#possess lush property

[biteofcherry]

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; ex-pli-cit; knife kink; choking; choking kink; praise;

word count: 7k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 6. Downpour

~ * ~

Victims often described the events of their traumatic experience as a blur. Or a film montage of chopped scenes, often black and white, or with one color prevailing. Sometimes their minds protected themselves so strongly they dissociated, their consciousness floating away into a safe space.

Nothing of the sort happened to you on your dreaded wedding day. 

If anything, you felt more present in the moment than in the days leading to it. 

Colors were vibrant, sounds clear, your feelings vivid. 

You felt the constriction of the built-in corset of your wedding dress, the soft swish of the embroidered, shiny tulle in the chalice of the wide skirt; as well the warm amazement at how beautiful you looked. 

Even though your spite tempted you to pick a dress that would manifest how much you didn’t want to say your vows, you couldn’t help the flaming love you experienced at the sight of yourself in a stunning wedding dress. 

A fucking princess style, out of all. 

You wanted to hate it, to cross it out purely to not give Steve the extra satisfaction, but your parents teared up when they saw you in it. Maybe they had some qualms about the speedy wedding, but they sure got on board with it when they saw your face glowing. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was because you felt beautiful, not because you loved your future husband. 

Whose handsome face you couldn’t look away from as your father walked you down the aisle. 

Dressed in a sharp suit, steel gray a tone warmer than his cold heart, Steve watched you every step of your way to him. Others perhaps saw in his face awe, getting all mushy over how much he had to be in love with you, but you knew it was a glint of triumph. 

You said your vows in the wide garden surrounding Steve’s property, under an arch of lush peonies and vines. You were sure it’s only thanks to the two glasses of Prosecco and Steve’s hand holding yours a tad too tightly, that you recited your promise to him without a hitch. 

With how smooth and soft Steve’s voice was, how he held your gaze captive, you’d think he was expressing true, deep feelings when he said his vows. 

True was his possessiveness. 

Steve displayed it first in the way he kissed you - draping you over his arm, like in old Hollywood movies, and branding your lips with a breathstealing, passionate kiss. Unable to resist, your arm sneaked around his neck, fingers splaying on the back of his head, while your other hand gripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket. 

Then by keeping you occupied each dance, allowing only your father to lead you through two songs. 

To your further annoyance, Steve turned out to be a really good dancer. Or maybe he was simply good at holding you and controlling your body as he guided you across the wooden planks built into a dance floor specially for this occasion. 

“You look beautiful, Princess.” 

There was no breathtaking awe in Steve’s voice, like you used to imagine your true love would say those words one day. But it was no coy game, either. Steve meant them, it was an honest compliment. 

It was also his pride in owning you. 

“I’m already your wife, all is signed. No need for bullshit,” you stared over Steve’s shoulder, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze and see what desires may shine in the ice cold blue irises. 

He twirled you suddenly, then pulled you back to him. Kept you pressed against him tighter as he brushed his lips along your cheek. 

“I’d think by now you know I don’t really bullshit anyone,” he whispered in your ear. “I do find you stunning. And I’ll repeat those words later, when I have you naked in our bedroom.”

Heat filled you faster than after that shot you sneaked right before soup was served, to calm your nerves and numb yourself further as the reality of being now Mrs Rogers started settling in. No, that fast dose of booze didn’t scorch your insides the way Steve’s promise of the wedding night did. 

“Not gonna happen,” you tried sounding fierce, but your voice came much breathier than you’d like. 

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Steve chuckled, tip of his tongue flicking the shell of your ear, eliciting goosebumps to appear all over your skin. 

His hand on your back was placed low, but he dipped his fingers even further, toying with the ribbon of your corset right above the curve of your ass. 

“We have a deal, after all.” He reminded you. 

You wanted to argue with him, that technically you didn’t agree to it, but you knew it’s futile. You suffered some disturbing sexual deviancy and your pussy tingled at the mere thought of Steve touching it. So you planned on simply being sneaky and wiping yourself dry before entering the bedroom. And then staying resolved and unbothered, so that Steve’s dark touch didn’t force a single drop of slick out. 

You considered stuffing your nose with something too, because the scent of Steve alone now that he was pressed to you so close, was enough to warm up your body. 

To ignore your own responses - to his smell, to his touch, to the images of wicked acts he could do to you - you focused your gaze above Steve’s shoulder. Glancing at random guests, at the stunning flower arrangements, trying not to hurt from the fact your parents looked so joyous. 

You frowned, noticing Natalie smirking around the rim of a champagne flute as she talked to a man whom you recognized as Steve’s most trusted right hand, Bucky. While flirting at a wedding wasn’t something unusual, alarm bells rang in your head at the prospect of Natalie endangering herself. She was already at risk, being associated with you, but to dance with a wolf was like playing with fire that was surely going to consume her whole. 

You didn’t know much about Bucky, practically nothing, but if he was this close to Steve then there was no trace of innocence or clear conscience in him. 

No one could stay pure, if they followed in Rogers’ murky wake. A realization which made you wonder, if your own core may rot and dissolve at his feet. 

Your heart fluttered, as Steve twirled your body again. Chalice of your dress opened, shimmering in the sunlight as if encrusted in crushed diamonds. In reality it was a faint sparkle compared to the actual bling of the diamond ring on your finger. 

You glared at it with disdain when Steve first put it on your finger, seeing nothing but a leash. A brand of ownership and reminder of torment. But the more glances you stole, the more irresistible it was to admire. 

It was truly beautiful and you hated it for it. 

Steve pulled you back to his body, pressing you even closer than before. Tip of his nose grazed along yours, the icy blue of his irises warming into the shade of pure sky. His breath tickled your mouth, mingling with yours as your lips parted on a gasp. 

Then his lips were on you. Soft and coaxing, tempting you to respond in submission. 

You told yourself it’s the surprise of it that made you give in, the spectacle you had to continue for the guests, but you couldn’t completely deny the jolt of excitement that spurred heat into every crevice of your body, then melted it into a pliant surrender. 

You were vaguely aware of the camera flashes as pictures of you were taken. The sound of cheering and clapping barely registering through the haze of your heartbeat pounding in your head. 

There was no triumphant smirk on Steve’s lips when he reluctantly pulled away, which would undoubtedly shake you out of daze. Instead, there was a dark hunger that clenched your heart in fear and your cunt in anticipation. 

You found yourself surprisingly reluctant to step out of his embrace as the song ended and Steve took the opportunity to build the lie further by asking your mother to dance.

Trying to avoid dancing with Steve wasn’t as clever a solution as you first thought, because the bastard found other ways to instigate small gestures of intimacy that confused your brain and tickled your clit like a living tongue. 

Like him smoothly commenting how delicious that seasoned rib was and how you should try it, then promptly feeding you a piece of it.

With his fingers. 

Purposely slipping his fingertip between your lips along with the meat.

It was a split of a second, but enough to have a wave of heat wash over you and your thighs clench.

You thanked heaven that you picked a princess dress, because the layers of the skirt at least hid the movement that would otherwise betray you.

A gulp of wine couldn’t wash away the sensation, nor did it wipe the lewd image of Steve forcing his fingers into your mouth. Would they be salty? Would they feel heavy as he pressed them against your tongue? Would his rings feel cool? 

Then you didn’t even have alcohol to numb yourself. Steve made sure your glass was filled with water only as the celebrations proceeded. When you glared at him, trying to yank your hand out of his grip, he said he won’t have you sloshed on your wedding night.

“Don’t want you to worry it was only the booze that got you wet,” he sucked on your earlobe. 

But made it look so sweet, the way he pressed his cheek to yours and gently held your hand, that to the others it had to look as if he was whispering love admissions into your ear. 

The bastard played supportive and soothing as he caressed your back when you were saying goodbye to the guests leaving the reception late in the evening. Your mom took your teary eyes as an overwhelming, but positive emotion that made her all mushy as well. 

You couldn’t cling to her, or your dad, crying in despair that they were leaving you with a monster. Not when that monster was constantly by your side, being most respectful and charming towards them. Displaying a twisted care for you that eased your parents’ worries while irritating you. 

There were fireworks bursting in the sky in abundant splashes of color as Steve led you to the master bedroom. 

Everyone was gone, only the wedding planner’s team was rushing around like busy bees, cleaning up and packing leftovers. And they all pretended they didn’t see you. You thought some of Steve’s men were also circling around, but you didn’t know yet if it was to keep an eye on the workers, or if it was their routine to guard Steve’s mansion. 

Once inside the bedroom, you blurted out your need to use the bathroom and promptly locked yourself inside. Only for a few moments you entertained the thought of staying in and sleeping on the tiled floor, but you knew Steve wouldn’t allow that. He’d sooner take the damn door down than give you reprieve.

He wanted to wreck your body too much. 

And you feared how you may react to it. 

As you pulled up layers and layers of tulle, to use the toilet and clean yourself from the already obvious reaction to Steve’s touch; you accepted that your anxiety wasn’t for debauchery, but for the inappropriate eagerness of your body.

For fuck’s sake, you were dripping and coming on command when he defiled you with a gun!

How much stronger was your reaction going to be when he caressed you with his hands and mouth? 

After wiping yourself dry, you cleaned your hands and with your head held high stepped out into the bedroom. You still planned on fighting tooth and nail to not arouse from whatever he had planned. 

Having taken off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Steve waited for you in the middle of the room. His eyes glinted with satisfaction when you stepped out. He crooked a finger at you, beckoning you to him. 

“I knew you’d come out like a good girl, Princess,” he crooned, not at all bothered by your stomping and glaring daggers his way. 

“Didn’t feel like watching a door being splintered into pieces,” you snapped, clenching your hands on the skirt of your dress as you stood right in front of Steve.

“Of course. That’s the only splintering you were concerned about,” he teased, running a single digit down the column of your neck. “But I know, Princess. I know there’s this curiosity that draws you to me. You may hate it, but your body is eager to learn what I’ll do to you.”

“It’s not. I’m not!” You protested, yet you didn’t flinch when his finger drew a scorching line from one collar bone to the other, then dipped lower to trace your cleavage. 

“I want to believe your words, Princess,” Steve said in pretend seriousness, “but let’s check in with your body, too.”

As embarrassing the thought of him flipping your skirts up was, you inwardly prayed he’d do it quickly. If he touched your pussy now, he’d find you dry. But if he prolonged the whole thing, you had no certainty it would stay this way. 

“I’m aware how fond of my gun you are,” his words startled you, stopping your heart for a split of a second then sending it into a fluttery beat. The memory of the warm muzzle dragging along your thigh and slipping under your panties spurred heat to pool low in your core. 

Shit! No! 

No, no, no. You couldn’t get wet! 

“But I didn’t think it’s an accessory appropriate for the wedding,” Steve’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile that only added to his criminally hot look. 

“So I had something special to be custom made for this occasion-” he touched your cheek in a sweet caress- “and for any future occasions… with my wife.”

Your breath hitched in your lungs when he called you his wife. He made it sound reverent, but at the same time his tone dripped with that dark triumph that reminded you there was no way out from his clutches. 

You watched Steve dip his hand into his pocket and then a glint of steel flashed before your eyes. 

A switchblade so sharp and polished so smooth that it seemed to be honed out of pure light. The handle was a shimmery white, with undertones of rainbow. Mother of pearl, you realized. 

Steve had his fingers wrapped around it, but purposely flipped it out, pinching the hilt between two of his fingers so you could see the silver initials engraved on it. Your initials, but with your last name being Rogers. 

Eyes widening, you went still as Steve brought the blade to your skin. Just the tip of it, you barely felt its touch, but your mind was already running with images of cuts and drawn blood. It should scare you, cause tears to fall out. Instead, you felt your pulse thundering in places that shouldn’t react to fear with excitement. 

Steve drew a soft line over the curve of your breasts and dipped the steel into the valley between them. 

He wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the front of your neck. His eyes heated up as your pupils widened in reaction, once again proving how weak you were for this single gesture. Keeping his hold firm enough you felt the silver of his rings pressing into your skin, Steve traced the blade along the trim of your wedding dress and then down your ribcage.     

“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?” Steve’s voice was deceivingly soft, as if he really cared if you were scared. 

You doubted he’d stop, even if you claimed that you are. You’d sooner expect him to mock you and then proceed to torment your body, proving to you how much you craved his depravity. 

But it wasn’t the physical torture you wanted to avoid. For how bad Steve was, how he fucked up your life, somehow you knew he wouldn’t harm you physically. Well, perhaps if you betrayed him. He’d kill you then. But as long as you followed his plans, you were certain he wouldn’t raise his hand on you.

Steve’s thumb brushed along your jaw in a seemingly soothing caress. You turned your face to the side, but he forced you to look back at him when you admitted in a defeated whisper: 

“I’m afraid you will make me like it.”

Fingers still curled around the front of your neck, Steve inched closer. Blue of his irises seemed to glitter an impossible hue up this close, mesmerizing you. 

You were a prey fully ensnared. 

“I will, Princess.” Steve’s lips teased yours. “I will give you pleasure that hurts so good.”

A tiny whimper escaped your mouth. You wished it was a sound of trepidation, but it held an unmistakable undertone of need. It was too late now, you felt a wet spot forming on your white undergarments. 

Steve kissed you softly, reverently; like a husband in love might kiss his beloved wife on their wedding night. Combined with the pressure of a sharp blade at your side, it made your head spin. 

“Stay still, please,” Steve squeezed your throat lightly, before releasing you and taking a step back. 

He walked around you, slowly making a full circle as he admired you. Teasing you by making you wait for what he does next. When he stopped behind you and you felt the puff of his breath on your nape, your fingers trembled. 

Then the cool blade pressed where Steve’s warm breath tickled you a second ago. He drew a sharper line down the middle of your back. You didn’t feel the sting of a cut, but he put enough pressure for you to feel a tingling scratch that dispersed into pleasant burning. 

You gulped when you felt him hook the knife under the lacing of your dress.

“I can just take it off.” You grumbled, frowning. It was a stunning dress and even though you wouldn’t be wearing it ever again, you weren’t happy with the idea of it being cut to pieces.

“You could,” Steve chuckled, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you-”

You gasped as he swiftly cut through the first string.

“-make that lovely sound.” 

Steve relished in each cut, though you weren’t sure if he was more entranced with your little noises (which you tried to suppress, but failed at times), the act of cutting itself, or with your naked skin being revealed as the bodice of your dress parted. 

When the corset opened fully, dropping and exposing your upper body, Steve smoothed his hand along your back. Which elicited another gasp from you. 

You expected the blade to return, to draw dangerous patterns on your fragile skin. Steve’s warm, gentle caress sent a different kind of jolt down your spine, causing your tense muscles to relax in foolish trust. He pressed himself to your back, moving his hand around your front and boldly cupping your breast. A wave of heat seemed to scorch your face from the inside, but it also pooled between your thighs. 

He peppered kisses along your neck as he played with your breast; sucked on your skin as he switched his attention to the other tit. 

There was no logical thought in your head when he pinched your nipple hard and you arched; one of your arms flying up to grip the back of Steve’s head. It was an instinctive reaction of your body’s deepest need. 

Suddenly, Steve’s touch left you. Only to pull impatiently at your dress, forcing the abundant skirt to fall down. Big hands - one still holding a knife - clenched around your hips. He picked you up so easily, as if you weighed close to nothing. 

Then he was dropping you onto the grand bed. Before you even managed to push yourself up, he flipped you over onto your back. A split of a panicked thought almost had you inching away, reheating the idea to fight him. But one of Steve’s hands clenched on your ankle, while the other splayed on your belly - the one holding the knife. 

“Lie back, Princess.” Steve’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it chimed with certain urgency. 

You stilled. Though you preferred to think it was because of the blade he left on your belly in a warning, not because he asked you to. 

Definitely not because you couldn’t look away from him as Steve undressed in a few quick, practiced moves. 

The sight was so enticing you didn’t think of grabbing the knife and possibly changing the flow of the night to your advantage. 

Without his shirt on, you saw the wide plains of Steve’s chest and chiseled abdomen; saw the tattoos entwining his arms and upper body. Dark patterns, with a few splashes of rich color, that only added to the dark, thrilling aura of Steve Rogers. 

You swore that while Steve was a scary motherfucker in his usual wear, he’d appear an even more lethal demon if he approached his victims half-naked. 

Your gaze shifted downward when he pushed his pants down, but you forced it back up to his face. Mostly because you feared the sound you may make, if you saw his cock. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you staring. 

When Steve knelt on the mattress and then crawled forward, you dropped your head to the pillows and focused on the ceiling. A part of you craved to watch him, to await in trepidation, but you still held onto that sane part of your brain that told you it’s wrong to want it. Wrong to give in to him so easily. 

“You’re beautiful, Princess.” He repeated the words, just like he promised.

Calloused fingers traced up your legs. The sensation this touch evoked made you want to clench your thighs, but Steve’s knee was wedged between your legs, preventing it. 

Eyes focused on your face, Steve seemed to study and memorize every spark of reaction to his touch. He picked up the knife again. The grin that he flashed you as he brought the blade to your skin was all satisfaction and condescending praise. He didn’t say it, but you almost heard the Good girl. For doing as he told you. For waiting. For being so obviously responsive. 

He knelt above you as he trailed the knife along your exposed body. His gaze shifted between the glint of the blade and your face. As his aim traveled south, Steve moved along with it. 

Corner of his mouth tugged upward in a dangerous smirk when he slipped the tip of the blade under the white lace of your panties. 

Your whole body went rigid. Your mouth opened, your breath becoming ragged. 

And yet, when he slashed the fabric apart, you felt a new gush of slick. 

Steve cut the other side of your panties as well, then pushed your thighs further apart. Exposing your shameful reaction. 

“Princess,” he licked his lips, “it appears that you’re wet.” 

He tapped the wide side of the blade against your clit, the jolt of it making you clench around nothing. Steve’s eyes darkened and a low, growling kind of sound rumbled in his chest as he used the knife to flick away the lace that was sticking to your drenched folds. 

“You’re not wet. You’re dripping.” He seemed to be in awe of the discovery. 

It was in a sense a comforting feeling, to see more than just a cocky triumph. To see Steve affected by the situation. Perhaps not as strongly as you were, but with enough force to make you think perhaps it was a novelty for him as well. 

“Say it, Princess.” Steve’s gaze flicked back to your face; his own eyes full of dark hunger. “Say how wet you are, for me.”

Your lips clenched shut, a stubborn frown drawing your eyebrows together. It was humiliating enough that you were so lewdly on display for this bastard, that your body betrayed you and was ready to take him. Admitting it aloud would only strip you of all defenses. 

When Steve slapped your inner thigh, the sting of it seemed to zing directly to your clit. 

“Ohh!” You couldn’t suppress the gasp, but then managed to spat angrily - “Fuck, fine! I’m wet for you, you bastard.”

As much as you hated it, your anger was less about him demanding your admission and more about him not touching you where you most needed it. 

“Your husband.” Steve reminded you, with sinister glee. 

With his knee, he pressed your other leg down. Then dragged the knife along the skin of your inner thigh. This time you felt the prick of pain as he cut the tissue. You hissed, head lifting up to stare at the tiny, thin wound. A single drop of blood pearled at the end of it. 

