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danysdaughter · 2 months ago

Text

Hold Your Breath

pairing | civil!war!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.6k words (whoopsie)

summary I After a panic attack triggers something raw and vulnerable in Bucky, a desperate kiss turns into a night of urgent, clothed intimacy where he clings to you for grounding, connection, and humanity.

tags | 18+, (MDNI!), p in v sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, emotional sex, desperate sex, riding, dry humping, titty sucking, begging, subby!bucky, soft!reader, angst, soft dom!reader, vulnerable!bucky, slow burn to sudden burn, hurt/comfort, PANIC ATTACK! platonic!steve x reader, oh and PLOT! but premises: Fuck His Pain Away

a/n | THIS MIGHT BE THE FILTHIEST THING IVE EVER WRITTEN. uh, Matt Murdock cameo. and Steve and reader lowkey act romantic but they're purely platonic. inspired by THE Stiles and Lydia. ENJOY!

likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ — ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

divider by @cafekitsune

The warehouse looked like it had been forgotten by time. Rust flaked off corrugated walls, the windows long since caked in grime and dust. Faint light filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling, catching on floating particles like a snowstorm of ash.

You stepped through the open door slowly, your heeled boots echoing softly against the concrete floor. The weight of silence sat thick in the air—one broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak of aging steel. Sam stood off to the side, posted up by a boarded window, his eyes scanning the outside world like a hawk. Ironic.

He gave you a short nod in greeting, then jerked his chin toward the stairwell.

“He’s upstairs. With him.”

You nodded silently, then started climbing. Each step was slow, heavy with things unsaid. You reached the upper landing and paused at the threshold of a dim corridor, where you finally saw him.

Steve Rogers.

He was leaning against the doorframe to a room that looked like it had once been an office, now stripped bare. His arms were folded, his head slightly bowed, lost in thought. The sharp angles of his jaw were drawn tight, his eyes shadowed with more than fatigue.

He looked tired—drawn in a way you rarely saw. Shoulders too tight. Worry clinging to him like a second skin.

And yet the moment he looked up and saw you, something in his face unspooled.

“You came,” he said, voice low, thick.

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “Where else would I be?”

Steve gave a dry little exhale. “I don’t know. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” you said.

He nodded once, but didn’t move from the door. The weight of the air between you stretched.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

You straightened, gaze steady. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. You don’t have to ask.”

“I do.” His jaw flexed, eyes flicking away. “Because I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. We’re stretched thin. And Bucky… he’s not in a good place.”

“I know,” you said, voice gentler now. “Steve, I know. I’m not scared of him.”

He let out a breath and dragged a hand down his face, tension radiating from every inch of him. “I’m not either. That’s not it. It’s just—he’s been through so much. He barely speaks. Sometimes I think he’s back—my Bucky—but then I see that look in his eyes and I don’t even know who I’m looking at.”

You took a step forward, heart aching.

“You’re worried he’ll hurt someone.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. His mouth pressed into a tight line.

Then, almost too softly: “I’m worried he’ll hurt himself.”

That cracked something inside you. You reached out, fingers curling gently around his arm.

“Then I’ll be here,” you said, firm and calm. “I’ll sit with him through it. However long it takes.”

Steve looked at you, truly looked, and you could see it then—how much weight he was carrying. And how close he was to shattering under it.

“There’s more,” he said after a moment, voice even lower.

You nodded. “Tell me.”

He hesitated, like he didn’t know if he should. Then—quietly, brokenly—he said, “I don’t know what’s happening to us. The Avengers. The world. It used to feel like we were fighting for something good. Something that meant something. Now… it just feels like we’re tearing apart.”

You let his words hang in the air. Let him breathe. Then you stepped closer.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered.

But Steve shook his head. Slowly. Distantly.

“I don’t think it will be.”

There was something so human about him in that moment. Not the Captain. Not the soldier. Just a man who’d lived too long, lost too much, and still hadn’t learned how to stop hoping—even when it hurt.

He looked at you—really looked at you. The intensity in his eyes bordered on overwhelming. But what you saw there wasn’t fear. It was trust. Worn, heavy, aching trust.

“You can back out at any point,” he said, voice rough. “If it’s too much. If he—”

“I’m here,” you interrupted softly, a small smile blooming. “And I’m here to stay.”

Steve stared at you for a moment longer, then—without warning—you stepped in and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He folded into you immediately, arms winding tightly around your waist like the weight of the world was something he could put down, just for a second, if he held onto you.

His breath was warm against your hair.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice frayed at the edges. “For being here. For me.”

Your fingers curled at his nape, anchoring him. “Always.”

When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your waist. The kind of touch that said, I can’t ask for more, but I’d be lost without this.

You gave his hand a final squeeze, then watched as he turned and opened the door to where Bucky waited.

The door clicked shut behind Steve with a soft finality.

Bucky sat on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees. His hair was damp from where he’d splashed water on his face earlier. There was still blood crusted in his hairline from the fight in Bucharest. He hadn’t spoken in hours—not really. Just a grunt here and there when Steve checked on him.

The room was dark and cold, lit only by a single bulb hanging overhead, flickering just enough to be annoying. Dust danced in the light. The walls were bare. There was a thin mattress pushed into the corner and not much else.

He could hear someone talking outside. A familiar voice. And a softer one.

Then footsteps. Boots against concrete.

He didn’t look up when Steve entered.

Steve took a breath and crossed the floor slowly. He didn’t say anything at first, didn’t try to force conversation.

He just sat, giving Bucky space to choose.

"You holding up?" Steve finally asked.

Bucky shrugged. His metal fingers flexed slightly. “Still breathing.”

It took another minute before Bucky spoke again, voice hoarse, low.

“You’re leaving.”

Steve nodded. “Not for long.”

Bucky lifted his head, the shadows under his eyes deeper than ever. “Where?”

“Sam and I need to pull some others in. It’s moving fast.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But I’m not leaving you alone.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened slightly. “You’re not?”

“No.” Steve gave him a look. “She’s staying.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “The woman outside.”

Steve smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

Bucky paused, then asked—carefully, cautiously—“That your girl?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at the floor. “No. God, no. She’s… she’s just a friend.”

“Doesn’t sound like ‘just a friend,’” Bucky muttered.

“She’s just my friend,” Steve said again.

Bucky studied him for a long moment, the gears clearly turning behind his tired eyes. “You trust her.”

“With my life.”

“And you’re leaving her with me.” That wasn’t a question. That was Bucky quietly testing the weight of what Steve was asking.

“I’m not leaving her with you like she’s a babysitter,” Steve said, voice firm but warm. “She offered. Because she cares. Because she’s kind. And because she’s not afraid of you.”

Bucky’s head dropped slightly. “That’s a mistake.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “It’s not. You’re not the man Hydra turned you into.”

“You sure?”

Steve stood slowly, walking over to the window, eyes scanning the alleyway below. “Yes and she’ll be here when you need her. Whether you like it or not.”

Bucky grunted. “Sounds annoying.”

Steve chuckled. “You’ll get used to her.”

He moved to the door but paused with his hand on the knob. “Bucky?”

He looked up.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve said again, softer this time. “But I do care about her. She’ll look after you. Let her.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a long moment, watching his friend’s back. The silence stretched.

Then, quietly, “She got a name?”

Steve turned back to him with a small, knowing smile. “Ask her yourself.”

Silence stretched. The tension in Bucky’s shoulders didn’t ease, but something in his eyes flickered. Not quite trust. But maybe curiosity.

