s hips buck into you. a string of spit forms and snaps as you pull away and resume your path down his torso, pecking down his belly, hip and finally, his inner thigh. you feel eren squirm as your cool breaths hit his drooling cock. you flatten your tongue and lick up from the base, kissing the tip wetly before taking it into your mouth and sucking hard. eren throws his head back and moans, fallen strands fanning out against the pillows. his hips are restless, so you hold them down while you slide down to the base, then back up to suck on the tip again. your motions are smooth, aided by saliva and precum, as you begin to bob your head up and down his length.

eren’s fingers find your hair and cling there. you break away to mutter a cautionary, “easy,” then swallow down his cock again, moving quicker now. with how you’ve been teasing and edging him, you suspect that he’ll cum soon. his sounds get higher and louder, more frequent, and every so often the hands on your head flinch or scratch or curl.

“i’m close, i’m close,” eren warns through laboured breaths. his skin is damp with sweat, long strands sticking to his forehead in curled shapes. “please le– let me cum.”

you answer him by not stopping, by using your hand to pump the bottom half of his cock while continuing to suck on the rest with hollowed cheeks and wet lips.

“fuck, m’gonna c– ah! fuck, please let– please!” his back arches, sheets peeling off his skin before he collapses again, abdomen contracting. “please say i can–” his nails dig into your scalp as he moans, drawn out and loud. hot fluid fills up your mouth and throat. you swallow and don’t cease moving until eren is pawing at your face and mumbling about how it’s too much. afterwards, unable to hold back your teasing nature, you give a few kitten licks to his reddened tip, enjoying how it makes him whine and jolt.

“i take it you liked your reward then?” you say, pushing away the stringy hair around his cheeks and forehead.

“yeah,” eren pants, and as he’s lying there, all blissed out and in the process of winding down from his high, you’re gazing down at him in a way he’s only been able to dream of until now and he realises that sure, blowjobs aren’t anything special or revolutionary, but everything leading up to it is what made it so amazing, you are what made it so amazing. you’re everything he didn’t know he wanted, the key that unlocked his hidden desires, and even if you were to leave him hard and aching for your touch again, even if you teased him to no end and laughed at him and called him names, he’d still come back if you gave him the chance because he loves it. he loves you.

you lean in and kiss eren; delicately, kindly, with care and a gentle want, a peaceful want reserved for lovers, because somewhere along the way you started to develop feelings for him. eren had only hoped for such a thing, thought that it was wishful thinking and delusion that gave him the impression you might feel the same way. maybe you didn’t at the beginning; maybe it started out as just lust, but right now you love him and he loves you. the lust is still there, but it’s soft now, and so much more than it was.

notes. couldn’t help making it soft at the end! i’ve reread this so many times i genuinely have no idea if it’s good but i hope you enjoyed it<3

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honesteas · 7 months

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#dropping this and running away bye!!!!#sleep token #.mine #.gif #vessel

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booksandabeer · 26 days

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Celebrating 10 Years of CA:TWS — A Stucky Rec List

Rec list for the CA:TWS 10th Anniversary Event @catws-anniversary (thank you so much for organizing this event! 💙) | Prompt: Memories

10 years, huh? 10 years of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. 10 years of what many—myself included—still consider to be the best MCU movie ever made.

But also 10 years of post-TWS fanfiction. 10 years of Bucky Barnes Recovering and Steve Rogers' Sadness Errands; of Up All Night to Get Bucky and Revenge Road Trips; of Winter Soldier Trauma Umbrellas and Everybody Needing A Goddamn Hug; of Good Bros and Soft Epilogues. 10 years and tens of thousands of Steve/Bucky fics later, here we are.

So, to mark the occasion, let's take a trip down memory lane and celebrate the movie and the stories it inspired: One fic from each year since it all began:

There's really only one rule here: All fics are set before, during, or after the events of CA:TWS and/or reimagine its plot in interesting ways. Naturally, many of the fics on this list are post-TWS canon divergent, but I tried to go for a nice variety of length, genre, and popularity to keep it interesting. Speaking of popularity, this is very much not intended as a round-up of ‘most popular fics of each year’ because—and I say this with all the love and respect in my heart for those stories and their authors—nobody needs a rec list for that, and I believe in spreading the love. Here we go:

Poltergeists by enemyofrome | 17K, T

Author's summary: When the helicarriers blow up and the Winter Soldier goes on the run, he takes Steve with him. He's got a name written in Morse code on the inside of his arm, a ton of questions he doesn't know how to ask, and now, a new handler with absolutely zero sense of self-preservation to contend with. Life is hard. In which Bucky tries to figure out whether he's a human being, Steve does everything he can to keep from losing him again, and there are lots of explosions.