Then Steve’s mouth was on it. Warm and sucking, and drawing a surprised moan out of you. 

He sucked and licked it clean, making you forget about everything else. His mouth moved up, closer and closer to your core. When he finally licked into your folds as if he was biting into a ripe fruit, you dropped down with a cry. 

Fingers gripping the sheets tightly, you rode sensations unknown to you until then. Muscles strained in pain as you held yourself stiff, still sensing that blade pressed against your skin. Steve had his arms wrapped under and around your thighs, keeping you spread as he feasted on your pussy. One of his hands was holding the knife against your abdomen, the sharp tip right on your mound. 

“Oh God, please!” Your eyes clenched shut. “Please, please, Steve. I-”

As he lapped at your clit, lashing it with rapid flicks then sucking on it so sweetly, you felt your orgasm building painfully high. You were heartbeats away from climaxing.

“Stop, please!” You begged. “The knife- I can’t- I need-” 

Even if you were pleading for him to stop what he was doing all together, Steve wouldn’t listen. Not when he was so close to owning you completely. You needed something slightly different and you hoped Steve would recognize the urgency.

Mercifully, he paused. Though he held his lips close to your clit as he looked up at you from between your thighs - his eyes reminiscing of the stars frozen in dark waters of the northern lakes. 

“What do you need from your knife, Princess?” He asked, tilting the blade an inch lower. 

It almost touched your clit. 

“Place it away, please,” you started explaining, sensing that he wouldn’t comply without a satisfying reason. “I- I’m about to come. And I will, um, move. I can’t stay still. I just, I never could. I can’t.” 

“You’re afraid I’d cut you, if you get all squirmy and arching?” Twinkle of amusement lit up Steve’s eyes.

“Please, Steve.” You feared tearing up, if he refused you. You also feared he would make you cum and cut you, and that you weren’t ready for that combination of pain and pleasure. 

He hummed, holding your gaze as he licked your clit again. Your muscles tensed anew, he had to feel them straining in your thighs where he held you. Then, very slowly, he untangled himself from you. Steve let your thighs drop to the mattress freely. He lifted the hand holding the knife and you sagged in relief. 

Steve leaned over you, bracing his weight on one arm. His broad frame cast a shadow over you. He brought the blade up to your face, you could see a fragment of your reflection in it. 

“Kiss it.” Steve ordered. 

You stared at him, bewildered. He waited, surprisingly patiently, holding the blade inches from your mouth. He called this knife yours. Had it custom made for you. Used it on you in ways you never imagined in a sexual encounter. Teased what more he could do. What he probably would do to you in the future. And he wanted you to kiss it as if in gratitude for all the lewd things it would unleash on you. 

Swallowing nervously, you lifted your head enough to press your lips against the steel. 

“Good girl,” he praised. 

Your gaze followed Steve’s arm as he reached toward the nightstand to place the knife on it. Then his hand swiped along your arm, caressing muscles that strained from still gripping the sheets. 

He coaxed you back into the moment with a sensual kiss. The way his tongue dipped between your lips was soft and seductive. You’d never expect someone like Steve to be able to kiss like that. 

Heat quickly returned in pulsing beats to your clit as Steve kissed down your body. He settled back between your thighs, with a moan tasting your pussy once more. Relentlessly, he licked and sucked you back to that edge. Then pushed you over it as he pushed a finger into you. 

Steve kept that finger pumping steadily into your fluttering walls as he trailed wet bites up your body. He was hovering above you. Mouth, glistening with your arousal, was a lick away from you when he thrust a second digit inside. The stretch made you keen and Steve drank up every grimace you made. 

“Touch me, Princess,” he tempted you, curling his fingers just right. “Come on. Touch. I know you want to.” 

If your brain wasn’t a post-orgasmic mush, maybe you could muster some stubborn will to do the opposite. But he was right, you itched to touch him, to feel the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, to see how hot he ran. 

Hesitantly at first, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders. Your gaze found one of the intricate vines that weaved along his shoulder and up his neck, a branch sprouting from it curved down and over his pectoral. You traced it with one hand, your other instinctively moving to Steve’s back. 

When you traced the contoured muscles of his abdomen, fingernails scratching lightly at the narrow path of coarse hair leading southwards, Steve increased the pace of his fingers. It stirred the fire in your core into a burst, evoking another moan. 

“Lower.” Steve gritted out, putting more of his weight and heat onto you. “Wrap that small hand of yours around my cock, Princess.” 

It was dirty - his words and the squelching sound of your pussy as he fingerfucked you. 

But it also made you drop your gaze between your bodies, searching for a glimpse of that dick. It swayed heavy, half-hard, right above your hip. Your walls clenched unexpectedly as you watched it. 

This wasn’t the first cock you saw in your life. You were far from a blushing virgin. There was something about Steve, however, that made you feel nervous and out of your depth. It appeared that sex with him was a whole new, scary discovery. 

Steve urged you with another command and your hand slipped down instantly. Hot, pulsing flesh in your palm, twitching and hardening as you curled your fingers around the quite impressive girth. 

It would stretch you so deliciously. Steve didn’t need to voice it for your imagination to ignite with the phantom sensation. 

You tightened your hold, swiping your thumb over the widened, red head. At Steve’s deep moan, your eyes flew up to his face, watching his pleasure in wonder. He didn’t hide it from you, didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t affected. Still, you felt yourself more at his mercy than he was at yours. Especially when you sensed that small kick of elation at giving him pleasure with your touch. 

You smeared the beads of precum down his shaft and started stroking. It was a mismatched rhythm, your focus faltering every time Steve drove his crooked fingers against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you. 

When Steve sat back on his haunches, you stopped your movement. A rush of heat filled you with sudden shyness as his gaze roamed over your splayed body. 

Skin dewy, breasts heaving with quickened breath, legs spread wide. Your hand was still around his cock, your ring and wedding band catching sparks of light. Steve’s own fingers were buried deep in your cunt, your slick glistened on his palm and wrist. 

Steve moved his other hand up your body, marveling at your curves and softness. He gave your breast a playful squeeze before trading his fingers further up. Fingers encircled the front of your neck in a familiar way. 

“You’re a fucking perfection, Princess.” 

Then he was withdrawing his fingers from your heat; milky slick sticking in a web between his digits. He knocked your hand away and spread your wetness all over his cock. 

He held your gaze as he dragged his dick between your puffed folds and into your hole. A pause for you to catch your breath, then he was thrusting in one fluid, firm stroke. 

A curse bubbled on your lips, stretching into a moan as he split you. Unable to reach him at the moment, your hands fisted the shits, gripping and twisting the fabric. Nipples stiffened into hard peaks, your chest arched upward at the same time as your head bowed back. 

There was no second to adjust, no mercy. Steve pounded into you roughly, setting a steady tempo. He watched your body move along the mattress, at least as much as his hold on your throat and your hip allowed. Your breasts swayed with each thrust, your thighs shook with each slap of his hips into you. 

He watched your eyes glaze over as an orgasmic haze crept over you anew. Your pretty mouth stayed open, letting out all the sweet noises. It took barely a few of his thrusts and you were cumming again. 

Everything was still spinning in your head when Steve yanked your hips more upwards. Your buttocks rested on his thighs, legs thrown over his hips as he fucked into you. Grip on your throat tightened more and more. Your eyes flew open, one of your hands grabbing onto Steve’s wrist. Unbothered, he kept choking you lightly. At the same time, his other hand sneaked across your abdomen. 

With your airflow limited, every sensation seemed to heighten impossibly. The stretch of his cock, the pressure of his hand on your lower belly. The coil tightened and tightened, and when Steve swiped his thumb over your engorged clit, you shattered with a soundless scream. 

Steve released your throat and the gulps of air you instinctively tok between raw cries seemed to prolong your orgasm. It twisted into a craze that felt agonizingly good. 

So good it caused you to cry, salty streaks dripping out of the corners of your eyes and down your temples. 

Through the thunderous buzz of blood pounding in your head, the muffled sound of Steve’s voice reached you. Your brain was unable to function enough to recognize it, but it sounded like your name. And something akin to ‘Atta girl. 

When Steve shifted, you welcomed his warm heaviness like a comforting blanket, mapping his sweaty back with your hands. He was still moving, speeding up, as he braced both of his forearms on the mattress. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips starved as he kissed and nipped. 

He rested his forehead against yours as he came with a loud moan. Warmth of his spend filled you and though you didn’t think of it now, later you would be thankful for the little contraceptive implant you had. As the fog of pleasure held you in its grip, you didn’t care for the consequences. Not when Steve was still rocking slightly into you, his cock twitching. 

You sighed, scrunching up your nose, when Steve pulled out a while later. Your pussy throbbed in protest, or maybe it was from the ache that was starting to make itself known. You leaked, too, which would make you really embarrassed if you weren’t too boneless to care. 

You managed to wipe at your temples and cheeks, where remnants of tears still wetted your skin, before Steve was touching you again. He flipped you onto your belly then licked a line up your spine with a broad stroke of his tongue. 

“Aren’t you done?” You huffed, fearing you may not be able to survive more. 

“Far from it,” Steve laughed and playfully slapped your ass. 

You were thankful that he spent quite some time just kissing and touching your back, your ass and your thighs. Whether he was giving himself enough time to get hard again, or if he was this dedicated to learning your body. 

When he sat on your thighs, his knees braced on the outside of your closed legs, and squeezed your asscheeks, you expected him to play there more. Instead, you felt him spread you enough to expose your pussy. He slid inside slowly, but it still took you by surprise.    

Steve laid on top of you, balancing his weight on his arms as he pulled back and thrust back in. The angle unraveled a completely new type of sensation.

“Oh my- fuuuck!” You couldn’t help the unladylike, high pitched squeal. 

Nails scratching at the sheets helplessly, you spluttered mewls as Steve purposely rocked his hips back and forth. 

“Awww,” he cooed, “is that the spot, Princess?” 

Then he pulled back and slammed back in. Each thrust grazed that ultrasensitive area; each time he sunk deeper and deeper, too. 

If you were moaning and crying when he fucked you the first time, these sounds were a symphony of pitiful and needy that surpassed others. At one point your mouth just hung open, saliva seeping out of the corner and staining the mattress. 

Your toes curled and you helplessly kicked your feet up and down, unable to shift in your position to ease the increasing, maddening pleasure. With your cheek pressed to the mattress, your gaze mindlessly focused on the ring on your finger where your hand rested beside your head. 

Steve’s fingers entered your vision, brushing along your hand and intertwining with your fingers. A mockery of softness in the ruthless way he was fucking you. 

Your cunt tightened around him, producing more slick the longer he railed that tormenting spot. The sound of him fucking you turned more and more squelching. 

“I want you to soak the sheets,” Steve grunted. When you made a noise of protest, he paused to force your legs wide apart with his feet. “Come on, Princess. Make a mess.”

And you did. 

Hiding your face in the bedding didn’t suppress the string of cries as you climaxed, squirting a small pool of release. 

Steve fucked you through it. Each of his hard thrusts ripping your whimpers into a choked single vowel as you went lax beneath him. 

“Fuck, Princess.”  He groaned, feeling your wetness drip down his balls. “I would wife you up for that alone. You really-” his hips snapped harder and faster- “are. Fucking. Perfect.” 

Your fingers remained intertwined, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck, as he came. Perhaps it was the angle at which he was buried inside of you, or maybe this time his orgasm was much stronger, but you felt every throb and every spurt more clearly than before. Felt yourself full with his cum and dripping excess of your combined spend. 

Long, long minutes later, when Steve pulled out and dropped next to you onto the mattress, you didn’t even blame him for not having enough power (or decency) to get you a wet cloth. 

Honestly, you didn’t have any strength to get up either. 

It was later, as you resigned yourself to falling asleep in the mess that you made, that you heard the sound of a drawer being open. Then a soft, wet wipe was pressed to your inner thigh. It was a surprise. Felt a little weird, too. But you rested quietly as Steve wiped you and himself clean, tossing used tissues into the bin hidden behind the nightstand.

When he laid back down on the unsoiled side of the bed and reached for you, you glared at him. 

Yes, he fucked your brains out. You seriously doubted there were any functioning brain cells left. Yes, you were officially married. Still, it didn’t mean you were going to play a docile wife in every aspect of this torment. 

“You want to sleep on the stained sheets?” Steve arched a single eyebrow. “Swallow your stubbornness and scoot here, Princess.” 

It was voiced as if he was giving you an option, but he didn’t wait for your decision. Astonishingly easily, he sneaked a hand under one of your thighs and simply lifted you enough to relocate you. 

Nestled to Steve’s side, with one leg hiked over his thigh, you willed yourself to stay awake long enough to sneak out when Steve dozed off. Unfortunately for you, your will was too fucked out. 

You fell asleep snuggled to the ruthless mafia monster.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x you #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #touch the darkness #my writing

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Living with Alfie Solomons

Warnings: Fluff, angst, references to religion and violence.

Domestic Alfie Headcanons

Alfie owns many different properties all over London and Margate. To your shock, only two were in Camden. One was what you could only describe as a “bachelor’s apartment,” which strongly resembled his office with the addition of a lumpy mattress. He took you to see what he considers his “home,” a one-story brick house surrounded by the lush green of the English countryside. Alfie had built this home after deciding, “Me and stairs, right, we ain’t made for each other.” The home also comes with a sweet little guesthouse behind it for his mother to live in. At which point he had a short rant about how his aging mother refuses to move in and still lives in her tiny flat in Camden. 

When he’s not being a “baker,” he does like to do some baking. Real baking. Bread, pudding, cake, pies, you name it. He likes having to measure his ingredients, put on the perfect temperature for the perfect amount of time. He likes to collect cookbooks too, and will have a gleam of almost childlike delight when he finds one he doesn’t already possess. 

Alfie has a tendency to develop very strong interest in a very specific thing and then drop it months later. He retains all he’s learned from it, but it can be a bit annoying as he will fill the house with his latest obsession. A short list of obsessions he’s developed are: American cowboys, jewelry making, stamps, coin collecting, eastern meditation practices, and Italian opera. 

You had to get used to his slight OCD involving things in his home. Everything has a place, and he gets very grumpy if you move something, a spoon for instance, and he can’t immediately find it. 

Children in the neighborhood are equal parts frightened and delighted by Alfie. They think he’s funny but intimidating. He gives out money and gifts to the Jewish families of Camden, and the children know that. Your dear man will huff and puff about the kids bothering him… but also throw them a coin or a sweet when he’s in the mood. Alfie is sort of like Santa Claus and the Boogeyman at the same time to them. After you started living with him, these children started to follow you around the neighborhood to ask questions about him. Some are quite tame, like “Does Mr. Solomons like cake?” or “Is Mr. Solomons your husband? Will you have lots of children?” while others are, “Did Mr. Solomons kidnap you?”

Relationship Headcanons

Mr. Solomons is quiet in his moments of romance with you. He likes to cup your cheek in his palm and touch his forehead to yours. Trace your face with his thumb as if to memorize it by touch. He places slow kisses on your cheeks and lips, gentle and almost reverent. His world is very brutal and without loyalty, you become his sanctuary. He sleeps best with you in his arms or laying directly on top of him. If you need to get up for any reason, expect a lot of complaining in at least three different languages from Alfie. He hates to be left alone in bed now that he’s had you. 

Thomas Shelby had no idea Alfie was married, until Alfie felt like telling him. Tommy now knows far too much about you. And you know far too much about Thomas Shelby. The first time you meet in person is very awkward.

Alfie is the sort of person that likes quality time and good conversation. He likes to go on strolls with you on the beach of Margate when his knee isn’t too painful. Going to the museum or a library are all tip-top dates in Alfie’s opinion. However, his favorite place to take you is back home. Home is where he can make you dinner and listen to you laugh at his strange stories. He loves to banter and bicker with you. You are one of the few people to make him laugh. Everyone at the port knows when Alfie’s had a nice evening with you because he comes to work in such a grand mood. Newer employees have to be warned not to get too comfortable, as he could come in like a bull if you argued that morning. 

He has a bad habit of dropping surprises on you. These surprises normally revolve around security and protection. Alfie will buy or arrange things for you and then completely forget he did it until you storm into his office asking for an explanation. For some reason, this man won’t admit these things are for self-defense. He just acts like it’s perfectly normal to take your lover out to a gun range or teach her how to stab a man between the ribs. He’s just being a fun, quirky man! 

A marriage proposal is never far off, he’s just waiting for you to convert. If you do not want to convert, prepare to be a secret. He is a religious man and he treasures his faith. Alfie will never forsake you (though he may jest) for not believing what he believes. His reason for hiding you is simple, his mother. Mrs. Solomons wouldn’t speak to her son if she found out he was living with an unwed gentile! 

That said, Mrs. Solomons adores you before and after you marry her son. She’s a delightful old Russian woman who is constantly ordering Alfie around. Mainly, she tells him he glares too much, and he needs to give her a grandchild soon. 

You were surprised by how touchy he is behind closed doors. In public, you could pass for an employee with how distant he is before marriage. After marriage, he likes to walk with arms linked. As a married couple, it is more appropriate to be seen touching each other and he takes full advantage of it. As a matter of fact, he’s almost clingy. He’ll call the house from his office and make up an excuse to talk to you. 

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #Alfie #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader

[sinner-as-saint]

we can make it till the end

Bucky x Reader au 

Run-through: You’ve known Bucky and his family for years. Bucky’s parents were close friends of your fiancé and soon, they became your really good friends too. But then in one terrible accident Bucky lost both of his parents and you lost your fiancé. Ever since, you and Bucky became each other’s rock for the years which followed. You were there for him like family. But then, Bucky’s behaviour changes and you realise that he wants something you’re not so certain you can or should give him: your heart. 

Themes: smut, age gap, older!reader (late thirties) x younger!bucky (early twenties), ANGST, mention of loss and death, fluff, hurt/comfort, taboo romance, jealous/possessive!bucky, mention of suicidal thoughts (brief), very mild breeding kink, 

a/n: this is very long 

The alarm system notified you that a car had just entered the property. And you smiled so bright at the sound that your face hurt. 

Bucky was here. And he was early! 

You were currently at the lake house that your late fiancé had bought in collaboration with his two best friends - Bucky’s parents - when they were young; a place where they’d come to reset, a place they came to when they didn’t want to deal with anyone else. This was their favourite place in the world, and now it was yours too. And you were sure it was Bucky’s as well. 

After all, there were so many memories attached to this place. Happy and sad. All those weeks in summer spent here, and winter, and autumn, and spring. So many Christmas days and New Years. You were all here where Bucky received his acceptance email from uni. You were all here to celebrate whenever any of you had a successful business venture. You never really did much; just swam in the lake and enjoyed each other’s company but just quality time was all you needed. 

And sadly, you and Bucky were right here when you received the phone call that your fiancé and Bucky’s parents had been in an accident while they were coming back from the store. You drove yourself and Bucky to the hospital from here to see whether or not your loved ones would make it. They didn’t. Bucky and you had this lake house to come back to after the burial of the three. 