────────────────────────

Outside, you were waiting patiently, arms folded, gaze flicking down the hallway as he approached. You gave him a questioning look.

“How’d it go?”

“He asked if you were my girl.”

You blinked, then laughed softly. “That’s a first.”

“I told him no. Just a loyal, stubborn friend.”

You nudged his arm. “Stubborn’s a little rude.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

He gave you a final, grateful look—the kind that carried years of friendship in one glance—then disappeared down the stairwell, leaving you standing in the dim hallway outside Bucky’s room.

You inhaled slowly, squared your shoulders, and turned toward the door.

The door creaked softly as you stepped inside.

The air inside was still—almost unnaturally so. Dim light filtered through the cracked blinds, casting lines of gold across the worn floorboards. The mattress sat low to the ground, old and bare, and on it sat a man who looked more like a memory than a presence.

Bucky didn’t look up right away.

He was perched on the edge of the mattress like he didn’t know what to do with his body. Shoulders squared. Hands resting on his knees. The metal one glinting faintly under the weak light. He didn’t move as you entered, didn’t speak—just turned and looked at you as if you might explode if he blinked.

His face was as unreadable as you'd expected. Blank. Cold. Not hostile, just... emptied out.

Still, you offered him the softest smile you could manage.

“Hi,” you said softly, introducing yourself.

No reaction. Not even a flinch.

You took a step forward, slow and steady, keeping your voice warm. “Steve asked me to check in on you.”

Still nothing. But he hadn’t asked you to leave either

“I’m not here to watch you,” you spoke, stepping forward slowly, palms open, posture relaxed. “Not like that. I’m just here if you need anything.”

Silence.

But his eyes followed you, blue and unreadable.

“I’m not an agent or anything,” you added. “But I figured a quiet face wouldn’t hurt.”

His gaze dropped back to the floor.

Your eyes drifted to the gash above his eyebrow again. The skin around it looked irritated. Dry blood had trailed down his temple, now flaked and cracking.

“You’re bleeding,” you murmured. “Your forehead.”

He blinked once. No acknowledgment. Just the same blank stare.

You nodded slightly to yourself, then crossed to the nearby table where Steve had left a bottle of water, some basic medical supplies. You grabbed a cloth and dampened it gently.

When you returned, you paused beside him.

“Can I…?” you asked gently, holding up the cloth just slightly. “Take care of that?”

There was a long pause. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes—suspicion, uncertainty, maybe even something like confusion.

Then he gave a small, stiff nod.

You didn’t sit on the mattress beside him. That felt too close. Instead, you knelt down on the floor, leveling yourself just enough to reach him, and held the cloth delicately in your fingers.

“Okay,” you said, mostly to fill the silence. “This might be a little cold.”

You dabbed gently at the gash on his forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure. The dried blood flaked away slowly under your touch. You worked in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of the cloth against his skin and the hush of your own breath.

Bucky didn’t flinch.

But he watched you.

Close. Unblinking.

Like he was trying to find the trick in your movements. Waiting for the shift—when the care would curdle into expectation. Or interrogation. Or pity.

But you just kept working, your touch steady, your face calm.

After a long moment, he finally spoke—voice low and rough, like unused gravel.

“You an Avenger?”

It caught you a little off guard, but you smiled faintly, not stopping your work.

“Not at all,” you said. “Maybe honorary. I just help Steve out. Here and there.”

You wiped the last of the blood from his temple, then lowered the cloth.

“But mostly,” you added with a small shrug, “I stick to New York.”

He was still staring at you. His brow twitched slightly. “Doing what?”

You chuckled, folding the cloth neatly in your lap. “I’m a lawyer.”

The expression on his face shifted for the first time—just a flicker, but there. His eyes narrowed slightly. Disbelieving, “A lawyer?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

His look said it before his lips did.

What the hell are you doing here?

You didn’t need him to ask.

You met his gaze—steady, warm, sure.

“A lawyer that knows right from wrong,” you said simply.

The room fell quiet again.

He stared at you like he was trying to see the catch—trying to spot where the kindness ended and the judgment began.

It didn’t come.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You stayed kneeling for a few more moments, wringing the bloodied cloth between your fingers, giving him space even while sitting right in front of him.

Bucky still hadn’t moved.

He just watched you. Not with suspicion exactly—more like quiet observation, like he was still figuring out what you were.

You gave him a moment, then sat back on your heels and rested your arms on your knees.

“So,” you started gently, as if you were just catching up with someone over coffee, “Steve said you were from Brooklyn.”

His eyes didn’t move.

You waited a beat. Nothing.

“I’m from Hell’s Kitchen,” you added, offering a half-smile.

Still nothing. But something in his eyes flickered. Just barely.

“Grew up around a lot of noise,” you went on, your voice soft but casual. “Corner bodegas. Fire escapes. People yelling out their windows at four in the morning.”

Another pause. You risked glancing at him again.

Still no words. But his gaze lingered now. Slightly more engaged.

“I used to go up on the roof with a book and just... tune it all out,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory. “Never worked. Some jackass was always blasting Sinatra or arguing about Mets scores.”

You caught a flicker at that—almost a breath of amusement in his expression. Almost.

“Guess Brooklyn wasn’t so different back then, huh?”

Still silence.

But now, he was looking at you—not through you.

You shrugged, eyes gentle. “Anyway. Just figured I’d try to talk. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

His eyes finally dropped to the floor again, but his shoulders had eased. A fraction.

You added, “And if it helps at all… I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

That got you a flicker of eye contact again.

You smiled, soft and unbothered. “And you, from the looks of it, don’t talk unless you absolutely have to. So, we make a solid pair.”

No reaction.

You let out a small sigh.

The room had settled into a quiet sort of calm by late evening.

Bucky hadn’t spoken much—if at all—but he hadn’t pulled away when you refilled his water or dropped off a spare blanket either. A win in your book.

You hadn’t meant to take the call in front of him.

But you also couldn’t afford to ignore it—not when Matt Murdock’s name lit up your screen with its usual stubborn persistence.

You shifted where you sat on the edge of the room’s lone table, pressing the phone to your ear while still keeping Bucky in the corner of your eye. He sat on the mattress, back against the wall, arms folded stiffly over his chest. Watching. Always watching.

“Good evening,” you greeted softly, careful to keep your voice low.

There was a pause. Then, sharp and unmistakably annoyed, “Where the hell are you?”

You smiled. “Hi to you too, Matty.”

“I came by your loft, you weren't there.”

“No, because I’m in Germany.”

There was a long pause.

“…Germany?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize international borders exist, right? And that we’re not technically allowed to cross them at will?”

“You do realize you’re blind and still have better spatial awareness than the TSA, right?”

“You were just in New York yesterday,” he said, exasperated. “You can’t keep dropping everything the second Steve Rogers snaps his fingers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Jealousy and judgment in one breath. Impressive.”

“I’m not jealous,” he bit out. “I’m concerned. You didn’t even tell anyone you were leaving the country.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I didn’t plan to. Things moved fast. It’s not like I’m on vacation, Matt.”

“You think I don’t know what fast looks like?” he shot back. “This is the kind of fast that gets people killed. You’re not a soldier. You’re not—”

“I’m not you,” you snapped, before immediately softening your tone. “I’m not you, Matt. But you don’t get to lecture me about dropping everything for a ghost from your past when you've barely been present since yours came back.”

The line went still.

You exhaled. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”

“I know,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “I just… I worry. You matter to people, you know?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you promised. “Just keeping someone safe until Steve gets back.”

There was a beat.