Starting off with one of the best versions of the 'Bucky didn't leave Steve, he took him with him after the Potomac' fics that were (and still are!) so popular post-TWS. This one stands out because of its fantastic beginning, its interesting take on how Bucky was broken and remade into the Winter Soldier, and because it allows both characters to be messy. It's a popular fanon trope that it's Steve who brings out a ruthless, almost vicious streak in Bucky, but here it's emphasized that this is very much a mutual thing. Just like Bucky, who's often afforded the "excuse" of still figuring out how to be a person again, Steve gets to be difficult here—without ever turning him into a stubborn asshole. They're both traumatized, and they're both allowed to show it and to lash out, including at each other. Also, this fic will give you capital-F Feelings about morse codes and apples. Believe me.

sleepwalk back to the battle site by ftmsteverogers | 22K, T

Author's summary: “I’m going to track down every HYDRA agent that’s left,” Bucky says, buckling his gun deftly to his belt. “And then I’m going to kill them.” “Oh,” Steve says. “Come with me?” Bucky asks, dangerous hands tucked into his pockets.

A classic post-TWS fic that picks up right after the movie ends. Equal parts Revenge Roadtrip, Bucky Barnes recovering, and Steve Rogers being in urgent need of a good hug. This starts out intensely melancholic—Steve's despair and helplessness are palpable and there's a scene involving a drinking glass that still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Halfway through, the story changes pace and becomes much more action-heavy, but it still manages to allow space for the quiet, intimate moments between Steve and Bucky. They have both become sharp and deadly men, but they're also allowed to be soft with each other. Their coming together feels sweet and inevitable. I also really enjoyed the Steve characterization here. His absolute conviction that Bucky is still Bucky at his very core and always will be, but also his emotional and intellectual flexibility to adapt to this still-new-to-him, changed version of Bucky rang very true to me.

Surveillance by Sproings, 7K in 2 parts, G

Author's summary: If there are ears everywhere, that means it's somebody's job to listen. I hate my job.

Do you ever think about how SHIELD bugged Steves DC apartment and how horrible that was, but also...you're kind of curious what they might have overheard? Do you ever wonder about the people who listened in on his sad, lonely life? Well, here you go. An outsider POV fic told "through the ears" of an unnamed SHIELD agent assigned to spy on the private life of a man who doesn't really have much of one. The story begins just before IM3 and takes us all the way through the events of CA:TWS and beyond. It's clever, original and told with great empathy for both the subject under surveillance and the person carrying out that surveillance—who increasingly questions its purpose. Here's a small snippet to give you an idea of the fic's style:

He got a phone call, once. He put it on speaker, too, which was very exciting for me at the time. It was from an archivist at the Smithsonian. They seemed really surprised that he answered his own phone calls. The two of them talked for a long time about an exhibit the museum was planning. A very long time. As if one of them was starstruck, and the other was desperate for any kind of human interaction.

What Gets You Through by velleities | 12K, M

Author's summary: For Steve, getting through each day is a process – one he’s currently failing at spectacularly. Feeling out of place in this brave new world, he hopes to find a home in Bucky, and looks for him with everything he’s got. But Bucky doesn’t want to be found, and when he does touch base with Steve, he never sticks around for long. Bucky has embraced the modern age, leaving Steve lagging behind – or so Steve believes, until Bucky shows him otherwise.

This post-TWS fic revolves around five encounters in liminal spaces, and each time Bucky has pieced himself back together again just a little more. Despite their increasingly longer and more honest conversations, and Bucky's incremental progress, he always disappears again, leaving Steve to grapple with his heartbreak. There are quietly gorgeous moments in this fic (the bus and the church in particular were my personal favorites) as well as wonderfully crafted characterizations. Bucky is initially portrayed as somewhat feral in some ways yet surprisingly well-adjusted in others, and I love that Steve can't help but be a little annoyed at that. However, it quickly becomes clear that, in good old Bucky Barnes fashion, much of it is really just a front put up for Steve's benefit...