You and Bucky made sure to always come to the lake house at least a few times in a year. A couple weekends here and there just to keep the memories of this place alive. And to relive the memories of when this house was filled with people now gone. 

It was a lovely property in the heart of pine woods and mountains, with the lake in the backyard. Lush and green. Especially during this time of the year when it was chilly and foggy, but not too much. The house itself reminded you of contemporary and Victorian architecture mixed together. 

It was elegant and airy, and almost each room in the house had floor-to-ceiling windows which was perfect to let the outside in, given the breathtaking surroundings. The lake and the woods kept the air crisp and cool at all times. 

But the best part of the house was how warm and home-y it was inside. 

You heard a knock on the door and your smile grew a little more. You rushed to the huge front door and opened it to find Bucky on the other side, looking every bit the final year university student he was. Hair styled in a messy ‘bed hair’ way, wrinkled t-shirt, faded and worn jeans, comfy hoodie, his backpack on one shoulder and his travel bag in one hand. 

“Hello gorgeous,” He greeted you in the boyish, flirty way he always did. 

“Bucky!” You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a warm hug. He dropped his bags immediately and hugged you back; needing the hug as much as you did. “It’s so good to see you.” 

You sighed in relief each time you met Bucky since the day you both suffered significant losses. After the funerals and everything, Bucky moved to attend uni and you always worried that you’d never meet the boy you knew ever again. But then, that same year, some months later when you contacted him and suggested that you celebrate Christmas together at the lake house like you always used to do, you were surprised when he agreed. 

You were even more surprised when he showed up looking healthy and well. He was just a young boy when he left for uni, but he showed up on Christmas day looking nothing like the lanky kid he used to be. 

And even now, years later each time he shows up you’re reminded that he’s growing into a capable young man. Now he’s so tall and strong that his tight hugs hurt a little bit with all those muscles. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” He mumbled into your hair as he tightened his arms around you purposely. 

You laughed. “Oh, let me breathe.” You joked as you pulled away from the hug to get a good look at him. You cupped his face in your hands and smiled at him, “How are you, young man? You look great!” You said as you let him step inside. “You know, I still look forward to the day you’ll bring a partner along with you.” 

Bucky chuckled, walking into the house with his arm casually thrown over your shoulder. “Nah, this is our special place. It’s ours, just you and I.” He said. And turns to look at you with a soft smile once he drops his bags on a couch in the living room. 

You hold back your tears just at the sight of him. He doesn’t resemble any of his parents, yet he reminds you of some of the best friends you’ve ever had. He reminds you of all those years back when coming here felt like coming home. 

“It’s so good to be here, isn’t it?” You asked. It’s something you always say whenever you come here ever since the accident. And each time, even years later, Bucky agrees. 

He looked around the house as he said, “Yeah.” Then he looked at you with that naturally pouty, boyish face and said, “This feels like home.” 

You couldn’t help but walk up to him and give him another hug. He welcomed it, wrapping his arms around you. 

“I miss them. I miss them so much.” You said, unable to help the way your eyes finally water a little bit. Over the years, you’ve cried so much that it feels like your body can’t quite produce a lot of tears anymore. 

Bucky kept his arms around you, firm and strong. “I miss them too.” He added, “But look, you’ve still got each other. We still have this place, we’ll always have this place. We’ll be okay.” 

That made you smile, so you pulled away to look at him. His handsome face, his sharp jawline, his slightly messy hair. He no longer looks like the boy you used to know. He's stronger, in so many ways. He’s different. But his blue eyes still remind you of that young boy who lost his parents way too early in life. 

“When did you get so wise?” You teased him. “And what have you been eating? Hugging you hurts now.” You pulled away from the hug and grabbed his bag from the couch, he grabbed his backpack and followed you as you led him upstairs to his room. 

“Working out helps with the stress. Plus I get super strong.” He said as the two of you took the stairs. “I’m very handy now, you see? I can open any jars, I can do any heavy lifting and all that.” He boasted. 

“Yeah, yeah, kiddo. I get it, the muscles get everyone going. I get it.” You teased him again and noticed his cocky smile is hiding something. But you dropped it for now. 

You led him to his room and dropped his bag on the bed and looked around. You and Bucky have made very few changes to the lake house over the years following the deaths which changed your lives. Other than maintenance stuff, everything is just as it was. And you both like it this way. But that also means Bucky’s room is still the same one he’s had since he was a young boy. 

“God, this is embarrassing.” He commented, looking around. 

You laughed at his ridiculous posters. “I like it, I think it adds character.” 

He gave you a playful glare which made you laugh even harder. “Oh please.” He took a look around and said, “I’ll get this sorted before I leave this time.” 

“Sure,” You nodded, “Whatever you want.” Then you turned to leave. “Come downstairs when you’ve freshened up, I’m making tea. I also made your favourite cookies this morning.” 

Bucky’s eyes lit up, “You are an absolute angel, you know that? I haven’t had real food in a long time. I’m gonna eat my weight in those cookies.” 

You smiled, shaking your head as you left the room. Some things still don’t change. 

– 

You were downstairs on your own for about half an hour. Sure, you’d taken time off work to come here but you still had to answer countless emails. Handling two major businesses was no joke. After Bucky’s parents passed, you took over their businesses in his place just until he’s done with uni and can replace his parents. You also had to manage your own so it was double the amount of work. More meetings, more risks, more stress, more emails… 

“You work too hard.” 

You heard his voice from behind you and before you could turn around, you felt Bucky’s hands on your shoulders, massaging the knots away at the back of your neck. You’d been staring at your screen for the past thirty minutes, so the impromptu massage was very much welcomed. 

“Oh,” You groaned, “That feels great, thank you.” 

“I should help out with work.” He said, massaging a bit further down, finding all the knots and easing them. 

“No,” You say softly. “You focus on uni, you’ll be done within a year anyway. Then you can take over and handle what’s always been yours. I can manage until then, don’t you worry.” His concern touched your heart. 

“But it’s too much for you.” He argued, sounding like he’s sulking as he massaged down your shoulder blades with his strong, calloused hands. “You don’t even have to do all this for me.” 

“Bucky,” You smiled softly, “You and your parents would’ve done it for me if it was the other way around. I know that with certainty. I’m not doing this out of obligation, I’m doing it because I loved your mom and dad. I still do. I take care of all this for you because I want to, because I care.” 

He caught the sadness in your voice and his hands stopped for a brief moment before he continued working on your tense shoulders. 

“I know.” He said, and you caught something in his tone which you couldn’t quite decipher but you let it go. For now. 

“Oh come on, stop sulking. I made us tea.” You got up from the chair and made your way to the cupboards in the open kitchen without turning around to look at Bucky. But then you felt him there standing behind you as you struggled to get the mugs from the top shelf. “Uh, a little help here, muscle man?” 

Bucky chuckles, “I’ll get them for you. Step aside.” 

You did and for a moment you were baffled at the sight of Bucky. In nothing but his tight, black underwear which clung to his body like a second skin. Your brain stopped working for a few seconds, it could do nothing but register the sight of Bucky - smooth, tan skin and muscles. His hair and back still a little damp from his shower. Then you noticed the few tattoos he must’ve gotten recently; especially on his hands and sides. 

“Here,” He said, handing you the two largest mugs he could find up there. His voice brought you back to the present. 

You accepted the mugs, finally meeting his stare. He looked cocky, smirking as he held your stare as if to see who’d look away first. Of course, you do. Then you tried to lighten up the mood and dissipate the weird, awkward tension that somehow crawled its way into the room. 

“You’re not in your dorm anymore. Did you forget to put clothes on, young man?” You asked him, making sure to keep your voice steady. Not that it bothered you much but seeing him nearly naked out of nowhere came as a surprise. 

“It’s warm inside,” He came over to sit at the breakfast counter, “Besides, I rarely ever wear clothes when I’m in here, remember? Because I never know when I wanna go for a swim.” 

You smiled, sliding his mug over to him and his plate of cookies which is sure to disappear in less than a few minutes. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I also remember how you drench the entire house in lake water after you’re done swimming but refuse to get dry before you come in.” 

He frowned playfully, then spoke with a mouthful of cookies, “I stopped doing that years ago. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

You smiled at him, shaking your head again. “Sure, we’ll see.” 

“Fine.” 

“Fine.” 

And just like that, the conversation flowed. The weird tension and awkwardness from earlier forgotten. You talked about uni, about his classes and friends. You talked about the past, about his parents and your fiancé. You talked about the future and how he’s excited but nervous to take over his parents’ businesses. 

“You’ll be amazing. People are gonna love you and you’re gonna do a great job.” You reassured him. 

He smiled, reaching across to hold your hand in his. “And you’ll be there with me, right? Every step of the way?” 

Your heart melted at the way he spoke; like a nervous kid. “Of course, Buck. I’ll always be there for you.” 

You began talking about some of the people who can’t wait to meet him; mainly business partners but also some of the staff who were really close with his parents. And you didn’t realise it at first, but the whole time you’d been talking, Bucky kept holding your hand, his thumb slowly caressing your skin. 

When you did realise, you made some excuse and nonchalantly pulled your hand away. “Now, how about I get started on dinner and then we watch a movie?” 

Bucky nodded, “Yes, please I need real food. Campus food is awful.” He groaned. 

“What do you want for dinner? I can make us pasta.” 

His face brightened up at the sound of that. “Yes. With a shit ton of good fucking cheese with that, please.” 

You frowned, then laughed at the cuss words, “Bucky!” 

He got up and stretched, those muscles moving along his body, “What? My parents aren’t here now, I can cuss.” 

He laughed and ran away before you could chuck the tea towel at him. Silly him and his twisted sense of humour. 

–

The kitchen was designed like a prism of glass so you could see outside really, really well. Which also meant that you could keep an eye on Bucky as he swam in the cold lake in the cloudy afternoon. He never had issues being on his own given he had no siblings and even now, he was very comfortable with the silence and lack of company while he was out in the lake. 

He was such a strong boy. Sure, his heart was broken after he lost his parents but he never stopped being resilient. 

That thought train brought you to the two weird, awkward instances that happened earlier. Of course, you never minded Bucky walking around in his swimming trunks or him holding your hand when he was younger. 

Then the reality settled in. He’s all grown up now. Not just your best friends’ son, but a proper young man now. Should you start putting up gentle boundaries? Then again, you don’t want to push him away in any way because you’re closer to him than the rest of his distant family members. 

Your mind was preoccupied with this as you cooked. So much so that you didn’t notice him get out of the lake and make his way upstairs. You only realised he was inside the house when he stepped into the kitchen, showered and dressed this time. 

“Ah, you remembered to put clothes on this time.” You joked, looking at him dressed in his white shirt and dark pants. 

Bucky chuckled as he walked over and leaned against the counter, watching you as you cleaned up and put the pans in the dishwasher. You were normally used to this, back then, Bucky would spend hours with you in this kitchen; just watching you as you cooked or baked him his favourites. 

But tonight, his stare is different. But you shake it off, calling yourself insane for overthinking this. Then out of nowhere Bucky said, “Let’s eat in the conservatory. Should we open a bottle of wine? I’ll go check the wine cellar, we usually have good stuff down there.” 

By the time you could respond, he was already gone. It was a little odd to imagine you and Bucky having dinner and wine for some reason. Maybe because you’d thought of him as a young boy this whole time, and now that he’s acting like a grown up, it’s taking you some getting used to. 

He’s almost twenty-five after all. You smiled faintly to yourself, shaking your head at the thought. Wine… conservatory… When did he get so grown up to care about these things? 

— 

The wine he chose was amazing, it paired with the pasta you made extremely well. Bucky couldn’t stop moaning as he ate, and it made you feel a little sad when you thought about what crap he must be eating at uni. 

“I wish I could bring you back to uni with me.” He spoke, washing down his food with a long sip of wine. 

You laughed, “For what? So I’d cook for you. Bit sexist, don’t you think?” 

He laughed as well, “No, not just the food. It’d be great to have you there, you know? Like a real friend.” 

You almost frowned at the word choice: friend. You always thought you’d end up being a parental figure for him as he grows up and takes over the family business. Sure, your bond was friendly and comfortable. But a friend sounded like… more. Or maybe you were just overthinking it. 

You smiled at him after finishing your wine in one go. “You don’t have much longer to go, Buck. You’ll graduate and be out of there in no time.” 

He smiled at that, “I know. Then I’ll move to the city like you. Actually, I may end up being your neighbour.” 

You chuckled, “So you can just come over and eat my food anytime you want?” 

Bucky’s eyes were down on his plate and at the sound of that question, he slowly looked up at you with an unreadable look on his face. Then he said, “Yeah, amongst other things.” 

You didn’t quite catch that so you scoffed and said, “What?” 

But Bucky was already standing up. “Let’s dance.” 

You smiled up at him. “Now?” 

He tapped a few times on his phone and music started playing, filling the conservatory with gentle notes, “Come on, dance with me.” He didn’t wait for a reply, he simply grabbed your hand and pulled you up. 

You chuckled and went along. Eyes widening when you realised it was one of your favourite songs (a/n: it’s the slowed down version of ‘yes to heaven’ by lana del rey btw). So you danced with Bucky, the two of you slow dancing in the conservatory like the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

“You remember.” You said quietly. 

“Of course, you mentioned you loved this song once. A few years ago.” He replied. 

What Bucky didn’t know was that this song held a special place in your heart. You’d never told anyone this but years ago, back when you were engaged, you always wanted this to be the song you danced to with your partner at your wedding. No one knew, except for your fiancé and well, that secret went with him. As did the dream of a first dance. 

Listening to it now, it made your eyes water again. Your heart feeling heavy all of a sudden. It never got easier, remembering. Bucky’s shoulder was right there so you laid your head on it, crying silently. 

Bucky noticed the moment the first tear fell from your eyes. And he didn’t say anything. 

He kept his arms around you, swaying gently to the music and the melancholic voice for who knows how long. The song played on a loop for a couple of times. Your tears fell and dried up. Your heart was a little lighter, but the memories still hurt. 

“I’m right here.” He said, his voice firm and steady. “You know I’ll always be right here.” 

You nodded. Then you looked up at him with slightly watery eyes. “I know. I’m here too.” You reassured him. 

This time, Bucky refused to look away again. And neither could you. You were hurting and someone familiar was nearby so you clung to the comfort. His stare was comforting, though still unreadable. 

But the moment Bucky leaned an inch closer, you pulled away. Blinking, stepping out of his embrace. For some reason, you couldn’t look at him right away so you got your hands busy and said, “I’ll clear the table. We still have a movie to watch. Can you go set it up while I do this?” 

Bucky left without a word said. 

You were a mess while you transferred the plates from the conservatory to the kitchen. Sure he wasn’t about to lean in and … no. It’s just the wine, you kept reminding yourself. It was the wine and the memories that came with the song. You were vulnerable and hurting and he was probably missing his parents too so… it was nothing. 

You went upstairs and got changed into PJs before you came downstairs again. You found Bucky in the living room, on the couch with the blankets you always used for movie nights. 

“You remembered these too.” You spoke, getting comfy on the couch and grabbing one of the blankets. 

He smiled, “I never forget a thing.” Then he reached down and handed you a bowl of popcorn of your own. “I didn’t even forget your favourite caramel popcorn.” 

That cheered you up immediately, “Oh! Thank you. What are we watching?” 

Again, as the movie started and a quiet conversation flowed between the two of you, the awkwardness from earlier was long forgotten. 

Halfway through the movie, your eyes began drooping. But you fought it for as long as you could, eventually scooting closer to Bucky so you could place your head on his shoulder again. The moment you did, you were asleep. 

-

Bucky watched you instead of the movie. He’d fought these feelings for way too long now. He was in love with you since way before he knew what being in love meant. But you always treated him like a young boy, a kid. Okay, at some point he was. But now? Couldn’t you see he could take care of you now? 

Couldn’t you see him for who he was? Couldn’t you see that he was strong enough for both of you now? That he was all grown up, and strong, and capable of being your man? 

The movie ended and the room was suddenly darker than earlier, now only illuminated by moonlight. The moonlight reflected on the calm lake too, turning it silvery. Bucky looked down at your face so close to his and he couldn’t help but trace a finger down your cheek. 

Wrong move. Because that woke you up. 

You were completely disoriented, blinking in confusion. Bucky couldn’t help himself as he gently grabbed your chin, “Hey,” He whispered. 

“Hmm?” You were still disoriented as you looked up at him. 

He couldn’t stop himself and before he knew it, his mouth was on yours, kissing you like he’d been dreaming of doing for years now. He sensed your surprise and felt how you froze against him, surely still disoriented but trying to figure out what was happening. But he wasn’t ready to stop yet. 

So he kissed you with even more vigour. Cupping your face and licking into your soft, warm mouth as his hand drifted down to your breast. He heard you let out a gasp the moment he cupped you through your satin PJs, Bucky moaned into your mouth as he kissed you deeper, fondling with your breast and nipple. He couldn’t help himself, he felt like an animal pawing at what’s his to play with. 

And that broke you out of whatever half awake state you were in. You quickly realised what you were doing, opening your eyes to find Bucky nearly on top of you. You quickly pushed him away and got off the couch, breathing heavily. 

“Hey,” Bucky spoke gently as he tried to grab your hand again, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me.” He walked up to you, almost pulling you into his arms again. 

“Bucky, no.” You stopped him softly, standing in the middle of the dark room with your hands in your hair. God, what the fuck were you doing just now? 

“It’s okay, I-,” 

“No,” You said, a little more firmly. “It’s not. I…” You took a deep breath before you accidentally snapped at him. “Just go to bed, Buck. It’s late.” You were calm again, though your heart kept racing. 

He lingered for a few seconds more, before rushing up the stairs. 

It was late and your mind was a mess so you curled up on the couch and tried falling asleep there itself but then you kept thinking about Bucky’s lips on yours and you wanted to cry. This was Bucky for goodness’ sake, how could you have let this happen? 

You waited for a while and then walked up the stairs, cringing hard when you saw Bucky’s room. You rushed into your bedroom and let the tears fall. You were crying mainly out of frustration, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were betraying your friends who were gone. This was their son. You were meant to guide him and help him be the best version of himself, not whatever this was. 

You laid down in bed and fell asleep shortly after, dreading the morning to come. 

— 

Morning came and you woke up feeling less terrible. It’ll be okay, you told yourself, perhaps you’ll go downstairs and Bucky will pretend nothing happened and you’ll fall into your little routine like you always do and everything will be fine. 

You got dressed and ready for the day and right before you went downstairs, you decided to step out on the balcony of your bedroom for a little while. The chill morning air always made you feel better. 

So you did. You stepped outside and breathed in the forest air and all was well again. Then in the distance, out in the lake you saw Bucky swimming casually like he always did. You also saw the moment he realised you were out there too. You waited for a cold reaction, or any awkwardness. You waited for him to ignore you and keep swimming. But he didn’t. He raised a hand and waved at you. 

You immediately waved back, breathing out in relief. You wouldn’t know what you would do if things got messy and sour between you and Bucky. He was closer than family and you two had endured so much together that you always believed your bond would be indestructible. 