“…Is that someone dangerous?”

You glanced across the room. Bucky’s eyes were still on you, narrowed faintly in curiosity.

“No,” you said. “Not to me.”

Matt didn’t sound convinced. “Call me when you land.”

“I will.”

You ended the call with a gentle sigh, letting your head rest back against the wall.

Across the room, Bucky was watching you.

Not glaring. Not tense. Just watching—with that unreadable look he wore like armor.

You raised the phone slightly. “Work colleague.“

His brow lifted, slightly skeptical.

You tilted your head. “Okay, close work colleague.”

He didn’t respond. But you swore you caught the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth—something almost like amusement.

You didn’t press.

You just leaned your head back and closed your eyes.

And that’s when you heard it.

Footsteps.

A faint but steady rhythm outside, boots against gravel, echoing just enough through the warehouse walls to mimic something far more sinister.

The blood drained from Bucky’s face in an instant.

His body snapped upright, rigid. His eyes locked on the door.

And his breathing changed.

Subtle at first. A slight hitch. A break in rhythm. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention.

And you weren’t.

You were halfway to the window already, your phone still in hand, distracted by the soft scrape of boots on gravel outside. You weren’t even looking at him when you said, “I’ll be right back. Just want to check it out.”

You moved with ease, brushing aside the edge of the tarp covering the glass. From where you stood, you caught a glimpse—just a guy with a backpack, head down, walking briskly down the alley. Civilian. No uniform. No earpiece.

Harmless.

You turned back toward the room, already ready to reassure—

And stopped cold.

Bucky hadn’t moved from the bed.

But everything about him had changed.

He was still seated, but his hands were clenched into fists, white-knuckled. His shoulders were drawn in tight, and his head was tipped down, jaw locked, chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid bursts.

“Bucky?”

His eyes snapped up.

Wide. Unfocused. Wild.

Your heart dropped.

You took a step closer. “Hey. You’re okay, it was just someone walking past. No one’s coming.”

But he didn’t hear you. Not really.

His breath hitched again, sharper this time. A low sound escaped his throat—almost a growl, almost a sob—and his metal hand twitched violently on his knee.

“I can’t—” he choked, fingers clawing at the edge of the mattress. “I can’t—breathe—”

You froze for half a second, then rushed forward, dropping into a crouch in front of him, palms out, voice gentle but firm.

“Okay. Okay, Bucky. You’re having a panic attack. I know it feels like you can’t breathe, but you are. I promise, you are. You need to try to slow it down, or your body’s going to lock up on you.”

His chest was rising in harsh, ragged gasps now, every breath shallow and frantic. His eyes were darting around the room like he was trapped, like every wall was closing in.

You hovered your hands near his knees, not touching, just there. “I’m not gonna grab you. You’re safe. You’re in control. You’re not back there.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, body trembling. “I can’t—I can’t get out—I can’t—”

“Hey. Hey.” Your voice broke on the word. “You’re not trapped. I’m right here. You’re with me, remember?”

No response.

His breathing was worsening. He wasn’t inhaling fully anymore. Just choking down gulps of air like they weren’t sticking. His fingers curled against the mattress, his body rocking slightly.

He’s going to pass out.

You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your voice steady even as panic rose in your own chest.

“Okay. Listen to me. We’re going to ground, alright? Just do what you can.” You reached up, hovering your fingers closer to his arm. “Five things you can see. Look around, just five.”

He blinked rapidly, lips parted, shaking.

“Five things,” you repeated. “Just name them. Anything.”

“I—I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t—I can’t see—fuck—”

Your gut twisted.

“Alright. It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered, watching his eyes roll slightly upward as if his mind was spinning off. “Bucky, please. Just hold onto something.”

But he couldn’t.

You could see the fight in him, but the grip of the attack had its claws in deep now, dragging him down. His hand jerked, metal fingers spasming like his nerves were short-circuiting.

He was slipping.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan.

You just acted.

You surged forward and crushed your mouth to his.

Your hand cupped his jaw, thumb grazing the scruff of his cheek, your lips moving against his like your breath could anchor him, like your body could pull him back from wherever his mind had gone.

At first, he didn’t move.

His breath hitched hard in your mouth, his body rigid.

And then—

He breathed.

Not perfect. Not deep.

But something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders dipped slightly. His mouth softened just enough under yours. The rigid rock of his spine eased.

You pulled back after a beat, gasping softly, shocked at yourself, still close enough to feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

His eyes snapped open.

Blue. Wide. Raw.

You blinked, stammering. “I—I didn’t know what else to do. I read once—somewhere—that when you’re panicking, holding your breath can reset your lungs, and so—” You swallowed. “So, when I kissed you… you held your breath.”

His lips parted, still trembling.

Your hand was still lightly on his jaw. You started to pull it away, “I’m sorry—”

But then his hand—his metal hand—caught your wrist.

Gently.

He stared at you, breathing hard, but steadier now. Something wild still flickered behind his eyes—but it wasn’t panic anymore.

It was something else.

Something desperate.

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat.

Bucky’s hand—cold metal and trembling restraint—was still wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand pressed to his jaw. His skin beneath your palm was warm, rough with stubble, tense with something unreadable.

You should’ve tried to pull away again.

You should’ve said something. But you couldn’t speak.

Not with the way he was looking at you. Like you weren’t real. Like he’d dreamed you up in some quiet corner of his broken mind and was terrified you might disappear if he blinked too long.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Your mind raced, caught between guilt and instinct.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “I just didn’t know what else—”

And then you felt it.

His other hand.

You hadn’t even noticed it moving. But now, his warm, flesh hand was at the back of your head, fingers tangling through your hair, firm and certain.

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you in.

The kiss came fast.

No hesitation. No apology.

It collided with your mouth like a dam breaking—like a gasp swallowed between parted lips and bruised hearts. His hand on your wrist still held you in place, while the other tilted your head just enough to claim every inch of your mouth.

You made a startled sound—something between a breath and a gasp—and your hands moved instinctively finding his shoulders as you fell forward into his chest.

Your body hit his with more force than you meant, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, he pulled you closer, like your weight grounded him.

His kiss deepened.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was hungry.

Like he needed this more than air. Like the feel of your mouth, the press of your body, was the only thing holding him in the present. His lips moved against yours with bruising pressure, desperate and hot, tongue flicking past your parted lips like he couldn’t stand not to taste you again.

And you melted.

Every thought, every question, every ounce of guilt evaporated the second his tongue touched yours.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders. Your knees threatened to give out. His breath was ragged in your mouth, nose brushing yours, body trembling with barely leashed tension.

This wasn’t just comfort.

This was need.

Pure and primal.

His hands were on you now—both of them. The right still cradled the back of your head, fingers buried in your hair, holding you close. But the left… the left had found your waist, sliding up beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing along your side like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch but couldn’t help himself.

You felt the chill of metal and the heat of human skin, trembling and unsure.

He kissed you harder. Mouth moving against yours with clumsy, desperate hunger—no rhythm, no restraint. He wasn’t kissing to seduce.

He was kissing to feel.

When his lips broke from yours, they didn’t go far. They dropped to your jaw, then your throat, his breath hot and uneven as he murmured something unintelligible against your skin.

His tongue dragged along the side of your neck, followed by soft, open-mouthed kisses—rushed, messy, too fast. Like he didn’t know where to start. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you at once.

“God…” he breathed, mouth moving to your collarbone. “You’re so soft…”

His hands moved again, a little braver now—palming your waist, then your back, then your hips. He tugged at your shirt, his fingers grazing over the fabric like it was in his way, like he needed to touch more.