A Real Boy by itsnotbleak | 5K, T

Author's summary: It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat. It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

A wonderful, short-but-doesn't-feel-like-it fic (in the very best way) set immediately after CA:TWS, in which Bucky secretly and then soon not so secretly visits Steve in his apartment. Follow along as Bucky Barnes argues with his brain about sandwich toppings, the importance of a good night's sleep, and the necessity of personal hygiene. Also: how to best go about becoming a real boy (again). And who the hell is that Bucky guy anway? This is as soft and sweet a Bucky recovery fic as you're ever going to find. It's funny but not silly; sad in a way that all of these stories inherently are—because, well, these are some tragic boys—but not super angsty or depressing. A beautiful story with a lovely, hopeful ending.

Savage God by PottersPink | 36K, M

Author's summary (abbr.): Past, present, future, Steve knows Bucky Barnes. It’s why he recognized him when he found him in that alley in April of 1942, even though Bucky was older, stronger, wearier; he called himself The Asset, and had a metal fucking arm. He flinched when Steve tried to touch him, and when Steve told him he loved him, his first response was to ask why. Seventy years later, Steve wakes up in the twenty-first century, and he doesn’t know whether to be heartbroken or hopeful when some of the things Bucky revealed to him in 1942 start falling into place.

An absolutely riveting AU that will have you on the edge of your seat the whole time. I'm itching to talk about it more but I cannot since it would mean spoiling the hell out of it. What I can say is that it's a very intriguing and clever exploration of what would happen if Steve knew about the future but without really knowing any of the details. How would it change the events of CA:TFA and CA:TWS, and how would it change Steve himself? I so very much appreciate this characterization of Steve as smart, competent, and unwavering with a hefty dose of no fucks left to give. This fic features some really nifty time travel and plotting, great action sequences and a very satisfying ending where certain people get their much-deserved comeuppance. Plus: Bonus Shrinkyclinks (kind of)!

Charlie Lock by seapigeon | 105K, M (hard M)

Author's summary (abbr.): The Winter Soldier knows that sometimes, in order to make the kill, you must destroy what the Target lives for. Steve Rogers knows that he can't fight his captors. If he fights, they'll kill Bucky. But the price of his life is steep. Tony Stark has nothing left to live for, but he's needed. So all these miserable motherfuckers better stay alive, too. Clint Barton never expected to be a leader. But a leader he is, and no one else is going to die on his watch. --- A story in which the first wave of Project Insight succeeds, and the Avengers must pick up the pieces and find a way to stop Hydra from completing its work with Zola's algorithm.

This is not only the longest fic on this list, but also the angstiest one—by a mile, so please heed the tags. It's dark, disturbing, and brutal. However, it is neither relentless misery porn nor is it shocking for shock's sake, where everything is magically forgotten and/or healed the moment Steve and Bucky start kissing. Instead, the author puts these characters into an absolutely horrifying situation and then slowly, gently guides them out of it and into the light.

It's a Stucky fic but it's also a multi-POV ensemble piece featuring all the Avengers and other familiar faces. If you are someone who'll always be a little bitter about the unfulfilled promise of an Avengers found family, then this is for you. In this AU, they do not only fight together, but grow together in every way. They truly become a team, not just co-workers barely tolerating each other. The story takes its time exploring the characters and the group dynamics. Steve and Bucky are definitely at the center of the narrative but there is space here for every member of the team to grieve and adjust to the new reality and to find at least some measure of healing. It's a story about the meaning and the consequences of revenge, about hope and resilience, and about love in all its many forms. It also has one of the most satisfying title drops that will have you pump your fist in triumph when it happens. It's a tough read, but ultimately a very rewarding one.

SPELEVINK by Ginny_Potter | 10K, G

Author's summary: Bucky’s back. He’s leaving me messages through IKEA plushies, Steve texts Sam. jesus christ, rogers, Sam texts back. Or, Bucky lives in an IKEA Tiny Apartment, Steve is a dancing monkey once again, and somehow they find their way back to each other.