But then last night… was simply a mistake, you told yourself. You had had wine and he’s young and a little wild and it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. No, he must not have meant it. 

So you went downstairs and got started on breakfast. You were a little on the edge so when Bucky walked in, with a towel on his shoulders, you nearly jumped at the sight of him. 

“Morning,” You said smiling, then pointed at the pan, “I’m making breakfast, hurry up in the shower and come eat before it’s cold, okay?” 

Bucky nodded with a smirk and replied, “Yes ma’am.” Then walked away, and you could hear him rushing up the stairs. 

You made two plates and set them down on the breakfast counter just as Bucky walked back into the kitchen. Showered and dressed, but just in dark grey sweatpants this time. And you didn’t comment on his lack of a shirt this time. 

“Coffee?” You asked.

“Yes please.” 

You poured coffee in two mugs and sat down to eat as well. And for the first time in forever, breakfast time was tense. Neither of you spoke, neither of you really ate either. Just sips of coffee and pushing your food around on your plate. 

You took it upon yourself to stop torturing both of you. “Okay, if you’re still thinking about what happened last night, I-,” 

“It was my fault.” He replied quickly, cutting you off. 

You waited for an apology because that’s how this conversation went in your head. Apologies and forgiveness and then done, back to how you normally act. But Bucky didn’t apologise. Not that you needed him too, but it would’ve made this a lot less weird. 

Then you couldn’t take it. “It was probably mine too.” 

“No it wasn’t.” He said, “It was my fault.” 

You placed your mug down. “It’s not gonna happen again.” You said, and watched how he tensed up like he didn’t like the sound of that. “So can we please stop being awkward now? You mean so much to me, Buck, I can’t bear not talking to you.” 

Bucky gave you a soft smile. Then said, “Also I went swimming this morning.” 

You picked up your mug again, smiling as you said, “I know, I saw you.” 

“I didn’t bring even a drop of lake water in.” He boasted. “You can check.” He gave you a cocky look. 

You chuckled, “Guess you really grew up, huh?” 

His smile faded for a brief moment as he said, “I did.” Then he quickly added, “Hey, can you make those cupcakes today?” 

You smiled at the normalcy again. “Yeah, sure. Will you help me with the icing? Like you used to do?” 

“Of course.” 

— 

You two talked while you made the batter and put the cupcakes in the oven. You played board games while you waited for the cupcakes to be done and cool.

Then you got the icing ready in pipes and Bucky helped. 

“You remember how I used to always mess up the icing just so you’d give me the ruined cupcakes?” He asks, nostalgia heavy in his tone. 

“Yeah, and you’d purposely mess up just to eat more.” You added, remembering that too. 

Bucky laughed, “I still don’t get how I was skinny up until I went to uni, with the amount of your cupcakes I ate each time we were here.” 

You chuckled at the memory of young Bucky stuffing his face with cupcakes. “You were a growing boy then.” And then you turned to look up at him and caught him smuggling yet another cupcake into his mouth, “Guess you still are.” You teased. 

He smirked, then piped a huge amount of icing on his finger and casually just smeared it on your cheek. You froze in surprise. 

“You did not…” 

“Oh, I did.” 

Then it was your turn, but he kept moving away so you grabbed icing sugar and threw it right at his face when he least expected it. It went not just on his face but all over his bare chest as well.

You couldn’t help but laugh as he chased you around the kitchen. Your laughter and shrieks echoed in the house, until finally Bucky caught you and smeared some more icing on your face now that he had you trapped between his naked chest and the counter. 

You had nowhere to go so you surrendered, laughing, “Okay, okay you win. You win, I give up.” Then you looked up at Bucky and there it was again, that look from last night when you were dancing in the conservatory. 

“Bucky…” You said, ready to push him away but he held your hand so gently that your heart broke a little. 

“Please,” He mumbled, “Let me have this.” His voice cracked, “Just once, please… you’re all I have.” There was so much hidden in his plea. ‘I’m broken and so are you, let’s be complete together.’ But were you ready for that? 

You were quiet, and then he leaned in. Slowly, carefully he leaned in and kissed you again. You let him. He kissed you deeper, his hands resting on either side of your waist as he pressed his body against yours. You let him do that too. Feeling his body heat wrap around you. 

But then his kisses got greedy and demanding, his hands slowly trailed up and down your sides, caressing your rib cage and making you feel involuntarily weak in the knees. “Fuck, this feels good…” He moaned. “You feel so good…” 

This should feel wrong, immoral. But you’d been touch starved for so long that your body betrayed your mind and leaned into the touch, not caring about whose touch it was. It only needed warmth and attention which you’d deprived yourself of for years now. 

“Bucky, we should stop…” You spoke softly against his open mouth. Though your body just wanted to seek solace from the Bucky’s touch. 

He gasped against your lips, “We’re not doing anything wrong.” He reasoned, even though it took everything in him to hold back from ravaging you like a hungry beast. “Just kissing,” He mumbled, kissing you deeper, “I’m just kissing you. See?” 

You felt his mouth drift down to your jaw, your ear, your neck… and you couldn’t think straight anymore; your heartbeats rang in your ears, your legs felt numb, your mind was all foggy with desire while also fighting to make sense of what was happening. 

Bucky’s mouth drove you insane, his hands even more so as they slid under your shirt and groped and teased your breasts. 

“Fuck…” He groaned against your skin, kissing and biting like he could consume you. “Fuck!” He growled right in your ear; making you shiver, “Tell me to stop, please.” He begged, like he couldn’t stop on his own, his warm breath fanning the side of your face, “Tell me to fucking stop, I can’t-,” 

You cut him off by pushing him away and taking a few steps away from him yourself. Both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing, you couldn’t even look at him. Your face burned with a mixture of emotion, but mostly shame. 

“We can’t.” You said, monotonously. “We cannot do this, Buck.” 

You dared to look up at him and found him looking betrayed, and broken. Like he’d been stabbed and left to die. 

“Why can’t you see what I see?” He asked, breathing hard as well. “We deserve each other.” 

“Enough, Buck.” You shook your head. “You’re still young and you can’t see what I see.” 

Bucky scoffed, getting irritated, “Young?” He repeated like the word burned his mouth as he said it. Then he was irritated because you kept avoiding his eyes, “Look at me!” 

“I am!” You spat back, finally looking at him again, getting equally irritated - mostly at yourself. “I am looking at you, Bucky. And I cannot do this, we shouldn’t. Please.” 

Something about the look on his face told you that this wasn’t the last time you’d be having this conversation. Very few things stayed the same about Bucky as he grew up, one of those being his stubbornness. He was also very spoiled. 

He was quiet for a few seconds, then he asked, sounding as cocky as ever, “Do you hate me? Because the way you squirmed and moaned just now when I had my hands on your body? It didn’t feel like you hated me, nor my touch.” 

Hate him? He meant so much to you, couldn’t he see that? You carefully ignored the last part of what he said and answered sincerely, sighing, “No Bucky, I could never hate you and you know that.” Your lips were still tingly, like his mouth was still on yours. You wanted it to feel wrong so badly. 

He took a step forward, cornering you again. “Then is it someone else? Another man? Are you pushing me away because you’re seeing someone else?” He asked, looking every bit like a jealous lover of yours that he has no right to be. “And don’t you fucking lie to me.” You heard the growl hidden in his tone as he stepped closer, his body almost touching yours, “Is anyone else touching you when I’m not there?” 

“Oh shut up, Buck.” You stepped out of the way before he trapped you again. “You can’t talk to me like that.” You said, as firmly as you could. 

Bucky scoffed, “Oh yeah?” He stepped closer again, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close to him, “You didn’t seem to mind anything I did just now when I was about to bend you over that counter and-” 

“Enough!” You got out of his arms and slapped him across the face so hard that your eyes began watering immediately. Oh god, no… 

Bucky’s cheek turned red and the guilt made it hard for you to breathe. Your heart hurt more than it ever did. It hurt more after slapping him than it did when you thought about the past, or the life you could’ve had if the accident hadn’t happened. It hurt looking at his rapidly bruising cheek, knowing you struck him. 

What were you thinking? He was hurting too. So much that he probably wasn’t even thinking straight. And you slapped him? On top of all that? You couldn’t bear the look in his glossy eyes as he turned to look at you like the confused boy he used to be a long time ago.

Your tears streamed down your face, silently. You turned around and walked away, sobbing quietly as you made your way upstairs to hide in your room until later tonight. 

You were a mess even as you took a bath and changed into a comfy nightdress, thinking that maybe all that crying would put you to bed early. But no. Your mind just wouldn’t shut off. You skipped dinner obviously. You wouldn’t be able to look Bucky in the face, not tonight. 

You tried reading, but you couldn’t focus. You tried answering emails but you simply didn’t have the energy to deal with work right now. So you just laid in bed and watched the ceiling. Your tears had dried up and there was none left, there was just guilt. 

You’d gotten into the habit of caring for Bucky that there was nothing more you wanted to do than to just hug him and apologise for hurting him. Then maybe try and explain to him why this thing between you two would be wrong. 

Another hour went by and the house was eerily quiet. You had only one fear for now, that you would wake up the next morning and find the house empty and Bucky would be gone, and that you might lose him forever. You sent a silent thought and apology to his deceased parents, some of the best friends you’d ever have, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to care for him. 

Just then, you heard two soft knocks on your door. And the fear solidified inside of you. Is he here to say goodbye? As you walked over to the bedroom door to open it, you were almost certain you’d see him all dressed up with his bags packed, ready to walk out the front door. And if that were the case, you wouldn’t know how to stop him. This pushing and pulling that’s been going on for the past two days has to stop at some point. But what then? Would you lose Bucky forever? You couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

You opened the door with a heavy heart, holding your breath. But all you found on the other side was the same Bucky from earlier. Dressed in his sweatpants, the icing sugar wiped off of his bare chest, that bruise forming on his cheek now darker but something was different. He had a look in his eyes. Not stubbornness, but determination. He wasn’t angry anymore. He gave you a soft look which only made you feel worse. 

You sniffled, not realising that you’d been tearing up looking at the bruise on his face. 

“Can I come in?” There was a hint of coldness like you’d never heard before in his voice. Like it was void of any emotion at all. But it was all a mask, you knew. He was hiding so much. How come you never saw just how much he was hiding all the time? 

You didn’t trust your voice enough to speak so you just nodded quickly and opened the door wider to let him into the spacious bedroom. He walked in and when you shut the door behind you, he turned to look at you with an apologetic look on his face. Even though it was you who was supposed to apologise this time. 

You kept wringing your hands, keeping your eyes low on the ground and unable to look at him. Your eyes watered again. But when he cleared his throat, you looked up at him instinctively. 

His stare softened and he opened his arms for you gently. “Come here,” He whispered, like you were the one who needed comforting. 

You sniffled and rushed into his arms, wrapping your arms around him and crying silently into the crook of his neck. “Oh Bucky…” You sobbed, “I’m so sorry for hitting you, honey. I don’t know what happened. I- I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just-,” 

“Shh,” He cut you off, hugging you securely. “It’s okay. I was being out of line.” 

You pulled away to look up at him with teary eyes, “I’m sorry.” You carefully reached out to touch his red cheek, “I know it hurts, I’m really sorry.” 

Bucky gave you a soft smile, “I told you it’s fine.” He wiped the warm tear which fell down your cheek and said, “We need to talk.” 

You nodded, slowly stepping out of his embrace. “Yes, we do.” You pointed at the two couches in the corner of the room and began walking over there when Bucky grabbed your hand and stopped you. 

Standing in the middle of the dimly lit room, he said out of nowhere, “I’m in love with you. And there’s nothing I can nor want to do to change that.” 

Well that came out of nowhere. 

You sighed, promising yourself to stay calm and collected while navigating this delicate situation. You stared into his familiar blue eyes and took a deep breath before you spoke.

“Bucky… I know how it feels when you think you want something so badly. Especially when it’s something you know you shouldn’t want.” He was surprisingly quiet so you kept talking, “When I was younger, I thought the world belonged to me too. I thought it was mine for the taking and I thought I could just have whatever I wanted if I desired it passionately enough.” You inched closer, then refrained from touching his face fondly. “But then, you grow up to find that at some point, you need to consider other factors before you just take.” 

He shook his head, “You’re not listening to me. I said I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time and I can’t hide it anymore.” 

You sighed again, “Buck, you can’t be. This cannot happen, okay? Just please, don’t make this difficult for the both of us. You’re still so young, you don’t know what you’re doing.” 

He argued immediately, in a bitter tone, “Don’t invalidate my feelings. And don’t talk to me like I’m a child.” 

That made you feel worse, “I’m not.” You couldn’t help but cup his cheek affectionately like you did so many times throughout the years. “Honey… how do I explain this to you?” You shook your head, feeling your lashes getting wet with tears again. “The years I’ve known your parents were some of the best years of my life. We were all-,” Your voice cracked and Bucky noticed the way you trembled, “We were more than a group of friends, we were a family, especially here. I can’t betray them like this.” 

Bucky gently wrapped his hand around your wrist, keeping your palm pressed to his face and he leaned into your touch just barely. “Betray them?” He asked, in that same cold tone as earlier. 

“Bucky…” You trailed off, not knowing what to say to that. You tried to pull your hand back but he wouldn’t let you. 

Bucky kept going, “They left.” He said, like he was stating a fact. “We buried them, remember? We buried them together, you and I. They’re gone, long gone.” 

You shook your head, “Parts of them live here, Bucky. Why do you think I keep coming back to this place?” 

“I’m not asking you to forget them.” He clarified. “I don’t want to forget them. But we’re allowed to move on with our lives, are we not? Don’t you think they would want us to take care of each other?” 

“Not like this, Buck. You don’t understand, you’re-,” 

“What?” He scoffed, cutting you off, “I’m what? Too young? Too wild? I’m immature and I don’t understand the way the world works yet?” He scoffed again, “Do you know how broken I was when I left for uni after mom and dad?” 

You sniffled, then said, “I know, honey, I-,” 

He cut you off again, tightening his grip on your wrist, “No you don’t. You don’t know because you weren’t there.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just sad. 

You listened to each word carefully. 

“I missed them so much, but I also missed you. I wanted to die. I felt alone and I thought I could never have you, thought I’d never even see you again. I knew your heart was broken because you loved him, and you could never love me like that.” He paused. “Then I thought maybe you’d never want to be back here again, that you’d want nothing to do with me because maybe I’d keep reminding you of what happened. I thought I lost you too.” 

He paused again, wiping yet another silent tear which fell down your cheek. 

“I was having all sorts of messed up thoughts. I kept thinking about how I should’ve been involved in the accident instead of mom and dad.” That made you sob but he kept going, he needed to let it all out today, “Because would’ve been a win-win for me, right? My parents would be safe, I wouldn’t have to watch the woman I love marry another man because he’d be dead too.” 

You cried silently, not knowing whether to pull him in for a hug or to pull away from him. There was a glazed look in his eyes. Like he wasn’t there. 

“But those thoughts were fucked up and scary. That’s when I knew I needed therapy.” When he looked into your eyes, the glazed look in his eyes wasn't there anymore. He continued, “So I got plenty of it, and it helped somewhat. I started taking care of myself again. But I was still so lonely. And then you reached out that same year, asking me to come back here for Christmas just so we can have some sort of normalcy in our lives.” He said, looking down at you with those soft blue eyes. “You saved me.” 

You sighed shakily, your voice cracking as you spoke. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve reached out sooner.” You sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Buck.” 

He shook his head. “You were hurting too. But you reached out just in time. I know how it sounds but I need you to know that I’m not just saying it, I mean it when I say I love you. I probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You’re all I have left,” He said, repeating what he said the other night. 

Your heart was breaking all over again. “Bucky…” 

“You need someone to take care of you too.” He murmured, leaning closer until his lips brushed against your forehead when he spoke, “The people we loved, they’re gone. But you and I? We’re still here, aren’t we?” His voice was so soft now, whispering he pleaded, “Live, with me.” Then added, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Let me show you how good we can be together.” His mouth moved down from your temple, slowly down your tear-stained cheek, until it reached the corner of your mouth. “I can take care of you.” He whispered, “Let me.” 

You were still silently crying. Mainly because it felt bad to admit that he might be right. Ever since the accident, and all the losses which followed, your life had come to a stop. You were just working and surviving each day. And repeat. Endlessly for years now. Coming to the lake house was your only escape but even then, days spent here hurt too. In a good way at times, but still hurt. 

“I don’t know how, Buck.” You sniffled. “It just hurts. I don’t know if I can make it stop. Or if I should.” 

“You deserved to be happy. To be loved, and taken care of. And so do I.” He said, cupping your face to make you look at him, “Don’t you think they would want us to be happy and stop hurting?” 

You blinked and more tears fell down your face, “I’m scared.” You admitted, both your hands wrapping around his wrists for support because your legs felt weak.  

Bucky leaned in and kissed you on the corner of your mouth as he wiped your tears away, “Scared of what, baby? Tell me.” 

It took a while for you to formulate what you wanted to say. But Bucky was patient. He was quiet, just kissing your face until you could finally talk. 

“To let go…” You sighed, “I’m not used to it not hurting. I… forgot what it was like before the- before the whole thing happened and now I’m scared, Buck. What if we’re disrespecting them?”  

“I don’t mean to sound heartless but we’ve got to understand that they’re not here anymore. You and I are. And we need each other. We’re barely alive when we’re far from each other, far from this place. Don’t you see? We’re meant to be here together.” He spoke softly still. “It’s time now. Just, let go. I’m right here. I’ll catch you.” His mouth was just an inch away from yours as he whispered sincerely, “Let go, baby. I promise I’m right here.” 

So you did. 

You shut your brain down for a moment and leaned in to close the gap between your mouths. You kissed him. 

Bucky’s hands drifted down your body until they grabbed you by the waist and pulled you further into him. Your hands slid into his soft hair as he deepened the kiss, urging you to walk backwards. Towards the bed. 

You barely made it there, Bucky was already making you whine and moan with how gently but lovingly he touched you everywhere he could. 

“This little thing is killing me,” He said, tugging on your thin, satin nightdress. “Can I take it off of you? Please?” He breathed into your open mouth, before kissing you again as he waited for a reply.  

“Yes,” You said, breathless already. Though a little nervous since you knew there was nothing beneath the nightdress. 

But Bucky knew that already. Which is why he just about tore the thing off of your body. He then took his time admiring and caressing every inch of your body before he carefully pushed you down on the bed behind you. And he was on top of you in a heartbeat. 

“How am I supposed to behave when you walk around the house looking this good, huh?” He held himself up above you with one hand, while the other explored your now bare body. 

He was barely touching you where you desperately needed him to but you were already moaning and squirming under him. 

“Look at me.” He demanded. 

You did. You opened your eyes and stared right up into those wild ocean blue ones. 

Bucky smiled, then leaned to kiss you again. “Tell me you want me,” He whispered against your mouth as you arched your back because his fingers were dangerously close to your dripping folds. 

“Fuck… I want you, Bucky. Please…” 

He smirked against your lips, his fingers moving up your inner thighs until he found your wet folds. He parted then with his finger gently, sliding his two fingers up and down before teasing your hole, applying just enough pressure to make you whine under him. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, pushing one finger inside you. His voice was deeper than usual which made you shiver. 