And that’s when your thoughts finally broke through the haze.

You gasped, blinking hard, fingers coming up to press gently against his chest.

“Bucky,” you said, breathless. “We should stop.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.

His lips paused just below your ear, trembling.

“This isn’t good for you,” you whispered. “You’re in a bad headspace, and I don’t want to take advantage—”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes wide and pleading, voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered.

Your heart shattered.

“Bucky—”

“Please,” he said again, more desperate now. “I—I need to feel you. I need to know I’m still here. That I’m not… that I’m not him.”

Your hands trembled where they rested on his chest.

His voice broke entirely. “Just… just let me touch you. Let me feel something that isn’t pain. Please…”

You stared at him for a long moment, his words still ringing in your ears, his hands trembling against your waist.

Let me feel something that isn’t pain.

The breath left your chest in a slow, trembling sigh.

And then you leaned in.

Your lips met his again—not rough this time, but slow, deep, deliberate. A promise.

Bucky responded like he’d been holding his breath.

His hands flew to your sides, tugging you closer until your knees straddled his thighs, until your chest was flush with his. He let out a broken, needy sound as you kissed him, fingers dragging up your spine, gripping, clutching, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

You pulled back just long enough to whisper against his lips, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He moaned at that—actually moaned—his mouth crashing into yours again as his hands started moving, frantic and restless, skimming beneath your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it was an obstacle, not clothing.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, holding his face between your palms like he was something fragile. You kissed him deeper, letting him pour himself into it, letting him need you. And all the while, you rocked slowly in his lap, hips rolling in a subtle, steady rhythm that made both of you gasp.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered against your mouth. “You feel so good… I can’t—can’t get close enough.”

He pulled harder at your shirt, his hands shaking with how desperately he wanted more of you. You broke the kiss just long enough to fumble with the buttons, undoing only a few before he lost patience entirely.

His hands flew up to your chest, and in one frantic motion, he tugged your bra down beneath your breasts.

“Bucky—”

But then his mouth was on you, and the words dissolved.

He latched onto your breast with a groan so guttural it vibrated through your core. His tongue swirled around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth like he was starved for it—like this was the only thing tethering him to earth.

You gasped, eyes flying wide, one hand clinging to his shoulder as your hips jerked against him.

“Oh my—Bucky—”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

His metal hand clutched your back, holding you in place as he lavished your breast with open-mouthed kisses, warm and wet and messy. His other hand palmed your waist, guiding your hips in time with his own.

You rutted against him harder now, both of you still fully clothed, the friction unbearable and perfect. His cock pressed thick and hard against you through his jeans, and the way he groaned into your skin when you ground down on him made your thighs tremble.

“Please,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Please don’t stop.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, guiding him, anchoring him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you breathed. “I’ve got you.”

And he moaned again, mouth still on your skin, hips jerking upward into you like he was begging you to believe him.

Your breathing was ragged. His lips were still wet from your skin. And when you pulled back slightly—only just enough to break contact—Bucky let out a whine.

Not a word. A sound. Broken, instinctual.

“Don’t—” he gasped, trying to follow you. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice barely stable as you pushed gently against his chest.

He let you guide him back, his body hitting the thin mattress with a soft thump, arms still reaching for you like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

“I’ve got you,” you promised again, voice low and sure, even as your hands moved fast.

You didn’t fully undress—didn’t need to. You shoved your jeans down, just past your knees, the waistband biting into your thighs as you knelt between his legs. Bucky’s chest heaved as he watched you, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he was starving.

“God, you’re…” he breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re not real.”

You reached for his jeans, fingers fumbling slightly with the buckle, your own hands shaking now with the sheer pressure of what you were doing—what this was. You unzipped him, tugging his waistband down just far enough to free him.

And there he was.

Hard. Leaking. So fucking ready it made your mouth go dry.

He twitched when your hand wrapped around him—just once—and he gasped, hips jerking slightly off the mattress.

“Please,” he murmured again. “I—I need to be inside you. Please, I need—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You rose back up onto his thighs, grabbed his cock at the base, and positioned yourself with practiced urgency.

He held his breath.

And then—you sank down.

Slow, steady, deep.

Bucky cried out, head snapping back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as your heat wrapped around him. “Fuck,—Jesus—”

You couldn’t even breathe for a second. The stretch was intense, overwhelming—your thighs trembling as you adjusted, hands braced on his chest.

Beneath you, he was shaking.

Completely undone.

His hands flew to your hips, gripping tight, not to guide you—but just to hold on.

You stayed there a moment, full of him, pulsing around him, feeling every tremble in his frame.

Then you leaned down, lips brushing his cheek, and whispered, “You feel that?”

He nodded, frantic.

“That’s real. I’m real. And you’re not alone.”

And then you started to move.

You moved slowly at first—hips rolling, drawing his cock in deep, then easing back up, dragging every inch of him against your walls. Bucky’s head tipped back, a shudder ripping through him, his mouth slack, eyes blown wide as his hands dug into your waist like he was terrified you might stop.

“God,” he rasped, “you feel—fuck, you feel so good—”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way your body wrapped around him, the rhythm building in your hips—it said everything.

You rode him harder, faster now, the tension rising like a fever. The denim of his jeans and the way your own clothes clung to sweat-slick skin made everything feel even messier, even more raw. The friction burned in the best way, every drag of your body against his driving him closer to the edge.

Bucky couldn’t stop touching you. His hands were on your waist, your thighs, your back—like he couldn’t decide where he needed you more. His voice was low and broken, a litany of groans and murmured please, please, please, even when you were already giving him everything.

When you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, your fingers tangling in his hair, he was right there with you—breathing you in like oxygen.

His chest was rising fast now, the rhythm in your hips growing sloppy, desperate. You could feel him pulsing inside you, getting close.

Then—suddenly—he surged upward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him as his mouth found yours again. The kiss was rough, needy, all tongue and teeth and shaky breath. He needed to be connected—to feel you pressed against him in every possible way as he unraveled.

And then he came.

You felt it—deep, hot, twitching inside you as he groaned into your mouth, burying his face in your shoulder, his entire body trembling as you held him through it. His arms clutched you tight, almost too tight, like if he let go you might vanish.

You didn’t.

You stayed with him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders. Lips at his temple. Your hips finally stilled.

You hadn’t come. You weren’t even thinking about it.

This—this—had never been about you.

It was for him.

To remind him that he was here. That he was human. That he was held.

You were still catching your breath, his body trembling in your arms, when it happened.

Without a word—without even looking up—Bucky shifted beneath you, tightening his arms around your waist. And before you could ask what he was doing, he flipped you.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and you barely had time to gasp before his body followed, pressing you down, caging you in.

“Bucky—” you started, surprised, dazed.

But the look in his eyes stole the words from your mouth.

Focused. Intense. Wild with a need you hadn’t seen before—but not for his own release this time.

For yours.

He was still hard inside you. Still there. And now, he began to move.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He pounded into you—hips snapping forward with frantic rhythm, as if something had cracked open inside him and he couldn’t bear not to give you back everything you’d just given him. Every thrust was deep, hard, messy. His breath came in grunts and gasps, his forehead pressed to yours, his body slick with sweat.

You clutched at his shoulders, your own body struggling to keep up as pleasure started to crash over you like a wave.

“Let me,” he panted, voice low and wrecked. “Let me make you feel good. You—fuck, you were so good to me—I need—I need to make you come—please—”

Your breath hitched, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as his cock drove into you again and again, hitting all the right angles now with dizzying precision. His hand slid down, slipping between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, desperate, trying to draw your pleasure up through every inch of you.