This is an absolute DELIGHT of a fic that will have you alternately laughing out loud and crying quietly into your SVARTFIBBLA blanket (super-soft, recycled polyester, 47x63"). It's ‘crack treated seriously’ at its very best and a clear homage to the fandom classic Infinite Coffee… (that’s not a dig or a spoiler, the author says so in the author’s note).

Now if you know me, you’ll know that angst o’clock is my happy hour and I’m usually not very into these heavy-on the-humor quasi-absurdist fics (because I’m super special and not like all the other girls, obviously). But. I LOVED this story so, so much. It’s such a fun read—even when it makes you cry—and it really became one of those ‘huh, I guess I’m into this after all’ moments of joyful (self)discovery via fanfic for me. I never thought a pair of oven mitts could move me like that, and I'll never be able to walk into an IKEA again without muttering "F******!" under my breath (iykyk). Absolutely fantastic.

a handful of dust by RecoveringTheSatellites | 20K, M

Author's summary: Steve looks for Bucky for a long time. But the thing is that Bucky doesn't get found, Bucky finds. Bucky always finds Steve. This takes a hard left after the Potomac and stumbles through the dark a lot after. Take a bit of running, the occasional synaptic misfire, the resurfacing of old memories, a dash or two of PTSD, and (eventually) a nice dose of action, stir, and serve over some unresolved issues.

Honestly, the second paragraph up there perfectly sums up the story. It's a good ol' fashioned Bucky recovery fic with some angst, some action, and a whole lot of healing and devotion. Steve and Bucky get to be very sappy about each other, but also extremely Badass Battle Boyfriends™ when somebody threatens their hard-won happiness. Both are allowed to be messy, unstable, and very co-dependent.

This was the first time this author played in the Stucky sandbox and I mean it 100% as a compliment when I say that you can tell. This is someone with "fresh legs" diving headfirst and very deep into the Stucky trope pool and they're doing it with great relish and enthusiam. The result is a story that rejects some of the tried and true conventions of the post-TWS fanfic canon and lovingly embraces others, but that is definitely aware of and in dialogue with the body of work that came before it. Also, it's just a really fun read that gives these two the very soft ending they deserve.

Everybody is Supposed to be Dead by pollutedstar | 22K, M

Author's summary: In 1944, Bucky Barnes falls off a train into the Alps, missing and presumed dead. Months later, Steve Rogers nosedives a plane into the arctic. In 2010, the Winter Soldier project is uncovered by S.H.I.E.L.D., and Bucky Barnes is found alive. Three years later, Steve Rogers’ frozen body is found in the ocean.

A really interesting AU and a fascinating exploration of what could’ve been; the impact it would’ve had on the events and characters if Bucky had been the one to be “found” first. How would it affect Steve to come back into a world where he isn’t quite so lonely and adrift, and where he does have the relief and reassurance of having Bucky by his side and at his back? How would that have changed the way he acted and reacted to this strange new world and the people and organizations trying to recruit him to their cause even though the ice hasn't even completely melted off his body yet?

There are a lot of astute and precise observations about characters like Tony, Natasha, and Clint in this story, and on top of that, it offers up some very compelling insights into Steve's conflicted and difficult relationship with his role as Captain America.

it's never over (hey orpheus) by romcommie | 12K WIP, 2/?, M

Author's summary: He remembers a song first and then everything else follows, burying him below. Or, Bucky Barnes pieces a life back together with a few choice verses, some duct tape and seventy years worth of spite. Steve Rogers tries very hard to relearn there's a life to be lived in the first place.

Ok, listen up, people! This is a WIP and there are only 2 chapters posted so far, but I haven't felt this absolutely bonkers excited about a post-CA:TWS fic in a long while. We're talking frothing at the mouth here. I have such a massive crush on this fic, it's a bit embarrassing, really. It's one of those fics where you know after just a few paragraphs that you're in very good, very competent hands. The wealth of historical and cultural detail; the way the story shifts/flips/flickers back and forth between time, perspective and narrative levels; the Bucky voice—it's all so well done! I'm so insanely excited to see where the author takes this!

ENJOY!

#catws10 #stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky fic #stucky rec list #steve x bucky #stucky fic recs #steve x bucky fic rec #stevebucky fic rec #stevebucky #my recs #*drops this and runs aways* this rec list nearly gave me an aneurysm. you're welcome!

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