You were breathless as you slowly slid your fingers into his soft, dark hair, “Yes,” You whimpered. “Yes, please…” You had stopped thinking about anything other than this moment right here. Let go… let go… let go… 

Bucky kissed your neck while he slid his finger in and out of you, stroking you just right until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. Only then did he added another finger and your moans got louder and louder. 

He stared deep into your eyes as he spoke softly like he was coaxing you, “My fingers feel good, don’t they?” He asked. “I know they do.” He cooed. “You see what I mean? If you let me take care of you, you can have this every day. In fact, multiple times a day. Whenever you want, baby.” 

You whined even louder at the sound of those words, unable to help it. And Bucky loved that sound so much he almost gave it right there and then. But he didn’t want to make you come yet, so he brought you right on the edge and removed his fingers. 

You whined in frustration but then felt his mouth gradually move down your body, kissing down your neck, nibbling and biting down your collarbones and teasing your breasts, taking each nipple in his mouth and sucking on it until you squealed in pleasure. He kissed down your stomach, your hips, your thighs… until he knelt in between your bare legs and stared up at you.

“Will you let me taste you?” He asked, looking like he was having a hard time holding back from devouring you. 

You answered by lifting your upper body up onto your elbows, grabbing him carefully by the back of his head and gently urging his mouth down on you. 

You moaned when you felt him smirk against your wetness, his tongue darting out to lick you, parting your folds leisurely with his warm, eager tongue. 

He placed his hands on both your thighs and spread your legs further apart, pressing his soft, warm mouth further into you. The sight of his head of thick, black hair in between your thighs was not something you ever wanted to forget. 

“You taste so good.” He murmured, looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes, rubbing his lips all over your wet folds. His voice alone made you squirm and whine. “Tell me how good my tongue feels.” He said, parting your folds even more so he could lick deeper inside you. 

It felt like you were losing your mind, unable to form a coherent thought. 

When you didn’t answer right away, Bucky pulled away and gave you a playful bite on your inner thigh. “Tell me.” He repeated, refusing to go back to eating you out until you told him what he wanted to hear. 

You cried in frustration before whispering, “Oh you feel so good, Buck. So fucking good… and I want more, please, I want more,” You whined, feeling your wetness slowly dripping out of you while he watched shamelessly. 

He smirked, bringing his mouth down on you again. His warm, wet tongue made you whine and squirm even more as he held you there, open for him, feasting on you as he pleased. 

Your loud moans didn’t bother him. The way you tugged on his hair only made him lick deeper into you. He brought his mouth over to your clit, sucking on it hard enough to make you cry out. 

“So good…” he whispered, more so to himself as he kept making you moan louder and louder just with his tongue. “Better than I ever imagined…” 

All you could focus on was how he slowly brought a finger up to your folds, sliding it slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds before he slid a finger inside you again, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit. 

When you arched your back, feeling his finger stroke you deep inside, Bucky pulled away and asked, “Am I the first man to touch you here in all these years? Is my finger the first thing to ever touch you here in a really long time? Hmm?” 

Good god. 

“Yes,” You whispered, breathless and wanting, moving your hips in slow circles as he fingered you, touching sensitive places you’d forgotten even knew existed. 

You saw the look of primal pride in his eyes at the sound of that ‘yes’. Possessive and territorial. He kept his eyes focused on yours as he thrust his finger slightly deeper inside. 

“Good.” He said, in a deep, gravelly voice. He kept his eyes on yours as he leaned down to press his mouth to your clit again, his tongue teasing your clit as he finger-fucked you until you squirmed and moaned and gasped under his touch. “Let go baby, come for me.” He murmured gently. 

You moaned out loud, your eyes closing and your head tilting back as you came hard, all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger, your moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room. 

The outside world was long forgotten. This bedroom was your entire world right now. 

You couldn’t help but smile faintly in bliss as Bucky left small kisses up your body, coming up to loom above you again. He stared deep into your eyes. And you wanted him so bad it hurt. 

“See how easy that was?” He said, smiling down at you as his knuckles caressed your cheek. “Should we do that again?” 

Nodding and breathless, you murmured, “Yes…” 

Bucky chuckled. “I love you so much,” He whispered, giving you a quick kiss before pulling away to take off his sweatpants. Then he was onto you again, pressing you down on the soft bed sheets as he kissed you again. 

His fingers found themselves in between your legs again, spreading your wetness around as much as possible before he began stroking himself, bringing the tip of his cock closer to your hole. He purposely slid his tip up and down your folds, making your back arch and making you whine into the kiss. 

“I’m gonna make it feel good, baby,” He whispered against your mouth. “I’m gonna make it stop hurting, you hear me? I promise you I’ll make it stop hurting. And I’m gonna take care of you. Forever.” He kissed your face, whispering his promises into your ear while you whined and squirmed under him. 

His body weight on top of you was comforting in ways you couldn’t describe. It felt like this is where you always wanted to be. 

Bucky kept teasing you, sliding his cock up and down your slit, leaning down to brush his lips against yours just so he could swallow your moans and it was torture. 

“Please,” You whispered into the kiss before biting down on his lip and sucking on it. “Please, fuck me.” You murmured again. “I can’t take this anymore.” 

Bucky leaned in for a proper kiss, his tattooed hand wrapping around your throat gently as he slowly slipped his cock inside of you, groaning as he went. His lean, warm body pressing down onto you as he gradually slid in. breathless as well, he said, “You won’t believe how many times I’ve fantasised about you saying those words to me.” He sighed, pushing further into you. “I was too young then, I didn’t know how to make it good for you.” He said, chuckling to himself, “But I do now.” 

You moaned as you felt him stretching you, filling you up. Every inch of him sliding into your tight hole and filling a void. You cried out when he struggled to fit in at first, and he had to gently force his cock in. 

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s just me, baby.” He whispered, “Let me in, it’s okay.” He held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist, then slowly leaned down to give you another kiss.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well.” He whispered against your mouth. “Your body will get used to me in no time.” 

You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he moved his hips the slightest bit. You whined and moaned at the unfamiliar but pleasurable feeling of his cock slowly moving in and out of you.

Bucky let out a growl when he felt your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you. He kept moving rapidly in and out of you to the point where the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of him moving against your body. No shame. No guilt. Just this feeling. There was no turning back now and this felt right. Oh God, it felt right. 

“Look at how well you take my cock.” Then he let out a chuckle which made you shiver underneath him. His words only made you clench around him harder. He kissed along your cheek, “You feel so good.” He whispered into your ear, pounding into you relentlessly, as he bent down to bite your neck. “You feel like a perfect dream.” He breathed against your warm skin. 

You moaned at how perfect his muscular body felt against yours. His hair tickled your cheek as he moved. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. 

“I feel good inside you, don’t I? Hmm?” His thrusts were relentless and unbearably good. 

You closed your eyes as you felt the pressure around your lower body; tight and hot. It had been so long since you’d been with someone that the feeling was almost foreign. 

“Look at you,” He whispered, “You look fucking beautiful with my cock inside of you.” The possessiveness in his voice only made you clench around him again. “You’re gonna take all of me, won’t you?” He said, kissing your skin. “All of my cum deep inside that womb, huh? Maybe you’ll even carry my baby. Fuck I can see you already, all pretty and swollen. We’ll make our own family together, won’t we?” 

You nodded, unable to say because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. You could barely think straight. 

“Well then,” his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it gently while he pounded into you faster than earlier, “Come for me.” 

And that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock.

He kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. He watched you in awe, lips parted, breaths in rags, heart racing. 

But he wasn’t done yet. 

He pulled out and flipped you around, your hips and ass up while your face was pressed against the soft pillows on the bed. 

You were still catching your breath when his hand reached around and teased in between your legs, his fingers rubbed around your clit and made you tremble and moan before he was even inside you again. 

His body bent over yours, his warm chest pressing against your back as he kissed your shoulder and the back of your neck until his mouth reached your ear, “You’re all mine now, you hear me?” 

You could hear the untamed hunger in his deep, low voice. You whimpered, “All yours.” You murmured, voice laced with need and lust as he pulled away from your ear and kissed along your shoulders.

Then you felt his hands on you as he gripped each side of your hips then pushed into you from behind. “There, you feel that? That’s your man fucking you.” He whispered fucking you with slow and deliberate strokes. “Your man who’s gonna take care of you from now on. You don’t have to worry about a single thing, you hear me? I’m here now. I’ve got you, baby.” 

Your fingers desperately tried to grip the fabric beneath you tightly, and your mind felt foggy, you moaned wantonly as he pounded into you, not easing into it this time. He took you higher and higher. 

Your walls throbbed and clenched around him each time he filled you up. With a few more strokes of his thick cock, you felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls violently. “Come for me again.” 

You tightened around him immediately - coming undone again as you felt him come deep inside you, filling you up and groaning right into your ear as he did. The sounds of his growls and moans made you shiver under him. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” He murmured, settling down in bed and spooning you from behind, keeping his still semi-hard cock buried inside you. He wrapped his arms around you and his voice lulled you to sleep as he whispered sweet promises into your ear. “I’ve got you now, don’t worry. I’m here…” 

—

When you woke up the next morning, Bucky was still asleep next to you. It took great effort to untangle yourself from his embrace without waking him up. 

You took a minute or two to look at the bite marks and scratches all over his neck and chest, and you waited. You waited for the guilt to come flooding in, for the shame to suffocate you. You waited for it to feel wrong. But it didn’t. 

You quietly made your way to the bathroom and did your usual morning routine; showered, brushed, got dressed in warm clothes. And then you stepped outside on the balcony as soundlessly as possible. 

The forest around you seemed greener today. The wind felt more crisp than usual. The lake was more beautiful than it had ever been. The mountains seemed more magical than ever. It was like the world felt lighter and livelier around you this morning. Or maybe it had always been this way and you were just looking at it with a less broken heart this morning. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, then you heard him walking up to you. Bucky wrapped a soft blanket around the two of you and hugged you from behind. He nuzzled your neck until it tickled and you laughed pulling away a little. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” He said in his deep, morning voice. “I woke up and you weren’t in bed, I thought you left me.” He pouted a little. 

You smiled faintly, looking down at the lake. “You know I could never leave you, Buck.” 

He tightened his grip around you and smiled so bright it warmed you inside. “Because you love me?” 

You chuckled, “Because I love you.” 

He swayed the two of you side to side gently. Then his hand came up to rest on top of your belly and you felt him tense up behind you before he spoke up, “I know I said some things last night. And I would never force you to do anything but I need you to know that I was serious. I do want… all that with you. Like how I want everything with you. Not right now but, someday.” 

You turned around to face him, your hands on his shoulders. Bucky’s blue eyes made any restlessness, any doubt go away. “Someday.” You agreed. 

He smiled again and it made the world brighter than earlier. “You and I, we’ll make it, won’t we?” 

You leaned in and hugged him, resting your forehead on his chest, breathing in his scent and relishing his warmth. Something fit into place as you did. Like a missing piece slotting back into place. So you said, confidently, “We will, Buck.” 

—

Fin. 

a/n: psst, they did make it till the end ;) 

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au

[dairy-farmer]

Tim is Bruce’s biological son (so Tim would be around 4 when Dick came to live with them). Dick, Jason and Dami get increasingly jealous over the years because Bruce won’t share Tim with them

👀👀👀 tim being bruce's biological son and bruce not allowing the others around him because he's incredibly possessive. i imagine when dick comes to live with bruce, he already knows that bruce has a son. bruce, alfred, and tim had posed for a picture with dick and his parents shortly before they died and dick had seen the sweet and rosy-cheeked little boy who had peeked at dick from where he was seated in his father's arms.

when he arrives in the manor he's informed that little timmy resides on a different property on the residence and that only bruce has the keys to the second property where he goes to spend time with his son. dick's unsure about why tim doesn't live at the manor and why he doesn't see him (apparently when he was younger tim had been enamored with a story book where a princess lived in a little cottage and could see the prince's castle from her window). the manor is lonely. it's quiet with just alfred and bruce as company. the only kids he sees are the ones at school and...its lonely. even though tim is apparently only four years old, dick is desperate for company and connection from anyone other than the awkward wall that is bruce.

so dick sets out one day and manages to find where tim resides. it's like something out of a fairytale book. a small cottage situated in one of the many acres wayne manor resides on and its fenced in by big, white concrete walls with a heavy iron gate in and out. there's fields of wildflowers so thick and lush as far as dick can see, and big hedges that block the view of the house but dick can still see the edge of a roof. and dick hears giggling. sweet childish little giggles that fills dick's chest with excitement.

he gets caught by bruce trying to scale the wall and is grounded. bruce tells him that dick has free reign of the rest of manor and all its facilities but this? this is off limits. timmy is a sensitive child. he's easily frightened and has a lot of health issues- he has ever since he was born.

dick tries arguing about tim and the circus but bruce shuts him down and says that was a special occasion and that tim had begged to go to the circus because he'd seen the commercial for haly's circus on tv.

so dick is told to forget about tim and alfred comforts him by telling him bruce is just protective. he'd nearly lost tim as a baby and it had inspired a fierce protectiveness in him and that it wasn't personal.

but it still hurts and dick's childhood is an empty one made even emptier by the knowledge there was a brother so close but so far away.

leaving bruce behind to find himself and come into his own is also done with not a small bit of resentment at being denied the opportunity to be a big brother.

for jason he finds out about tim through a combination of the newspapers that occasionally complain about bruce not allowing photos of his child and through climbing to the roof one time. he spots the other property a distance away, sees how its hidden with trails of ivy climbing up the concrete walls encasing it. a hidden garden? jason's small spirit for adventure is curious and the next day sets out to explore only to be stopped a hundred feet away from the walls by bruce's security system. jason is confused and also offended when he finds out that's the residence where bruce's biological son lives. why he doesn't live in the manor with all of them is beyond him but bruce says its for for "tim's protection". and jason can't help but feel a little hurt at that. protection from what? protection from him? why isn't jason allowed to interect with this other child of bruce's? he already knows that dick is estranged and the bitter feeling of rejection from dick stings something fierce so the fact that he has a brother he's not allowed to interact with is hurtful. its a pain jason does not forget.

damian grew up with knowledge of tim and some blurry photos. when he was younger he was confused about why his "half brother" got to live with their father and he didn't. he learns that his elder brother has health problems and will likely never be any real competition for him as the heir as his mother assures him. so damian is not worried or threatened by him...but he is curious. all the photos he is shown features his elder brother as an infant or toddler, a few as a young teenager. but the photos are never clear or crisp. his mother mumbles something about his father being overly cautious. damian grows up with some vague figure beside him, one that never has a face. a brother. he has a brother. when he arrives in gotham and makes acquaintance to his father he demands access to his brother.

his father is the angriest he's ever been at the demand and damian is told in no uncertain terms that the answer to that is 'no'.

damian, jason, and dick are all similarly denied access to tim. denied the oppertunity to know, to befriend, even to see. they know bruce goes to see him. every day after dinner he'll get up and set down the path to their sibling's cottage and they won't see him again until it's time to patrol. he never says it but they all know he's going to see tim.

each day the urge to follow regardless of what bruce says and wants grows stronger and stronger.

for bruce. he hadn't planned tim. he hadn't wanted tim.

bruce only learned about tim when jack drake had sent him broken pieces of a nursery and a crisp note about how 'they' were his problem now. turns out the woman he'd spent a night with following a charity gala was married. and she'd gotten pregnant from their encounter. it seemed she'd been planning to pass the child off as her husband's until they got into an argument in her third trimester and she admitted that the baby likely wasn't even his.

as a result, her husband tore down the nursery he'd proudly built and bought and crafted and had the pieces sent to bruce's home because he was filing for divorce.

bruce had needed to take a seat when he heard that a woman he didn't know was carrying his child. attempts to get into contact with her were easy. apparently after being "kicked out" by her husband janet drake was residing in one of her apartments and was intently focused on one thing- making sure she got everything she could in the divorce. she didn't seem to notice or care that she was pregnant, drinking wine and openly smoking much to bruce's great concern. janet is more fixated on herself even while bruce tries talking about the child and testing paternity which she refuses because her lawyer advised her that cheating spouses don't get looked on favorably in conservative courts like gotham- especially the women.

janet basically hands bruce tim when he's born and tells him to do whatever he wants with it.

bruce isn't...happy. to learn he's a father. he wasn't aiming to be one, he didn't want to be responsible for a child, and alfred was trying to teach him a lesson in responsibility by not helping because 'how reckless could you be sir? consider yourself lucky this is the only time you know of that this has happened-'

being a father to tim is miserable and bruce just feels resentment for this tiny crying child who limits his patrols, who starts forcing him to make alternative decisions, and who is making PR work overtime to explain a sudden baby. janet has threatened to sue him if he tells the media she's the mother and that's just another thing bruce doesn't want to deal with so he keeps his mouth shut.

bruce loses sleep because of tim's constant crying and coughing. nothing bruce does calms him down and the sleepless nights make it harder for bruce to form any kind of affection or bond with tim. all bruce feels is resentment and hopelessness because this wasn't what he'd planned. tim was an inconvenience. an unwanted bump in the road.

that's what bruce thought.

and then one day tim stopped breathing.

bruce had been trying to work while tim whimpered in a nearby bassinet, making thick sniffling sounds and raspy cries that grated on bruce's ears. he wasn't as loud as usual which was a relief but he'd refused to eat which frustrated bruce because he'd needed to throw out perfectly good formula that sat out too long because tim didn't want to eat. dozens of children in gotham went to bed hungry and here was tim, too stubborn to take his warmed and carefully prepared bottle.

at first bruce doesn't notice the quieting sounds from the corner of the room. but then its quiet. dead quiet. ever since tim arrived it's never been quiet because tim fussed even while asleep.

something in bruce just feels...off. there's a heaviness in his gut as his eyes drift towards the bassinet. he's not sure what pushes him to check but bruce slowly approaches tim, the heavy thing in his chest growing with dread as he looked inside, expecting to see a sleeping baby.

instead he's met with a blue faced infant that wasn't moving and had white vomit creeping out of the corner of his mouth.

the dread in his chest falls all the way to his feet and bruce swears that his heart stops.