The pressure built fast. Too fast.

You were already so full, so overwhelmed—his voice in your ear, his fingers on your body, his cock so hard inside you—and the way he moved… God.

“You don’t have to—” you started, already trembling.

“I want to,” he growled, fucking into you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t get close enough.

You whimpered, body jerking beneath his as the tension in your core snapped tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Please. I need to feel it.”

And then you did.

You came with a moan that tore out of your throat, back arching, hands clutching at his back as your body spasmed around him. Bucky groaned, dropping his head into your neck, hips still moving as he rode you through it, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Like giving you pleasure was what made him feel whole.

His body trembled as he came down, the last few ragged thrusts losing momentum until finally—finally—he stilled, buried deep inside you, heart pounding hard enough that you could feel it through his chest.

He hovered there for a moment, arms shaking, breath catching in his throat.

And then he collapsed.

Not all at once. Slowly, carefully. Like his strength gave out in stages. But even as he let himself fall into you, he caught his weight on his forearms, mindful, always mindful—never fully resting on you. He curled slightly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck like he needed to hide. Like the world was too bright again, too loud, and your skin was the only place left that felt quiet.

Your arms came around him without hesitation.

One hand slipped across his back, fingers splayed wide, gently grounding him with each stroke up and down his spine. The other cradled the back of his head, thumb sweeping slowly through his damp hair, cradling him like something precious.

His breath hitched once.

You didn’t speak right away.

You just held him.

He melted into it slowly, his metal arm resting against the mattress beside your head, his human hand fisting weakly in the blanket beneath you. You felt the tremble still in his muscles—aftershocks of everything he’d just released.

“Shh,” you murmured, soft against his ear. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His forehead pressed tighter to your throat.

“You’re safe now,” you whispered, voice low and steady. “Right here with me.”

He exhaled, shaky and fragile.

“You’re not alone. You’re not him. You’re not broken.”

He didn’t answer—but he didn’t need to.

He let you hold him.

You kept going, voice like a lullaby, your fingers never stopping.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you murmured. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on the blanket loosened, and he shifted just enough to finally let some of his weight settle into your body.

Not too much.

Just enough to trust.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #the avengers #captain america civil war #steve rogers #matt murdock #daredevil #team cap

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warnersister · 1 year ago

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Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space.

Pt. 2

You never understood why Bradley stuck around. Since the academy you’d preferred to stick to yourself; get your head down and get the job done. Especially with a surname like Mitchell. You didn’t want your father and grandfather’s reputation to negatively proceed you, and by the time people had put two and two together as to whom loins you came from: you’d made your own reputation so Maverick never made much of a difference to it.

But still, having dinner in the mess you’d sat down, when someone came and thudded down next to you and began eating themselves. “I’m Bradley” he said when you finally looked up at him. You raised a brow “Bradshaw?” You ask and he nods: you recognise him from the photos your dad pinned up in your two’s hanger. You hum “and you are?” He asks “not important.” You reply, deciding you’d lost your appetite and stood to clear your plate “good talk!” Bradley said, but you were already walking away.

He’d next encountered you when you were running around the academy, early morning; before any naval training would take place. He hummed and decided it was perfectly acceptable to interrupt your jaunt with his presence. “Hey! Up so early?” He asks as he tries to match your pace from a standstill “could ask you the same.” You reply bluntly “well I wanted to get a run in before-” “well there’s your answer.” You reply, cutting him off. “You run really quick.” He says as you try to keep your pace increasing to shake him off “goodbye, Bradshaw.” You say, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and taking off at a pace he couldn’t sustain. He just stops and shakes his head smiling, you were funny.

Eventually, you’d both gotten up in the air and were quick to earn your callsigns “Rooster” and “Hen”. Bradley earned his because he was up before the chickens, you’d earned yours because the chicken kept fucking following you around like you were his mother. You were sat on the aircraft carrier, your trainee group learning how to land on a ship deck and you’d finally gotten a moment of peace that evening. You sat on the edge of the deck, feet dangling over the edge as you watched the sunset, not moving when you hear someone slip into the space between the barriers beside you.

“Oh look my chick is back.” You mumble sarcastically and Bradley laughs loudly at you. “You love me really” he says, looking at you as if he wanted to you agree with him “you seem to keep telling yourself that, don’t you?” You hum, turning to watch the sea lap against the grey metal. You can feel him fidgeting beside you, as if antsy to say something. “What?” You ask, finally turning to look at him. “What?” He repeats, looking at you with raised brows “you want to ask me something. You’re fidgeting.” You point out “so ask me or fuck off” you say, turning away again. “Your last name is Mitchell” he says and you roll your eyes “you can read and hear. Two things I’ve learnt today.” You huff, again, with sarcasm. “Are you related to Pete Mitchell?” He asks, looking at you and nearly holding his breath “you finally put two and two together?” You ask and he lets out the breath.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You say after a while “I was a whoopsie baby my mother didn’t want anything to do with” you tell him. “He used to fly with my dad.” Bradley almost whispers, voice just a few octaves above. “I know” you nod “he’s practically wallpapered all over our hanger.” You say “so are you” you eye him. “He pulled my papers” he says, again after a few moments of silence “I know” you say “do you know why?” He asks “yes.” You reply, and he could tell you weren’t going to elaborate. “Y’know I’m not a fan of your dad, but I really like you.” He says and you just look at him with a blank face. “Yup” you hum to yourself and he raises a brow “just as Mother Goose was described” you say, and Bradley’s face immediately lights up with a huge grin, stretching and arm around you and pulling you into his side.

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

For your first deployment, the academy set it up that you’d at least be with one person from your training squadron, and today the list of names were coming out; they were scribbled on the back of a napkin and pinned to a notice board.

“1. Haywood & Solomons, 2. Hughes & Shelley & Omaha, 3. Cooper & Parker & Cromwell & Smith, 4. Bradshaw,” you crossed your fingers as someone read out the names, then yours was read alongside Bradley’s “oh for god’s sake” you grumble, turning to see Bradley practically jumping for joy. “This is great! Me and you, Hen!” Rooster cheers and you just stare at him “should’ve called you leech cause you’re acting like one. Calm down.” You instruct and he tries to chill out, but the cheeky smile on his face was indiminishagble.

He only became more unbearable then, with you every working hour, your wingman on the missions you’d fly, inseparable despite your complaints. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Hawk asked you, as he came to sit with you for lunch. You shush him loudly. “Woah woah I only asked where he was.” “Speak his name and he shows up. I’m trying to hide.” you say in a hushed voice “plus he isn’t my boyfriend” “sure” he scoffs but the daggers being shot into his head silenced him easily.

“Hey Hen! Hawk” Bradley greets as he sits down. You grunt and point an accusatory finger at Hawk “this is your fault, jackass” you say and he laughs at you, him and Bradley engage in conversation as you just eat, having learnt the skill of drowning him out. “What about you, Hen?” Hawk asked, drawing your attention away from your plate and up to the two men alongside you, you raise an eyebrow - letting them know you were insinuating that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“Do you want a family?” He ask and you just nod “really?” Hawk asks “that’s cute, didn’t take you for a family gal” he jokes and you harshly kick his leg under the table “kids and everything?” He asks after the pain subsides. “Yup.” You say and Bradley hums “I didn’t know that” he says and you just look at him “you never asked.” You reply simply, and that was true: he hadn’t. He was quite prepared to spend the rest of existence chasing after you, whether that meant giving you your first kiss on your deathbeds.

The two of you even went to Top Gun together, training to be the finest naval aviators of them all. And boy, you two fought to be the best; tongue and teeth, blood sweat and tears, everything. The decision came down to one final dogfight. “May the best aviator win” Rooster jokes, sticking out a hand to you. You eye it and internally question if you were insane, before leaning up to peck his cheek. “Prepare to loose, chicken.” You say, leaving him frozen in his place while you head to your plane. That day, Bradley was seriously off his A-game, and you came out on top.

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

“Congratulations!” Bradley says excitedly on graduation day when you victoriously lifted the trophy above your head. You turned to him and he leant down slightly - you weren’t stupid, you knew what he was intending to do. “Thank you, Brad.” You say, turning to walk over to where your father was stood - knowing that was probably the only time Bradley wouldn’t follow you. That was the first time you’d ever called him anything short of Bradley Bradshaw.

“I’m so proud of you honey” your dad says, hugging you tightly and you embrace him back, smiling widely “thank you, dad” you respond and he looks behind you where Bradley was stood a while back, watching the ordeal. “Is that-” “yes” you tell him and your dad just looks at you “I wouldn’t get all teary he follows me like a lost puppy” you grumble but he just grins “he’s a good kid, hon.” He says and you shake your head “he’s definitely something”

“So how does their relationship work?” Bob asks Hangman, watching Bradley talk your ear off and you just staring ahead into space, blankly. “You see Bobby my boy,” Jake begins “Hen loves her personal space” Bob nods “Rooster also loves Hen’s personal space.” Bob nods again, now understanding. “Haven’t they done everything together though?” He asks “I think it’s more the fact that Hen does something and Rooster just kinda goes with it” Phoenix said and Bob hums, as Bradley continues to converse one-sidedly with you.

“He means well” you hear from beside you as you stare out from the hanger, turning to see your honorary uncle Tom walking towards you, you run towards him as he embraces you tightly “hey Ice” you smile, sweetly. “Hey sweetheart” he croaks. “I mean what I said.” He states and you raise a brow “he means well” he nods towards the man doing his required push ups on the ground with Hondo. “I know, Ice.” You tell him. “No, I don’t think you do” he hums and you raise your eyebrows at him. “The kids in love with you. You’ve either got to let him in or tell him to get out.” He says, “you’re living together for goodness sake”. “It was cheaper” you argue “we both know the accommodation is subsidised.” He states, matter-of-factly, patting your shoulder as he turns to go talk to your dad when he walks into the room.

It was true, you and Bradley were sharing accommodation. “Hey Hen, they’ve offered us shared accommodation back in Miramar” Bradley says, coming over with a pamphlet. “Why?” You ask, taking it out of his hands. ‘Married couple accommodation’ it states and you raise your brows “you getting ahead of yourself, Bradshaw?” You ask and he shakes his head “the guy assumed our callsigns were cause we’re a couple” he tells you and you just hum. “Well I’d rather stay there than in an apartment.” You say simply, giving him back the leaflet and refocusing on the plane you were working on repairing. “Seriously?” He asks, voice overly hopeful. You look at him and shrug “just go get the damn house, Bradshaw. Before I change my mind!” You say and he grins, turning and breaking out into almost a jog to head to confirm your living situation.

You take a moment of hesitation, before loudly groaning and heading out onto the tarmac, getting down and doing push ups alongside Rooster. He turns his head and looks at you and you just raise your brows at him. “Hey honey” he grins “hello Bradley” he nudges your hip with his own. “I’ll drive us home.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrows “Home?” He asks and you huff “okay, Bradley I will drive the two of us back to our shared accommodation that we accidentally got given.” You say and he laughs loudly “home sounded better.”

Then after the mission, the whole Dagger squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, other than deployment, so they urged the new additions to the base to buy their own properties closer to base rather than on it. You and Bradley were sat in the Hard Deck, a long time before it was open, the rest of the Daggers spending time on the beach while the two of you were scouring Bradley’s laptop for a property. Well, Bradley was.

How about this one? He turns his screen to you. You shake your head “I want grass in the garden. I want to plant flowers” you say as you point at the paved back of the house, explaining that it’s a waste of money to have it ripped out. Bradley nods “Mkay, garden” he says, moving back to look again.

“How about this one? Beach front, close to the running track for you. Only a walk from the Hard Deck. White picket fence, really” he hums, turning the laptop again “garden?” You ask and he nods “garden.” He nods with a grin. “Shall we go look?” You ask and he raises a brow at you. “You said it’s a walk from the hard deck. Let’s go.” You say, putting the address into your phone and immediately recognising the street name, Bradley quickly falling into step with you as you walk towards the property.

You look at it and place your hands on your hips. Bradley was right. Pretty damn perfect. “Can I help you?” A lady asks, walking outside of the house, clipboard in hand. “Oh no, we’d just seen this property online and wanted to take a look.” Bradley tells her. “Well I’ve had a no-show on a viewing. How’d you like to take a look?” She suggests, motioning to the open door. “Okay” you nod, following her into the house.

“Obviously the kitchen, living room, even a deck out back with a huge garden and high fences” she says nodding out the window and you hum. “Out the side there’s an entrance straight to the beach” she motions, then starts heading up the stairs “three bedrooms, attic space, bathroom” she says “I’m guessing it’s just you two at the moment?” She asks “oh we’re not-” Bradley begins “yes, just us.” You confirm, shutting him up. “Okay, so there’s a large room for your bed and then if any new additions are to join, you have the space for them” she smiles and leads you back out front.

“It’s not cheap, it’s California. So I understand if you’re not prepared to pay that much money, do you mind me asking what you do?” She asks “we’re naval aviators.” Bradley says “stationed here?” She asks and you both nod “ah! I get why you’re looking for a property here!” She says and Bradley looks at you. “I really like it, Roo.” You say, and Bradley has to stop his jaw hitting the floor at your nickname. “It’s your call, honey” he says and you look at the lady and smile as she offers her hand “we’ll take it.”

“How shall we split the payment?” You ask Bradley as you walk back to the Hard Deck after organising a meeting with the realtor to actually finalise all the kinks and bumps. “I don’t mind doing the down payment then we’ll take it in turn paying the loan” he suggests “we can get a joint bank account and do it that way” you say and he agrees as you settle back into your seats at the Hard Deck. “Where’ve you two been?” Hangman asks “we bought a house.”

One evening, after you were all moved in and were hanging out at the Hard Deck after a long day or routine flying, you were sat outside with Rooster; watching the sunset. “When are we getting married then?” You ask and he spits out his beer “what?” He asks, eyes wide and getting progressively more giddy. “Well we live together, we have a joint bank account, and Jake keeps telling me we’re practically married. So when are we getting married?” You ask as he hugs you tightly “whenever you want, baby” he says, kissing the top of your head and pulling a ring out of his pocket to get on his knee. “Will you marry me?” He asks and you raise a brow “didn’t I just say that?” You ask bluntly “just say yes, please” he begs and you nod “yes. Yes I will marry you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You confirm as he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay get off of me now.”