"clark!"

sound barriers break and bruce is certain that if he'd tried getting to a car, even the batmobile, that it would've been too late. he lived 15 minutes from the nearest hospital. he wouldn't have made it. even at top speed

bruce tries not to think about. he tries so hard not to think about what would have happened to tim if clark had been off planet, if he couldn't get to them, if he just hadn't been there to take bruce and tim to the hospital.

bruce is a skilled medic. so is alfred. but neither of them have the training to help babies- not like the emergency doctors at the pediatric hospital bruce stumbles into, breathing hard and panicking as he tries to force out the gut wrenching words of "he's not breathing".

his baby is ripped from his hands, nurses try to push him back while one and then two doctors swarm around a little body. there's a blue baby blanket clutched in a white knuckle grip and it takes clark, who follows him inside, to bring bruce over to some chairs. he says nothing about bruce's trembling as he anxiously squeezes the blanket in his hands that's still warm from his little son's body.

bruce is not a religious man. despite all he has gone through and experienced. but as he sat in that chair in the waiting room of a little run down emergency room of the local pediatric hospital- he begged whatever higher powers were out there to let tim pull through.

he wasn't a good father. he knew that. he resented tim, blamed him, made him pay for being alive even when it wasn't his fault. but bruce would never do it again if they let tim live. he would care for him, love him, do right by him- he'd never breathe a bad word or do anything to hurt tim ever again. so please let his baby live.

they lead clark and bruce over to a private room after what feels like hours. clark has a steadying hand on bruce's arm the entire time because bruce can't stop the tremors racing through his body.

they're greeted by a stern-faced pediatrician who asks if bruce was aware his son had isolated congenital asplenia.

bruce says no. he didn't. and bruce can see the flicker of judgement on the doctor's face before it's wiped away just as quickly.

the expression hardens as the doctor cooly says that it's a very rare condition. about one case per 2 million babies born and that it comes with a host of risks such as increased susceptibility to illness. did bruce know that? did he know that his child had been sick? that he'd been pushing a fever of 101? did he know that mucus thick like slime had built up in his child's respiratory system? did he know that they'd needed to use a hose to suction it out because it had been making breathing difficult? did he know his child had painful gas buildup likely the result of not getting burped after being fed? did he know the red marks along where his diaper was were the early signs of diaper rash?

it's clear from the doctor's expression and tone that they think bruce is the worst father in this emergency room. hearing about his son's pain that he'd been neglecting makes bruce want to dig his own grave because he hadn't known- he'd...he'd....

clark grips him tighter, propping him up as bruce grows distressed and in a soft and quiet voice asks the doctor if he can see tim.

the doctor looks like they're biting their tongue but they lead bruce to another room where tim is has various tubes and monitors attached to him. he looks small. so much smaller than bruce thought possible.

he's not making a single noise and bruce's heart nearly stops again but its the monitors and their steady beeping that grounds him.

clark sits with him. he doesn't say anything and just keeps bruce company for hours. bruce will always be grateful for that.

a few days later bruce is allowed to take tim home. the hospital case worker does a home visit once tim is discharged and thankfully nothing happens as a result but that doesn't stop bruce's heartbeat from speeding up as an older, skinny man questions bruce and documents the state of his home. it's the record of this and the visit to the emergency room that one day stalls his case in adopting dick and jason.

the days after tim returns from the hospital are the most nerve wracking. every noise he makes has bruce jumping to his side. bruce spends every waking moment reading up on babies. how to hold them, dress them, how best to burp them, bathe them, feed them- everything he'd neglected to do before, he does now. he tries. he learns. he keeps his promise.

even years later if it means keeping tim at a distance from the rest of the family, even if it means his other children are unhappy with him- bruce never budges.

he knows parents aren't supposed to have favorites but...he can't help it. tim was his baby.

#asks #anonymous #answered asks

[not-poignant]

I'm a reader and from Western Australia. The description of the UTB facility always kinda reminded me of Woodman Point Recreational Camp. Like that kind of set up. More space between the cottages. Being close to the beach. But with Margaret River bushland...... if that makes sense.....lol

Hello fellow Western Australian! :D

I had to look up the Woodman Point Recreational Camp because I'd never heard of it and kind of cringed at how spartan and jail-like it looked. (I'm sure it's very different and a lot more fun to experience! But the photos aren't kind).

I actually imagine for example that Gary's cottage looks actually way more like this, just kind of without the white fencing around the verandah:

Literally like giant forest behind it, garden around it, kangaroos, and the grass is greener and better maintained and there's also just in general on the grounds, way, way more greenery to create a sense of things being screened off from each other.

There's a reason Efnisien's not mentioning all the other chalets on the property, and it's not just because they're very far apart (because many aren't, they all have to be reasonably reachable by staff).

The standalone chalets I imagine a bit more like this, but more modern, and a lot more glass / curtains to fully open the house (to air out pheromones). And while they're less likely to have forest behind them, there are just a lot of trees etc. and gardens and benches etc. on the property.

This is probably a better idea re: an aerial view:

(Though yeah as you say, more space between the cottages, and more grass. There's also a central cluster of buildings where Gary's office/s, the medical suite/s, caterers and all the professional/corporate meeting rooms are!)

It's more of a radial design. Some cottages are clustered closer together, some are duplexes, and some are quite far away due to the possessiveness of the omega (so Caleb and Lucien are very close to the beach and quite 'separate' so they're not likely to catch any pheromones from anyone else).

I'd say there is more grass, and more like...lush maintained gardens with a mix of native and exotic plants from the aerial view. Because it actually used to be a very kind of 5 star self-contained chalet experience, it's got botanical garden level of greenery around the place, that's very well-maintained by gardeners etc. on staff. It's not the kind of place where they get a lawnmower person out once every few weeks, they have full-time gardeners who come in every day and leave every day because there's just so much to do / maintain in the garden/s and on the grounds!

I hope that helps some! I mean it still might remind you of the Recreational Camp, the photos that came up for me in an image search were pretty bare.

#asks and answers #underline the rainbow #underline the black #'like this but not like this' #it's also in a fictionalised version of western australia #nowhere quite like hillview exists #it's like if the boranup forest was like 50 times the size #and ran down to the beach (well it kind of does) #and then had hillview inside it sdalfkdas #but was also a bit further away from Margs #and a bit closer to Hamelin Bay + Pemberton #thank you anon i ended up looking up so many photos because of this and now i want to #leave ellenbrook and travelllll saldfksjajdas #administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

[alifeasvivid]

Negotiations, Episode 18 of The Thief of Spades, Season 2 (T+)

>.> been over a year. Also episodes 16 and 17 appear to have disappeared from tumblr, but they are on AO3. I'll have to remedy this later.

Chapter Rating: T+ Warnings: None Summary: Alfred strikes a deal with Gem-A. Feliciano attacks Ludwig. Arthur and Kiku avoid the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Word Count: ~2800

Read here on AO3.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

It would have been more fun if she had locked him in some dark interrogation room with a cold metal table, a two-way mirror and only one lamp hanging from the ceiling, Alfred thinks. Instead, he sits in Lucille Bonnet’s office which is well-lit and tastefully decorated with lush reds and warm caramel browns. He had insisted on holding onto the spinel even when a pair of her employees (more like henchmen as far as Alfred is concerned) came and abducted him.

They are standing outside the door.

“Alfred,” she says with a careful smile, “Or do you prefer Mr. ‘Of Spades’?”

“Ha. Alfred’s fine,” he says.

Lucille nods. “Bien.” She perches herself primly in her office chair with the elegant comportment of someone much older than herself. “Now then, you might think you’re only here because of the red spinel in your possession, but—”

“Actually I don’t think that at all,” Alfred interrupts out of nerves more than any intention to be rude. If he can actually pull this off, it will change everything. “I think I’m here because you want to know how I know the real story of it. You probably also want to know how I got ahold of the California Bubbly morganite and why I gave it back instead of fencing it.”

Lucille’s excessively cordial demeanor fades into a more focused, business-like air. “That is quite clever of you, hm? To the point then. I would like to know all of those things, Mr. Jones and I can assure you that you would very much like to tell me.”

Alfred nods. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I’ll just level with you, Miss Bonnet,” he says, placing the spinel on the fancy leather blotter on her desk. “I’ve deciphered the code that’s used by the more powerful and high ranking members of the Gem-A since the beginning. I’m sure you know that means I can access any of the most confidential records of your organization at any time. I’m sure you also know what kind of information those records frequently contain.”

In an effort to seem unaffected by Alfred’s statement, Lucille first pulls out a white cotton glove and examines the spinel with her loupe; once she is satisfied that it is the correct stone, she removes the glove and folds her hands on her desk. “And how, exactly, did you do that?”

Alfred meets her serious gaze with his own to match. “I found a cipher. In the library of a manor formerly owned by one of Gem-A’s previous directors. I can find anything and everything now, as I’ve demonstrated by discovering one of your current directors’ mistresses and by knowing that it was a member of the Gem-A who stole and concealed the Blood Oath Ruby.”

Lucille waves one of her hands gracefully and dismissively. “So you found an old journal and decided you had also found a conspiracy, is that it?”

“Something like that,” Alfred says flatly.

“Well, we’re constantly in the process of digitizing all of our old records anyway, so who’s to say that we will even need this code for much longer?”

Alfred smirks. “You and I both know that the only way to keep anything hidden these days is to keep it off of a computer. Besides, I know that many of the most confidential and damning records pre-date the organization. Some of the ones I’ve seen are over three hundred years old and plenty could be older. I found that journal tucked in between some encyclopedias in a massive, old library on someone’s private property. There are tons of records stored the exact same way.”

Lucille’s eyes widen only briefly before her expression becomes placid again.

Alfred leans forward. “Somebody could do a lot of damage while you’re trying to put everything out there for any hacker to find. Somebody might even get a damn good offer for that information from the GIA.”

Lucille lifts her chin and glares at him. “Point taken. So what is it you want?”

“I want out.”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t want to be the Thief of Spades anymore. I want out.”

“So stop stealing things,” Lucille says simply.

Alfred shakes his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that. The Thief of Spades has a reputation. I can’t just suddenly drop off the grid, the CIA, Interpol, they’ll leave the case open. Not to mention I haven’t exactly made a ton of friends in underworld, right? If I just disappear, they’ll always be looking for me. I have to go out with a bang. One last job.”

Lucille raises her eyebrow. “And what do you think that we can do for you?”

“Le coeur de filou.”

“And I suppose you are blackmailing us into letting you steal it?”

Alfred shakes his head. He pulls a small usb drive from his pocket and slides it over to her. “No, I want it legitimately. I want to buy it from you and then I want you to let the Thief of Spades steal it. At the upcoming gala for it.” 

“And you have legitimate money for this?”

Alfred nods. “Yes, it’s all on that flash drive. I own a building. A huge, luxury residential building here in London. The current market value is worth more than the alexandrite, let alone the revenue from leasing. It’s under a clean identity, not mine.”

“Who then?”

“Charles Foster. He was my grandfather. All the information you need is on that stick. It’s all above board, I swear.”

Lucille nods and then looks at the usb drive held by her delicate fingers and then up at Alfred. “Indeed, you do seem quite sincere. Yet I find myself having difficulty believing you. You know our code. You know that you have this entire organization at your fingertips now. Why is it you want so little? If we do this for you, how can we be assured that you won’t decide you don’t want ‘out’ as you say and use that information against us?”

“I do want out,” he says emphatically. “I want it more than anything. I want a normal life.”

Despite everything, Lucille a romantic at heart and grins slyly now as the realization dawns on her: Inspector Kirkland. “In only a few short years, the Thief of Spades has become an internationally-known jewel thief who lives for nothing but the best, who goes to parties and rubs elbows with some of the wealthiest, most powerful people in Europe and gets away with whatever he likes. What is a normal life compared to that?”

“It’s everything,” Alfred says. “I don’t want anything to do with your organization. I have enough money to last me three lifetimes. The one thing the Thief of Spades can never have is a family, a… a home. I have people I love now,” he says quietly. “I want to be with them and I want to make beautiful things instead of stealing them. Look, if you ever see me messing with you guys, you have my permission to just take me out right then and there.”

Lucille smiles softly. “It is alright, I’m convinced. For our sake and yours, I am very pleased for you. Let me go over this information and if the property is worth as much as you say and can be purchased legitimately from ‘Mr. Foster’ then we have a deal.”

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

“What’s that damn look on your face?” Romano demands, poking his twin in the chest. It dawns on him what Feliciano is probably intending to do given that Ludwig is still in sight out the window of their cafe. “Feli, if you go after him, you’re dead to me.”

Feliciano can’t even find enough thoughts that aren’t about Ludwig kissing him to roll his eyes at Romano’s ridiculous statement. The chaste sweetness of the kiss makes it all the more romantic and precious in Feliciano’s mind. After so long seeing Ludwig stern and seemingly detached, such an expression of affection must mean that he has strong feelings for Feliciano after all.

In this state of joy, he tears off his apron and dashes out the door. He cannot let this moment slip away or he fears he will lose Ludwig forever. 

“Ludwig!” he cries out. He beams with all the love he feels when Ludwig turns around, placing his phone in his pocket.

Ludwig is so surprised by Feliciano calling out his name, so surprised by the sweet expression on his face and even more surprised when Feliciano runs toward him, jumps into his arms and kisses him all over his face. Ludwig holds him tight, forgetting that anything in the world exists but the two of them in this moment, forgetting his work and his oaths and all of it. He kisses Feli softly on his lips, lets it linger as he sets him down. 

Feliciano places his hands on Ludwig’s cheeks and looks into his eyes, once such an icy blue in his mind, they now seem a precious silver. “Ti amo. Ti amo I have love you for so long” he says. “So long and I thought… I thought you…”

“I know,” Ludwig says, suddenly very aware that they are standing outside on a busy sidewalk. He lets Feliciano lead him back into the cafe, enamored of the way the he keeps kissing Ludwig’s hand and he can feel his cheeks growing very warm. He pays no mind to Romano fuming and neither does Feliciano. He feels truly happy for the first time in such a very long time. Distantly, he thinks, surely Arthur Kirkland would understand.

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

Arthur has been allowed to go back to New Scotland Yard and resume working on normal cases, with the Agents calling him in only a few times a week. Arthur takes this to mean that they are easing off of the Thief of Spades case, which would really be splendid since Arthur is almost certain that Alfred might actually intend to quit his life as a thief. There might finally be a light at the end of the tunnel.

For this reason, he is initially rather pleased when he receives a call from Honda. 

“Mr. Honda, ah,” he’s never sure how to greet the man. “It’s… good to hear from you.”

Kiku stays silent on the phone for just a moment too long. “Good evening, Inspector.”

His curt tone sets Arthur immediately on edge. “Ah, if you’re calling for any updates on Alfred, I think you’ll be pleased to know that I think I might be close to convincing him to give up his criminal life altogether.”

Kiku remains quiet for another very long moment. His affection for Alfred and his admiration of Inspector Kirkland are regrettably far outweighed by his need to protect his own interests at this point. “I had hoped it would be so, Inspector.” He sighs. “But I believe your view of the situation might be clouded. According to my knowledge, Alfred is in contact with the Gem-A, which is sure to put him in great danger—both from them and from Costa and Clark. To complicate matters further, he has not contacted me in far too long; I have learnt all of this information secondhand. You may have noticed by now that… perhaps, Alfred is not always the most adept at gauging the level of risk he is undertaking.”

Arthur frowns, wondering what Alfred could be doing directly contacting Gem-A, but presses on. “Yes, I had noticed that,” he says. “He’s got a bit of a blindspot when it comes to assessing threat levels as they pertain to himself. He bites off more than I think he can chew, but, Mr. Honda…” he blushes and thanks the heavens that Honda can’t see him. “I’ve grown… a lot closer to Alfred. I doubt I need to elaborate further than that given the many eyes and ears you have everywhere,” he pauses to let the polite accusation sink in. “I really do think that… I can convince him to leave the Thief of Spades behind.”

On some level, Kiku genuinely believes that Arthur is right. The detective is very persuasive with his strong conviction and staid charisma. His competence and pragmatic nature have impressed Kiku from the first moment he learned of him and he would be very glad to have someone like Arthur working for him, but things have already gone too far. Alfred is apparently determined to be far more reckless than Kiku had ever anticipated. “Inspector, I know that you speak the truth as far as you know it. But I have known Alfred longer than you have. There is nothing that can compel him to give up the life he has. He has always spoken at length about freedom and doing as he pleases with little regard for anyone else and that is what is most important to him.”

Arthur’s brow furrows more. “With all due respect, Mr. Honda, I do not believe that Alfred is currently as free as he thinks he is. I think he is starting to see that. I know that I—” he breathes deeply and exhales the words he has been trying in vain to say to Alfred, “Perhaps I cannot offer him complete freedom. I am not wealthy or well-connected. I’m an ordinary man with an ordinary life and an ordinary family, but I love him. Maybe he doesn’t need so much freedom anymore, maybe what he needs now is a home.”

Deep in Kiku Honda’s heart is a wistful romantic child that aches for Arthur’s words, but there’s too much on the line. Just as that dreamy-eyed child had to be smothered inside of himself, he must now perform the same cruel kindness on Arthur. “Your sincerity is admirable, Inspector. But you will never find such sincerity in dear Alfred. You are trying to steal a heart that isn’t there, trying to trap a thief with bait that holds no interest for him. What I admire most about Alfred is his ability to act with absolutely no regard for anything other than his own desires. To many people, this is not an admirable quality and I would not blame you if you were one of them.”

Arthur understands Honda’s indirect language quite easily: Alfred doesn’t love you and he will undoubtedly use your feelings to betray you. Fist clenching at his side, Arthur bites his tongue. It’s possible that not terribly long ago, Arthur would have believed him. If memories of Alfred’s smile, his touch, his body, his paint all over Arthur’s chest, in his own bed weren’t so easy to summon, Arthur would believe him, but now he knows he is right and it wouldn’t surprise him at all if some Japanese billionaire, quasi-legitimate businessman had ulterior motives. It would be more shocking if he didn’t, considering that his access to information is far greater than Arthur’s. 

“I see,” Arthur replies diplomatically, playing his cards close to the vest. “So what does all this mean, then?”

“It means I am in the process of organizing his extrication from London.”

“Give me a little more time,” Arthur demands, though in a steady tone.

The romantic in Kiku’s heart echoes Arthur’s plea. After another long moment, he says “Very well, Inspector. There are still aspects that are not yet completed and they will take some time to resolve. If you have truly convinced him to abandon the Thief of Spades, I will call it off.”

The call is disconnected after that.

“Fuck!” Arthur shouts in frustration, almost throwing his phone at the couch in the living room. Is Alfred insane? Truly. Arthur can think of no other explanation as to why he would do something so idiotic as to stop communicating with the one man who holds Alfred’s life and freedom in his hands, never mind getting involved with the Gem-A. Doesn’t he know that Honda wants to take him away? Does he even care?

Abigail appears in the room, somewhat alarmed. “What’s wrong, Artie?”

“That was Kiku Honda. He’s already in the process of executing a plan to remove Alfred from London, from Europe in general. He’ll follow through with it if I can’t convince Alfred to give up the Thief of Spades.”

“Well, weren’t you saying that you think he might do that?”

“Honda doesn’t seem to think there’s much chance.”

“What do you think?”

Arthur looks down at his phone. He still has no way of contacting Alfred, but he can contact Gil and Gil can contact Matthew. And with the clock ticking and not even a vague deadline given, maybe Arthur can finally say what he needs to say to Alfred. “I think Honda will need a good deal of luck because I’m the only one who has ever caught the Thief of Spades.”