Pt. 2

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saintkaylaa · 1 year ago

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𝙹𝚞𝚓𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚞 𝙺𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝙼𝙰𝚄 ˚𝜗𝜚⋆.

archived : this means i’ll redo them at some point! i cringe myself very easily and fall victim to comparing my works. more here

when they are needy — archived

scheduled sexy time — archived

pregnancy scare — archived

asking to be more than friends — archived

break up prank — archived

kissing & waiting — archived

addressing the hickey — archived

pretending you forgot them — archived

this is literally us

when they haven’t asked you to be their valentine

drunk flirty texts…pre-relationship

when you are drunk

when you go to the gym

1k special: family groupchat

you get him flowers

shibuya incident: “i love you”

asking & ghosting

sending nudes/“wrong person!”

cringe pet names

are we best friends?

curvy reader

you’re sick

flowers prank

arguments

honest about sex

would you rather

faulty tampon

thank you

forget something?

happy mother’s day

coffee coffee coffee

jealous reader

finding you in a lineup

wearing something “sexy”

can i go through your phone?

hide that body!!

boyfriend thoughts (pre-relationship)

b!tch pass

wrong drink order prank

feelings for you

impromptu proposal

FWB: whoopsie! + confession

granny panties

can you see her face?

pick me prank

late night talk

morning after

family matters

confess

skin living

cat whisperer

cheating allegations

they’re always wrong

ex texts

not saying “I love you” back

dodging their kiss

flashing them

not in the mood

right person, wrong time

vibe check

milf central

ovulation station

slapping your ass

you up?

autocorrect fails

resume playing

where my kiss at

what are we

wax on, wax off

kiss & tell

doctor’s appointment

accidentally telling them about your first time

taking vacation without them

matching costumes

dirty panties in their pockets

your name on their phone

what leg is it down

cumming in pants

i love you (too soon)

can’t pay mortgage prank

pheromone perfume

you’re drunk (pre-relationship)

changing room

caught being cringe

fake black eye

jerking off to you

what if you were a curse user

you’re drunk (aftermath)

short kings

ETA now

high value woman

meet the parents

#smau #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smau #jujutsu kaisen smau #saintkaylaa navigation 🧳

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kitkatkitzune · 6 months ago

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MUSE

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!witch!reader

Summary: Always the artist, never the muse… until now that is… sorta?

Warnings: A tiny bit of Angst, Death, Mentions of painting with blood, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (whoopsie)

Notes: First post of the new year!

After a lot of consideration I have decided that I am not going to be making a tag list at this point in time. I am simply not organized enough for it, maybe sometime in the future but not now! I’m sorry! If you’d like to be notified when I post you can turn on notifications… sorry again!

Word Count: 1.5k

MASTER POST , TVDU MASTERLIST

———————

You hum as you walk around the Mikaelson home, stopping every few moments to admire the paintings hung around the house. Some of the paintings were incredibly old and some were only made a few years ago, and all of them had been made by the hybrid.

There was at least one of each sibling, Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and even Finn. Freya had also gotten a painting after her return. However, there was someone missing.

There was not a single one of Klaus hung around the home, he wasn’t even in the large family portrait at the end of the hallway. You come to a stop in front of it, tilting your head in confusion.

You don’t get long to ponder the thought as a familiar voice cuts through the silence, “Admiring the artwork, love?”

Turning, you face Klaus with a small smile, “Yes, everything is so beautiful… you’re incredibly talented.”

He hums, taking a step backwards, “Come, I’ll show you my studio.” he beckons you to follow, holding out his hand for you to take.

After a moment's hesitation, you take his hand, allowing him to whisk you away to the art room. The room was isolated, far away from the rest of the rooms in the house. You could tell that this is where Klaus goes to clear his head, when he needs a moment to himself. You couldn’t help but feel honored that he brought you here.

He smiles, “Take a look around…”

You begin to look around the room, admiring the different paintings and drawings all around. Every one was unique in its own way but they were all so Klaus.

There were even paintings in blood, you assumed that the blood used had come from one of Klaus’ many victims. You hover your hand near the canvas, it was of an angel. Ironic. There was something about the painting that you couldn’t shake though, it looked so familiar.

“An angel of death? Since it’s in blood?” you question, quietly.

“Sometimes,” Klaus murmurs in your ear, causing you to jump, you had been too distracted by the paintings to notice how close he had gotten, “inspiration strikes at the strangest times, even while I’m slaughtering my enemies.”

“It’s beautiful…” you smile softly, tilting your head to look at him.

“It’s yours,” he says instantly.

“Oh Klaus, I couldn’t…” you trail off, your eyes catching another painting behind him.

You quickly move to the other side of the room to get a closer look, it was of you.

You look back at Klaus, who, for once in his life, looks a bit nervous, “You weren’t intended to see that yet…”

“You painted me?” you ask in a whisper.

Klaus smiles, regaining his confidence, “Well, I paint you quite often,” he makes his way to you in a split second, “Your beauty is something I enjoy capturing… although, no painting will ever compare to the real thing.”

Your face heats up a bit at his words and you sputter trying to find a response, Klaus however grins, responding before you can, “I don’t know if you picked up on it… but the frame on this was is the same as the other ones displayed, I plan to hang this one in the hallway with the rest of the family portraits….”

Your brows furrow, letting out a small laugh, “I’m not a Mikaelson, Nik.”

“No, but you practically live here, practically family at this point.”

“I suppose that’s true.” you let out a little laugh before frowning, “but what about you?”

“What about me?”

You roll your eyes at his question, “All these paintings, Nik, and not a single one of you.”

He smiles but you swear you see a flicker of hurt pass his eyes, “I’m the artist.”

“And?”

Klaus sighs, “I’ve simply never had the urge to paint myself… I prefer to paint other things.”

You knew there was a deeper meaning to his words and reading between the lines you were quickly able to figure it out. Klaus painted beautiful things, even in his most chaotic works there was beauty, whether it was landscapes or a pretty girl— he painted things he liked, things he loved.

His whole life, Klaus had felt like an outsider in his family, he was the half-sibling, the hybrid, the bastard child. He felt that he did not deserve to be painted, to be hung on the wall with his siblings, and you would make it your mission to show him just how wrong he was.

As it turned out, painting was a lot harder than it looked. You had gone through at least ten canvases over the past week, all containing painted scribbles of the original hybrid and you were growing increasingly frustrated. Klaus always made it seem so simple but it was anything but.

After numerous attempts at recreating his face and failing miserably, you decided to cheat.

There were spells for death, aneurysms, memory, you name it— there was a spell for it. It took time but eventually, you found one for painting. It helped you create a spectacular painting of Klaus. You use the term ‘help’ when in reality, the spell did most of the work.

You were ecstatic to show him the painting, holding the canvas close to your chest as you reached the art room.

“Nik?” you call out quietly, entering the room.

He hums, setting down his paint brush, he was working on a landscape painting. He turns to you, raising a brow when he sees you’re carrying something.

“I’ve brought you something…”

“You’ve got my attention.” he stands up from his stool as you hand him the canvas.

He flips it over and reveals the painting of himself, a small smile appears on his face. Suddenly, his brows furrow, causing you to gulp.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s excellent, love, I just wasn’t aware that you painted.”

“Oh,” your face heats up, “I don’t, not really… it’s just, you deserve a painting too… just because you’re the tortured artist type doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be captured and immortalized in art…”

Klaus surprises you by pulling you against him in a tight hug, “Thankyou.” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your head.

You freeze in shock but, after a moment you relax, “Of course…”

When he finally pulls back, he stares down at the painting before finally looking at you, “I know that you did not paint this though.”

“I- What do you mean?“

He clicks his tongue, “Artist, remember? I assume you used a spell, little witch?”

You sigh, “Well yes, but I just wanted to paint you and I couldn’t do it! It’s incredibly difficult! I tried my best but everytime I just ended up with scribbles!”

“Scribbles?”