#ukus #usuk fanfic #thief of spades au #likes are love #reblogs are life ^-^

[osovereign]

☯ + finding anna's grave

❛ ♚ send '☯ + a scene from my characters canon' to drabble out | status: accepting

you will lose someone you can’t live without, your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. but this is also the good news: for they live on forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. and you come through. you will one day be whole and will know love again.

upon arriving to the residence hidden away inside the lush woodlands of iselia’s forest, kratos had been informed that this was the home of lloyd, and his adopted father: dirk, a dwarf. during the walk to the house, raine had made it known to the mercenary what she could only assume would be transpiring once they reached the property ( safe from what genis had described from his and lloyd's adventure earlier that day ): still nothing could have prepared kratos ( any of them really ): for what the party witnessed taking place inside of the home. yelling between the red-clad teen and his father, even without any of the context to the conversation that could be going on inside based on the choice of words and tone, anyone could guess it was a lecture of such a strong disapproval at the actions of the one and only lloyd irving.

the trio stands outside in silence, kratos having inhuman hearing can hear everything going on inside the home as if he was apart of the discipline occurring. then, lloyd emerged from his home, taking notice of their presence and embarrassment filled his voice. ❝ oh let me guess, you heard all that just now? ❞ though the question came more as a statement, a fact the young man probably already knew the answer too but still enquired on anyways.

❝ i'm sorry because of me you--❞ genis began to say but was cut off by the reassuring words of his friend.

❝ its okay. it's not your fault. ❞

raine sighed before easing a change of subject, ❝ lloyd you should go speak to colette. we’ll wait here. ❞

❝ okay, professor ❞ and he moves. kratos watches the scene with the same monotone look as he’d done everything over the past four thousand years. he can hear the chosens voice, airy and bright when she speaks to the youth, but kratos did not miss the lingering bits of saddness, the speckles of regret lacing into her words.

❝ lloyd, let's go up to the terrace. ❞

after colette spoke her piece on the matter to lloyd; he wished a few more moments to collect his thoughts before talking with her. sometime later the trio goes on their separate ways, all agreeing to meet in the town square tomorrow to see colette off before she departs on her journey of regeneration. The same journey that kratos knew would end in the loss of her life and if a perfect match this time, the revival of martel, mithos yggdrasill’s sister and one of his most cherished friends from an era, from a world long bygone. kratos allows his mind to drift just a tad to the reality of his own making laid out before and he wonders, if even for a moment, could he and the others have made a different choice? one of less sacrifice, less bloodshed, and less of sending children to die ( a fate that he knew all too well: the thousand year kharlan war was one that had no quims of sending fresh faces to the slaughter, to their deaths ): it served to ground him in his resolve. to know that this was the only choice and it was a choice he would continue to drown in, die in.

however, the most changed in location was kratos. something felt so familiar yet unknown as well ( perhaps it was the sense of wariness from lloyd sharing the same name as his long deceased child ): the offspring he had failed to protect and keep safe from all harm years ago. kratos had been foolish to try and have a family, to strive for any bits and pieces of happiness in this damable world he had helped forge with his own two bloodstained hands. for kratos was nothing more than a demon encased with human flesh. any and all humane qualities he possessed went to the wind when martel passed on those four thousand years and he’d first agreed to assist mithos in his mission of bringing her back. kratos was long past redemption.

pacing around the merger yard, just aimless walking with not a destination in mind ( not a clue to were he was going for ): it was as if his very spirit was searching for something he’d long lost. it was then that the angel had saw it. copper hues caught sight of it. a lone grave a ways from the home yet still able to be seen if one was looking for it. a otherworldly force seemingly pulled him towards the resting place of whoever lay beneath the carefully tended too mounds of tablet, gravel, and earth. however, something inside him had broke, a piece of him that had shattered years ago, that kratos was not even sure could be hurt anymore. The name engraved into the headstone made the breath catch in his throat. that name and no matter how much common sense would try to deny it ( just how many people could exist in the same place with the title of 'anna irving'? ): kratos’ world seemed to regain and lose its color all over again, a rush of emotions and the only thing that kept him from falling over was sheer willpower and the mission he was meant to carry out. in this moment, for the first time in sixteen years he seemed to be so very human, so very broken ( everything fell into a place of despair / of total agony ).

kratos’ hands trembled like that of an unsteady child and not that of a seasoned world worn warrior and if he could cry: the ancient hero of yore knew endless tears would be running hot down his face. this was not how he was supposed to meet his beloved again. fingers ran across the headstone with unease, in total unrefined mannerism. this also meant something else to the once praised kharlan hero and it was too much to bare, seemingly ran cold at the realization: their son was alive, he’d seen him, spoken with him, battled with him: healed him.

praise be ! praise be ! praise be ! kratos’ mind rung out but not at all to martel, no, she was merely a false goddess fabricated as a means to an end. his throat was raw from screaming prayer and palsm to any of the gods of yesteryear, from the old truths of aselia and his mouth dry from hymns that had never parted his lips. Kratos was hungry for everything of this grave, as a man who’d been without water he drunk in every detail ( as an addition / as a need like air ): scattered petals lay on of the earth of the following flora: carnations ( i miss you ), white roses ( remembrance ), white lilies ( farewell ), orchids ( i will always love you ), and the last flower had sent another shock through his body, for it had been anna’s favorite when she still walked this world hand in hand with him--heliotrope, meaning: eternally loved

it was like he’d been apart of the creation of her final resting place ( a place eternally free of fear, pain, guilt, and shame ): having taken a knee he spoke endless sweet nothings, words that before now he was never sure could reach his deceased wife. a mountain of apologizes ( of atonement / of forgiveness ): spilled from his soul quickly as if breathing, the angel was in his own world having found this area to dig out memories ( that while never laid to rest ): he would try not to keep so forward in his heart, in his mind, in his soul. the notion was illogical but with so much emotion, so much regret hitting him as waves met the sands on a beach. the pieces where finding their matches in his mind and with it--the complete story to the ‘what ifs’ he had lived with for nearly two decades.

for starters, the house that his child and his adopted where currently in hadn't stood then, kratos could recall everything in vivid detail as if it only happened mere hours prior ( a bane and a boon for someone with as many sins, with as many mistakes as him ): his angelic and ancient wisdom could only assume it had been built sometime after the…incident. no, there was no trying to make things better for himself as he spoke to anna softly. this place has been the place where she had lost herself ( becoming like her husband in losing humanity ): the place as an exbelua went to attack her own baby, their child and kratos had no choice. he had no choice and yet it did not make acknowledging it any easier: he had ended her life. he had killed anna.

logically, he knew kvar was the cause to the terrible effect, the reasoning behind the why. but not of that mattered to kratos. with his own two hands he had brought ruin to those precious to him, dearest, his family. Just what kind of father was he? what type of supposed protector and guardian causes the people he loves their damnation ( a tragedy that had occured not once but twice ): a scene that so fresh in his mind ( no amount of passing time could erase it from flesh or spiritual inscription ): the tapping of feet were approaching and kratos had so much ease with hiding emotions, even in a state full of distraught such as this. kratos was experiencing a whole new type of death on the inside but it would never reflect in his features, wouldn’t even show behind his eyes to those who hadn’t known him for aeons. a pairs of eyes met the same color as his own. lloyd ( all flesh flesh and real ): came before him, alive. the seraphim's tenderest dreams he had never allowed such a hope, such a silent prayer.

❝ who's gravestone is this? ❞ it was a foolish inquiry, kratos already knew the answer.

❝ ah, you heard, right? its my moms. ❞

the angel turned away from the physical reminder that his love no longer drew breath, speaking once more. voice held not even a stutter or signs of hesitation, though if only lloyd could see into the pure anguish, remorse, happiness, and terrors that crept behind his eyes, all of kratos’ feelings would be reflected like images onto crystal clear waters.

❝ anna. hmm. is your father still alive? ❞ her name rolls off his tongue as a home long burned down or lost ( did he even have the right to speak it anymore? ): his question sacrilege against the crisp air of night. the right hand to heaven wanted to cry, wanted to scream but the ability had long been taken from him, like everything. he was not that deserved forgiveness, could never dare request it.

your father's before you ( living and breathing and alive ) lloyd i'm so glad you're alive.

❝ i don't know my biological father, but dirk is my dad. ❞

nature v.s nurture a tale as old as time itself. the pair destined to always do battle on whom was more truth, more right. however, even if lloyd did not realize that his very nature was standing right before his eyes and kratos could never say it. just this would be enough, kratos would make it enough. what he was, all that the inhuman man had done was as countless as the stars that covered the night sky. if he was to know even a mere glimmer of happiness, it would be as this soul wrenching half. even kratos knew that he was someone not to be proud of, no man to idealize: forgive less.

❝ yes. that was a careless thing to ask. I am sorry. ❞

but it hurt. gods it fucking hurt more than anything. more than when kratos had taken aionis ( to gain usage of magics ), more than when he’d watch the life leave martel’s eyes, and more than when kratos had originally drove his sword into anna’s chest. when lloyd had walked away, the member of cruxis watched as his son’s gaze lingered on the sight of his mother’s grave and the angel was unsure if he would ever recover from the look of utter sadness in his son’s eyes. thus, kratos was left to stand beside the grave of anna, his anna alone once again. but it was with this that a sudden resounding resolve kicked into him. was it not the duty of a parent to curate a better world than they’d been born into for their children? was it not nature’s obligation to do all in their power to ensure safety? to not be the cause of distress?

yet, these revelations simply served as the first sign of many from whatever higher deity may still exist in the true heavens above. the tears kratos could not shed serving as a waterless baptism upon his intentions, upon his actions: a gifting of a good fortune for things to come and kratos wasn't going to make the same mistakes again. even if the result ended with his own child hating him, spiting him, damning him. the path laid out before him was clear. he’d just have to play the part of perfect double agent and when all was said: leave the fate of aselia to lloyd.

serving to give kratos the right to die and to take his place with his beloved again.

#angelusproject #iirvings #( tagging yOU bOTH FOR REASONSSSS ) #❛ ♚ from his tongue spills fables long thought lost ╼ ⟨ meme response ⟩ #❛ ♚ bow before the throne and speak your desire. ╼ ⟨ prayer ⟩

[thenihilityemperor]

Village Name: Whispering Willowbank

Location: Whispering Willowbank is nestled within the picturesque valley of Ravenclaw Ridge, in the southwestern part of the magical world. The village is surrounded by a forest of ancient willows that seem to whisper tales of lore and mystery whenever the wind blows through their leaves. The village is accessible through a hidden passage within a hollow tree, visible only to those witches and wizards who know of its existence.

History: Founded in the 14th century by a group of wizarding naturalists who sought to protect and preserve the local flora and fauna, Whispering Willowbank has developed into a thriving sustainable community in close harmony with nature. Home to many magical creatures, it has been known to be a sanctuary for once-endangered species, such as the moonlit reindeer and the spellbinding fairy wombat.

Layout: The village consists of charming cobblestone lanes and quaint, ivy-covered cottages woven between the roots and branches of the great willow trees. The heart of Whispering Willowbank is the magical square, called Wingleaf Commons, which is surrounded by lush gardens, bubbling fountains, and a large, luminous willow, casting enchanted shadows on the village.

Key Locations:

1. Willowy Wand Emporium: Aspiring witches and wizards can find the perfect wand by visiting the Willowy Wand Emporium. Crafted from ancient willow branches, each wand possesses its unique magical properties, empowering its wielder with the wisdom and power of the whispering willows.

2. Parchment and Potion: This cozy bookstore and apothecary offer an extensive collection of magical scrolls and texts, as well as potions and herbal remedies made from the plants and fungi found in the surrounding forest.

3. The Dancing Broomstick Inn: Serving up delicious enchanted cuisine and frothy brews, The Dancing Broomstick Inn offers visitors cozy accommodations, lively conversation, and magically infused entertainment that includes self-playing instruments and enchanted artworks that come to life.

4. Shadowtail Market: Here, vendors sell a variety of magical trinkets, enchanted fabrics, and artisan-crafted jewelry made from the native gemstones found in the nearby mines. Visitors are drawn to this bustling market by the whimsical tunes of the laughing lark.

Whispering Willowbank embodies a rich history and tradition of magical conservation, where magical and mundane elements merge to create a village living harmoniously within the breathtaking embrace of an enchanted forest.

(Image taken from the following artist on pinterest :

)

#wizarding schools #second wizarding war #writer things #hermione granger #wattpad #wizarding society

[notwiselybuttoowell]

…According to moral standards of the Enlightenment, the sophistication of one’s own education and manners should be reflected in the refinement of material possessions. Maintaining a smooth and lush lawn therefore signalled virtue, since it affirmed the essential role that discipline plays in the mastering of life itself.

Beneath the lawn lies a stratification of intricate ideological and ecological problems that over time have become naturalised. In practice, a lawn is hard to maintain. It is perennially thirsty. Fertilisers and weedkillers pollute and poison. Mowers and blowers are costly, noisy and damaging to the environment. And, crucially, lawns are the grave of biodiversity. Wildlife has little to feed on and nowhere to hide.

As climate change provides dramatic proof of our unsustainable relationship with nature, artificial turf has become a popular alternative to grass in countries that now routinely experience severe droughts. However, laying green plastic carpets made of recycled car tires over already compromised ecosystems is far from the kind of solution we need. It is becoming apparent that the lawn is a manifestation of our deep disconnect with nature: the materialisation of our lack of understanding, or care, for the complex relationships woven across plants, soil and our cultural histories.

Just as during the Enlightenment art instilled our love affair with the lawn, today’s artists are determined to untangle the complex aesthetic, ideological and ecological knots that keep our passion for mown grass alive despite mounting evidence that we’d be better off without it.

Martin Roth’s installations of Persian carpets sown with grass seeds question our desire to control nature on the grounds of our cultural conceptions and, ultimately, to disregard the natural ebbs and flows that characterise organic life. In different but related ways, Amsterdam-based artist Diana Scherer grows grass roots into patterned moulds to challenge the nature/culture dichotomy. “What does the term “natural” mean in the Anthropocene?” the artist asks through her installations and photographs. Scherer’s work reveals grasses as complex organisms whose networked existence is defined by time and space in ways that often remain invisible to us.

Pointing to ecological sustainability, in 1997 Lois Weinbergerplanted a meadow of plants that grew freely among disused train tracks in Kassel, Germany. Almost two decades later, Australian artist Linda Tegg grew a meadow of native grasses and other indigenous plants outside the State Library Victoria in Melbourne. Her project attracted wildlife to an otherwise sterile, paved urban area and envisioned a landscape in which ecological and cultural balance are two sides of the same coin.

Artists are also inviting us to rethink our relationship with the lawn from the ground up by prioritising biology over aesthetics. In Revival Field Mel Chin filled a swath of land with grasses and other plants to test their ability to absorb pollutants from soil compromised by industrial activities. In a similar vein, Frances Whitehead’s Slow Cleanup project, which ran between 2008 and 2012 in Chicago, enlisted the help of plants to regenerate the polluted soil around abandoned gas stations. Petroleum and other pollutants can be absorbed by soil microbes attracted to phenols and sugars exuded by the roots of some plants. Rather than simply providing recreational spaces, Whitehead’s new urban gardens actively engaged communities to learn about plants and ecology.

Whether addressing the implicit meaning of lawn aesthetics, foregrounding the complexity of plant life, inviting us to reconsider the importance of biodiversity in our gardens, or educating us about the regenerative properties of plants, artists (often in collaboration with scientists) have sparked our curiosity and, most importantly, demonstrated that our responsibility to care for our gardens extends beyond the wellbeing of our families. The pollinators, the water, the soil, the air, and the invisible networks of fungi and bacteria that support life on this planet matter now more than ever. No garden is too small to make a difference; it’s never too late to rewild.

Thumbnail image of Linda Tegg's Grasslands, more artists are discussed in the link.

#excerpts #rewinding #gardens #didactic art #modern art #art installations #biodiversity #anti lawn #lawns #art #environment

[infjtarot]

Queen of Pentacles. Weiser Waite Smith Tarot

She wears a red robe and golden crown and holds a single gold pentacle. Her throne bears carvings of a ram, for power and leadership, and a cherub angel behind her, watching over the queen. The land around her is abundant and lush. Roses adorn her from above. A rabbit darts across the foreground, a symbol of luck, abundance, and harmony. She wears a red robe and golden crown and holds a single gold pentacle. Her throne bears carvings of a ram, for power and leadership, and a cherub angel behind her, watching over the queen. The land around her is abundant and lush. Roses adorn her from above. A rabbit darts across the foreground, a symbol of luck, abundance, and harmony. The Queen of Pentacles is a resourceful and intelligent woman. She is creative in business ventures, rich and charitable. She is great at generating prosperity. The Queen would make a great entrepreneur. She has a lot of material possessions or is very interested in material possessions. She also has a great deal of pride in her beauty, wealth, fortune, materials, friends, network, etc. Yet she wields a strong sense of duty and responsibility.

Like the Page of Pentacles, the Queen of Pentacles is also stylish, with great aesthetic taste. There may be a tendency to be vain or materialistic. She also has a tendency to submerge her emotions and not express them to others until the point they bottleneck. That said, she is very attuned to and considerate of others. Figuratively, the Queen of Pentacles could indicate strong, effective nurturing of the Seeker’s wealth, finances, or property. From French playing card tradition, the Queen of Pentacles is said to correspond with the biblical character Rachel, the wife of Jacob and mother to Joseph, and thus, in tarot, the card could call to mind the traits historically associated with her: physically she is someone shapely and beautiful.

Earth-dominant, the Queen of Pentacles is resourceful, utilitarian, and has more common sense than the courts of the other three suits. Could signify Capricorn, Taurus, or Virgo. Bnebel Wen

#queen of pentacles #pentacles #tarot #court cards #weser waite smith tarot #benebel wen

[biteofcherry]

Can you give a snippet for Touch the Darkness part 6 🥺

Since I'm celebrating starting my vacay, I'm feeling generous and can spare you a crumb 😂

below the cut for spoilers

Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x reader

warnings: none for what's below; forced relationship; power imbalance; Steve being his usual dark menace, but in a hella seductive and charming way

You said your vows in the wide garden surrounding Steve’s property, under an arch of lush peonies and vines. You were sure it’s only thanks to two glasses of Prosecco and Steve’s hand holding yours a tad too tightly, that you recited your promise to him without a hitch. 

With how smooth and soft Steve’s voice was, how he held your gaze captive, you’d think he was expressing true, deep feelings when he said his vows. 

True was his possessiveness. 

Steve displayed it first in the way he kissed you - draping you over his arm, like in old Hollywood movies, and branding your lips with a breathstealing, passionate kiss. Unable to resist, your arm sneaked around his neck, fingers splaying on the back of his head, while your other hand gripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket. 

Then with keeping you occupied each dance, allowing only your father to lead you through two songs. 

To your further annoyance, Steve turned out to be a really good dancer. Or maybe he was simply good at holding you and controlling your body as he guided you across the wooden planks built into a dance floor especially for this occasion. 

“You look beautiful, Princess.” 

There was no breathtaking awe in Steve’s voice, like you used to imagine your true love would say those words one day. But it was no coy game, either. Steve meant them, it was an honest compliment. 

It was also his pride in owning you. 

“I’m already your wife, all is signed. No need for bullshit,” you stared over Steve’s shoulder, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze and see what desires may shine in the ice cold blue irises. 

He twirled you suddenly, then pulled you back to him. Kept you pressed against him tighter as he brushed his lips along your cheek. 

“I’d think by now you know I don’t really bullshit anyone,” he whispered into your ear. “I do find you stunning. And I’ll repeat those words later, when I have you naked in our bedroom.”

#touch the darkness #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine

[kalsarppuja]

Kalsarp Puja at Trimbakeshwar: Unraveling the Mystical Remedies and Spiritual Awakening

In the realm of astrology and Vedic traditions, the Kalsarp Dosha is regarded as a potent astrological affliction that can bring challenges and obstacles into one's life. However, there is a sacred haven in Trimbakeshwar, India, where the transformative Kalsarp Puja is performed, offering solace and liberation from the malefic effects of this dosha. In this article, we delve into the mystical remedies and spiritual awakening associated with the Kalsarp Puja at Trimbakeshwar.

Nestled in the lap of the majestic Sahyadri mountain range, Trimbakeshwar is a town of great spiritual significance. It is home to the revered Trimbakeshwar Temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva. The temple is renowned for its connection to the Kalsarp Dosha and has become a pilgrimage site for those seeking relief from its influence. Devotees from all walks of life travel to Trimbakeshwar to partake in the sacred Kalsarp Puja, believing it to be a powerful means to neutralize the dosha's malefic effects.

The Kalsarp Dosha occurs in a person's birth chart when all the planets are positioned between the malefic Rahu and Ketu. It is associated with various challenges such as financial difficulties, health issues, relationship problems, and career obstacles. To address these issues, the Kalsarp Puja is performed under the guidance of knowledgeable priests and spiritual experts.

The puja commences with a ritualistic bath in the holy Godavari River, believed to possess purifying properties. It is followed by a visit to the Trimbakeshwar Temple, where devotees offer prayers and seek blessings from Lord Shiva. The priests then conduct the elaborate Kalsarp Puja, involving intricate rituals, recitation of powerful mantras, and offerings to the deities.

The chanting of sacred mantras during the puja resonates with the devotees' inner being, creating a harmonious connection between the divine and the mortal. It is believed that the vibrations generated through these mantras and rituals help appease the celestial forces and alleviate the adverse effects of the Kalsarp Dosha. The puja acts as a catalyst for spiritual growth and inner transformation, paving the way for a more balanced and fulfilling life.

Beyond the rituals, the spiritual awakening experienced during the Kalsarp Puja Trimbakeshwar is profound. The serene ambiance of the temple, surrounded by lush greenery and the mystical aura of the Sahyadri mountains, instills a sense of peace and tranquility in the devotees' hearts. As they engage in the puja with utmost devotion and surrender, they are encouraged to reflect upon their lives, release negative energies, and embrace positive changes.

The Kalsarp Puja also serves as a reminder of the impermanence of life and the power of divine intervention. It instills faith and hope in the hearts of the devotees, reminding them that through sincere devotion and spiritual practices, they can overcome any obstacles and achieve their goals.

Trimbakeshwar, with its historical and mythological significance, offers a unique setting for this transformative experience. The town's rich heritage and cultural vibrance add to the overall ambiance, making it an ideal destination for seekers of spiritual solace and enlightenment.

In conclusion, the Kalsarp Puja Trimbakeshwar is a profound spiritual journey that holds the promise of liberation from the malefic effects of the Kalsarp Dosha. Through the rituals, mantras, and offerings, devotees can embark on a path of self-discovery and transformation.

visit :  https://www.kalsarppuja.co.in/kalsarp-dosh-nivaran.php

Contact  : [phone]

Source link -   https://techplanet.today/post/harmonize-your-destiny-embrace-the-kalsarp-puja-journey-at-trimbakeshwar

#KalsarpPujaTrimbakeshwar

[mystictidalwavestarlight]

14 Savvy Ways to Spend Leftover rumex fragrances Budget

Introduction:

Fragrances Have got a remarkable capability to captivate our senses and transport us to different realms. They hold the power to evoke Recollections, stir thoughts, and leave an indelible impact. In this article, we embark on the sensory journey by an in depth array of captivating scents, Just about every with its individual story to inform and allure to supply.

Exploring the Fragrance Classes:

Fragrances might be classified into several olfactory households, Each and every with its unique traits and compositions. From your aromatic attract of Aromatic fragrances towards the timeless class of Chypre, plus the refreshing zest of Citrus to the sophistication of Leather, we face a various variety of scent classes that cater to each preference and elegance.

Designer vs. Area of interest Fragrances:

Designer fragrances, crafted by renowned style properties, can be a testomony to luxurious and sophistication. Fragrances like Chanel's Coco Mademoiselle and Dolce & Gabbana Velvet Desert Oud embody the spirit of their respective makes, providing a combination of excellent, fashion, and elegance. Alternatively, niche fragrances, including Xerjoff Erba Pura and Parfums de Marly Layton, embrace artistic independence and innovation, desirable to fragrance connoisseurs looking for exclusive and special scents.

The Journey of Senses:

Our olfactory journey normally takes us by way of an exquisite tapestry of notes and accords. Through the intoxicating embrace of Roja Parfums Elysium and the woody attract of Oud Satin Temper, to the colourful floral symphony of Flowerbomb and also the seductive attraction of Tom Ford Black Orchid, we come across scents that enchant, enthrall, and leave a long-lasting effects.

Rediscovering Classics:

Classics never ever go out of favor, and fragrances like Chanel No. five, Dior Sauvage, and Guerlain Shalimar continue on to captivate generations with their enduring appeal. These legendary scents have stood the check of your time, embodying sophistication and elegance that transcends tendencies and fads.

Unleashing the Power of Mother nature:

Character's bounty gives a wealth of inspiration for perfumers. Fragrances like Hermes Un Jardin sur le Nil and Jo Malone Wild Bluebell seize the essence from the pure globe, getting us on olfactory journeys by lush gardens, blooming flowers, and verdant landscapes. These scents serve as a reminder on the elegance that surrounds us and allow us to reconnect with the wonders of mother nature.

Gourmand Delights:

Indulging in gourmand fragrances is akin to satisfying our cravings for sweet delights. Scents like Viktor & Rolf's Bonbon and Thierry Mugler Angel tempt us with their mouthwatering blends of caramel, chocolate, and vanilla, invoking a way of comfort and ease and enjoyment. These fragrances generate an olfactory dessert that's equally decadent and pleasant.

The Gender Spectrum:

Perfumery appreciates no boundaries when it comes to gender. Fragrances which include Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille and YSL Tuxedo blur the traces, embracing a unisex enchantment that permits individuals to take a look at scents outside of societal norms. These gender-inclusive fragrances celebrate individuality and inspire self-expression.

The Artwork of Layering:

Fragrances give limitless prospects for personalization through layering. By combining scents like Dior J'adore and Tom Ford Ombre Leather, we make one of a kind olfactory activities that are totally our own. Layering lets us to tailor fragrances to different moods, seasons, florence known for or instances, amplifying their allure and making a signature scent which is as unique as we've been.

The Emotional Relationship:

Scents possess a outstanding capacity to evoke feelings and trigger Reminiscences. Within the comforting embrace of Prada Candy along with the invigorating freshness of Acqua di Gio for the sensual attract of Gucci Responsible and also the empowering spirit of Versace Eros, fragrances have the facility to move us to distinct times, evoke nostalgia, or awaken our passions.

Conclusion:

As we conclude our fragrant journey, we figure out the allure and electric power of scents to captivate, encourage, and develop moments of pure sensory delight. Whether or not it is the elegance of designer fragrances, the artistic innovation of area of interest creations, or perhaps the timeless classics that proceed to enchant, fragrances maintain the key to unlocking our senses and allowing us to check out new realms of natural beauty and self-expression. So, let's keep on to embrace the magic of fragrances, and let them transportation us on charming olfactory adventures that ignite our spirits and go away an unforgettable trail of allure within our wake.

#Fragrance #Youtube

[russeliarat]

The Three Golden Goddesses and Creation Mythos

Masterlist

Trying something new here so if anything goes wrong when it comes to the Masterlist, please let me know! This will be a series of worldbuilding exercises I’m doing to build up a more solid world for my own stories, as well as to help you understand the world of Oath of the Forsaken more!

I do apologise for all of the stuff I will be releasing at once, I want to get a few headcannons out there to fill the Masterlist quickly.

Content under the Cut!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When three local Suns collided, in the wake of destruction, three celestial beings formed. These beings came to be known as Din, Nayru, and Farore. For aeons, they searched the universe for a purpose until they found a planet full of potential to be shaped into their own. However, this planet was inhabited by a Demon Tribe, reigning with malice and dark intent. The Three wiped the chaotic world of the tribe, started the planet anew. Demise, the Demon Tribe’s god, however, was more than angered by this. Planning to take back his world in the future, he embedded the spirit of his High Priest into his sword, hiding both himself and the sword away from the goddesses. This sword would later become Ghirahim.

The goddesses formed the Triforce as their gift to humanity, with the ability to give the holder any wish of their choosing. They decided to place the Triforce in a place which would later become the Kingdom of Hyrule and built their magical defences around the state. They took the energy from dying stars to form an immortal saint and guardian, calling her Hylia. Hylia’s purpose was to protect the Triforce and the people inhabiting Hyrule, forever in a state of neutrality due to her immortal status.

Before leaving to find a new planet in this one’s potential likeness, the Three each broke off a shard of their souls to create beings able to protect the land they formed in their stead. These shards would fall into what would become known as the Eldin, Lanayru, and Faron regions.

From Din’s shard, a volcano formed, so dangerous to those with mortal flesh, it was named Death Mountain.

From Nayru’s shard, Hyrule’s river systems formed, bringing life to the people that would roam the lands.

From Farore’s shard, lush forest formed, rife with magic that could grow whole woodlands in less than three decades.

Each of these areas had a guardian created from the shards, protecting the people who resided there. Their forms were many and often reflected the popular aspects of mythology at the time. Their first forms were mystical dragons, which seemed to be a favourite form for the guardian spirits. They were also said to be oracles, giants, and even the first Great Fairies, known as Great Mothers at the time.

When the guardians gifted a piece of their power to their respective races, they formed as shining orbs encased in a diamond, of which the wielders could use a small portion of the magic immortals held. The first stone was Nayru’s Love, which would protect the holder from all harm. Then was Din’s Fire, which would create a shockwave of heat that lit everything in the immediate area on fire. And finally, the Farore’s Wind, which could be used to teleport across the region freely. Originally, these spells came from the stones gifted to the races; the Zora Sapphire, the Goron Ruby, and the Kokiri Emerald, however the Great Fairies had to separate the spells from the races once people learned of their properties and became power-hungry. Over time, these stones travelled across Hyrule, disaster after disaster, eventually smoothing into the Goddess Pearls during the time of the Great Flood and Era of Winds. Nayru’s Peal was discovered to the Zora, who passed it onto their patron deity, Jabun, Din’s Pearl washed ashore Dragon Roost Island with the Rito, and Farore’s Pearl remained in the Korok’s possession long before the Great Flood.

In the days before Skyloft, humans worshipped all five major deities; The Golden Three, Hylia, and Demise. Due to geographical locations, Din was seen as the Goddess of Fire, Nayru as the Goddess of Water, and Farore as the Goddess of Nature. Hylia and Demise were opposites which neither’s symbols could exist without the others’. Hylia was the Saint of Light and Protection, with symbols such as the Sun, warmth, and happiness. Demise was the God of Darkness and Danger, associated with the Moon and stars, coldness, and isolation. If something bad were to happen, one was thanked for it happening as a learning experience, and the other for the protection the situation had gained.

#legend of zelda #zelda #loz #ocarina of time #Skyward Sword #majora's mask #breath of the wild #oot #ss #mm #botw #worldbuilding #headcannons #loz headcannons #legend of zelda headcannons #three golden goddesses #hylia #demise

[havana-great-time]

September 17th, 2022. La Habana.

Mis flores —

What a wonderful day I have spent today! We drove out early im the morning to Las Terrazas, a community built by the government in the 70s in an attempt to combine reforestation and rural development. It is in the Sierra del Rosario, aptly named for its beautiful string of little mountains; its views are truly unbeatable. It is incredible that most of this nature reserve and research station is but fairly recently reforested. The lushness of its forest would certainly belie the fact.

We began our journey at the cafetal Buena Vista, a partially restored French coffee plantation. The plantation itself is a place laden with tragedy and historical atrocity; it cannot be diminished, nor can it be ignored. The mountains, however, and the soaring vultures drawing free-wheeling circles before swooping just over our heads and landing, wings outstretched, on the sunny rocks, were indescribable.

We went to a tiny museum next, dedicated to the guajiro natural, Polo Montañez, a talented musician of the local community. I am certain to look up his music afterward; from what we heard, it tends to be sweetly tragic and eminently danceable.

After an extensive and truly delicious lunch, we went to the river. Oh, friends — you know that I do not often enjoy swimming, but the shallow pools, little eddies, and rocky waterfalls of the river were truly a wader's delight, while my more aquatically inclined companions could at the same time enjoy the deeper basins. I could have spent hours wandering there, with water between my feet, fish sprinkled with stripes and spots scattering at my approach, and vine-roped trees providing the most pleasant of shades.

Ultimately, though, I held no regrets in leaving that enchanting river — we visited artisans next, and the most incredible of these was a family of beekeepers. Beekeeping is plenty incredible by itself, but these bees are something else entirely. They are called abejas de la tierra, or abejas meliponas. They live in small colonies with a guard ever on duty. They build hexagonal cells only for their eggs, preferring a set of tunnels that resemble nothing so much as a castle. The honey they produce is somewhat acidic, with medicinal properties, and the pollen they turn nearly fully into that most acidic of vitamins is just as delicious as their golden-amber honey, which we sucked right out of the tunnels with a straw. And, crucially, they do not sting — they do not even possess stingers, in fact. What incredible little animals! What wonderful creatures!

On our return journey, we saw once more the fury of the tropical rain, with old cars barely driving through lagoons that rose halfway up their wheels. For us, in our large van, the rain remained but a gentle lulling sound, bathing the entire landscape in a calm grey.

Be(e)sos,

MICHA.

[shoplustre-blog]

Gemstone Rings: Unveiling the Beauty of Nature

Gemstone rings have long captivated humanity with their exquisite beauty and profound meanings. But what exactly are gemstone rings? Gemstone rings are jewelry pieces adorned with various precious or semi-precious stones, each telling a unique story through its color, cut, and symbolism.

Importance of Gemstone Rings

Gemstone rings hold significance beyond mere aesthetics. They serve as timeless symbols of love, commitment, and personal style. Whether it's an engagement ring sparkling with a brilliant diamond or a cocktail ring adorned with a vibrant emerald, these pieces evoke emotions and memories that last a lifetime.

Types of Gemstones

Gemstones are categorized into two main types: precious and semi-precious. Precious gemstones include diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, prized for their rarity and exceptional beauty. Semi-precious gemstones, such as amethyst, aquamarine, and tourmaline, offer a wide array of colors and affordability.

Popular Gemstones for Rings

Among the plethora of gemstones available, some reign supreme in the world of rings. Diamonds, with their unmatched brilliance, remain a classic choice for engagement rings. Rubies symbolize passion and vitality, while sapphires embody wisdom and royalty. Emeralds, revered for their lush green hue, signify renewal and growth.

Choosing the Right Gemstone Ring

Selecting the perfect gemstone ring involves considering various factors, including the gemstone type, cut, clarity, and carat weight. Additionally, personalized touches such as engraving or incorporating birthstones add sentimental value to the piece.

Personalization Options

Many jewelers offer customization services, allowing customers to design bespoke gemstone rings tailored to their preferences. From selecting the setting to choosing accent stones, customization offers a unique opportunity to create a one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

Caring for Gemstone Rings

Proper care and maintenance are essential to preserve the beauty and longevity of gemstone rings.

Cleaning and Maintenance Tips

To keep gemstone rings sparkling, regularly clean them using a soft brush and mild soapy water. Avoid exposing them to harsh chemicals or abrasive cleaners, as these can damage the stones or metal settings. Periodic professional inspections ensure any loose stones or prongs are promptly addressed.

Storing Gemstone Rings

When not being worn, store gemstone rings separately from other jewelry to prevent scratching or tangling. Consider storing them in individual pouches or compartments to minimize friction and contact with air, which can cause tarnishing.

Benefits of Gemstone Rings

Beyond their aesthetic appeal, gemstone rings offer a myriad of benefits, both emotional and spiritual.

Emotional and Spiritual Significance

Gemstone rings are often imbued with symbolism and meaning, making them cherished heirlooms passed down through generations. From representing love and fidelity to serving as talismans for protection and prosperity, each gemstone carries its own unique energy and significance.

Healing Properties

In holistic practices like crystal healing, gemstones are believed to possess healing properties that promote physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. For example, amethyst is thought to alleviate stress and enhance intuition, while rose quartz fosters love and compassion.

Gemstone Ring Trends

The world of gemstone rings is constantly evolving, with new trends emerging each season.

Current Trends in Gemstone Ring Designs

Contemporary designs often feature unconventional cuts and settings, showcasing the individuality of each gemstone. From minimalist solitaire rings to intricate vintage-inspired designs, there's a trend to suit every style and personality.

Customization Trends

Personalization continues to drive the market, with more couples opting for custom-designed engagement rings that reflect their unique love story. From incorporating meaningful motifs to selecting non-traditional gemstones, customization offers endless possibilities for creating truly one-of-a-kind pieces.

Gemstone Ring Care Myths

Despite their enduring popularity, gemstone rings are often surrounded by misconceptions regarding their care and maintenance.

Debunking Common Misconceptions

One common myth is that all gemstones are impervious to damage, leading some to neglect proper care. In reality, certain gemstones are more susceptible to scratches, abrasions, and damage from chemicals. By understanding the specific care requirements of each gemstone, you can ensure their longevity and beauty for years to come.

Tips for Preserving Gemstone Rings

Simple precautions such as removing rings before engaging in strenuous activities or applying beauty products can help prevent damage and extend the lifespan of your gemstone jewelry. Regular inspections by a qualified jeweler can also catch any issues early on, minimizing the need for costly repairs.

Gemstone Ring Etiquette

Knowing when and how to wear gemstone rings adds an element of refinement to any ensemble.

Occasions Suitable for Wearing Gemstone Rings

While gemstone rings can be worn on any occasion, certain events call for specific etiquette. For example, wearing an opulent cocktail ring to a formal gala adds a touch of glamour, while a delicate gemstone band is perfect for everyday wear.

Cultural Significance

In many cultures, gemstone rings hold deep cultural significance and are worn to commemorate special milestones such as weddings, birthdays, or religious ceremonies. Understanding the cultural context behind each gemstone enriches the experience of wearing and gifting these timeless treasures.

Conclusion

Gemstone rings are more than just accessories; they're embodiments of beauty, sentiment, and timeless elegance. Whether you're drawn to the fiery brilliance of rubies or the tranquil allure of sapphires, there's a gemstone ring waiting to adorn your finger and tell your story.

#Gemstone rings