“Yes! Scribbles!” you grab his hand, dragging him to your room to show him the failed paintings.

As expected, Klaus cackles at your failed attempts making you pout, “I did try!”

His laughter quickly subsides at your protest, “I know you did, it’s just… I think we should hang this one up,“ he holds up one of the paintings, “although, people may think Hope painted it.”

“Don’t be mean…” you cross your arms, looking away from him.

Klaus frowns, setting the paintings down, he approaches you and places his hands on your arms, uncrossing your arms, “I’m only teasing, I think that it’s quite sweet.”

Finally, you turn back and look at him, trying to hold your angry expression but fail. The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, just staring at each other until finally, Klaus moves. He dips his head, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns heated, his hands find their way to your waist and he pulls you flush against him.

You tug on his hair and he groans at the feeling, sliding his hands to the back of your thighs. He picks you up with ease, pushing you against the nearest wall causing a few things to rattle, including the painting made in blood. It fell to the ground, making you both break apart at the sound.

“That painting…” you mumble, out of breath, “It’s still so familiar…”

Klaus smirks, setting you back on the ground, “I thought you’d have figured it out by now…” he brushes some of the hair from your face, “It’s you, you’re the angel… I made that the day we first met. When you were surrounded by those vampires… and with a flick of your wrist all of their heads exploded, coating you in their blood. I had never seen a sight so beautiful…”

“That is… so messed up…” you breathe out, “but so hot.”

And with that, you grab his face and slam your lips to his. You truly were his muse, and he was yours… sort of?

Bonus!

You sit at the dining room table, coloring with Hope and Klaus. Rebekah was braiding Hope’s hair and Elijah sat at the head of the table drinking his coffee while looking over the newspaper when Kol came waltzing into the room.

Kol smiles, “I saw your new painting Hope, it’s lovely.”

Hope tilts her head, “What painting?”

Elijah answers before Kol can, “The portrait of Niklaus in the hallway.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately look at Klaus who is smirking at you.

“You ass!” you take the crayon you were currently holding and throw it at him, causing him to cackle.

“I told you I’d hang it up!”

#kit kat writes <3 #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #hope mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #fluff

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sheyfu · 1 year ago

Text

"𝐦𝐢 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐚, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞"

》 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝖾 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (all characters featured are aged up!!)

》 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗒, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍?

》 𝖼𝗐: 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗌𝖺𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 (𝖾𝗋𝗆); 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖽-𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎; 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗆; 𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗂𝗄𝗎; 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌; 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌; 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂-𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗒𝖺 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝖺; 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 :(; 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽; 𝗌𝖺𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗈𝖼 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗍𝗏; 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽; 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 (𝗌𝖺𝖽) 😓😓

》 𝗐𝖼: 1064 (longest piece of dookie i've written)

you were currently with itoshi sae attending, in his words, “a stupid clout chasing event for influencers to leech on footballers”, listening to shidou ryusei ramble about how he and otoya eita randomly bumped into beyoncé in the shibuya train station, when you suddenly felt the need to go to the lavatory. just when he was getting to the good part. silently excusing yourself, you let go of sae’s hand as you made a beeline towards the venue’s bathroom.

meanwhile outside, while shidou was telling the group about how beyoncé called him a sweetheart after getting his shirt signed, a young woman approaches the football stars’ table and sits down beside sae, interrupting whatever the loudmouth was going to say next. the whole group looks at her with question marks above their heads as she makes herself comfortable beside the prodigy.

excuse me but, who are you? isagi yoichi was the first to speak up, eyeing the woman with a raised eyebrow. “oh! my bad! forgot to introduce myself, whoopsies!” she said with a laugh so annoying, sae almost physically winced. “i’m kento mirai! but you can call me mai for short!! i’m currently modeling for abibas!! oh also! i’ve worked with sae before, you could say we have a lot of chemistry together, right sae darling?” her high-pitched voice rings in sae’s ears as he tries not to roll his eyes at the woman.

it’s not a lie though. but it’s not exactly true. yes, they’ve worked together for the brand but the chemistry she was talking about was simply a tale—they had no chemistry at all. everyday at the scene, she was always either beside sae or looking for sae, and even forcing herself into his personal space. it had gotten so bad to the point that sae was very tempted to call the project manager and drop it. but of course, his manager talked his ear off saying if he did decide to call mister PM, he’d reduce the player’s consumption of his beloved ichibo steak to only once a month—what a jerk.

anyways.

his trance is cut off by the thing beside him, talking her ear off. my head hurts. sae grimaces as he looks around the venue to look for you, spotting you by the bar ordering some drinks from him and you. perfect. just at the right time, mi amor.

he stands up but just as he was about to go to you, a harsh grip on his wrist is enough to tear his eyes away from you. he looks down to his captor’s hand with a raised eyebrow. “what do you want, woman?” he jerks his arm away from her yet she doesn’t let go. he looks again at your direction and he sees that you’re gone. he panics. yet for some reason, he can’t get away from this woman’s grip. “saeeee.” she whines. “don’t leave yet! I’m not yet done talking to you!”

now. sae isn’t a fan of hurting women—he’s a fan of women! they’re really amazing, yeah. but at this moment, he suddenly wants to abandon all his feminism and push her off a cliff. tch.

“hey man, d’ya think we should ya know, ask her to leave?” sae hears chigiri hyoma’s worried voice whisper to oliver aiku. please do. sae inwardly pleads to the gods above as he side eyes the pair. “nah, ‘s getting ‘ntresting.” aiku slurs, clearly under the influence. damn fuckin' traitor. sae feels a harsh tug on his arm, almost dragging him down to the couch. what a strong woman. she whines again. fine. if you want to do it the hard way, then i’ll give you hell. sae thinks.

“let me go, please.” he cringes at his use of words. “i have a wife to look for and if you don’t let go of me now i’ll have to call the security.” he says, hoping for her to get the hint.

she does.

but just not in the way sae hoped.

“your wife? oh! that y/n l/n? oh please! i don’t even know what you see in her! i mean, she’s nothing but a lowlife! clearly using you for money! i’d be so much better for you, my sae.” erm. okay. what the hell. sae’s hella conflicted now. he doesn’t know if he wants to take the risk and run away from her or beat the living shit out of her.

he feels her body hug him from the back and before sae knew it, he pushed her away and let out everything he wanted to say to her.

“listen here, woman. my wife is the kindest and purest soul there is on earth. she brings heaven to me and lights up whatever emo shit is inside me. everything she says and everything does makes me all giddy and shit. and unlike you, her and i actually have chemistry. so i suggest you get the fuck out of my sight before i call security to feed you to the tigers or something. also, she's the only one who can make me giggle and kick my feet up in the air. fuck you.”

okay, maybe that was too much. but at least he defended your honor. common sae w. he thinks as he turns around to search for you, only to find you in front of him with the dopey smile he’s loved for eternity. he hears the cheers and snickers of the table, and even someone saying “oooh he popped off” (probably bachira meguru), yet the only thing he really cares about is you.

“so, my dear husband.” you say with a smirk on your face. “i light up the emo shit inside you”, huh? how romantic.” sae flushes and grabs his drink from your hand, chugging it and putting the glass on the table.

shut up. it's cuz you took too long in the washroom. did 'ya take a shit or somethin'? he says as he drags you to the exit of the venue. you hurriedly chug your drink and say your goodbyes to the rambunctious group of boys.

and as you enter the car, sae’s next words surprise you,

“i won’t lie though, i kinda ate that shit up a while ago. maybe we should attend more of these events. what d’ya say, mi vida?”

what a goofball of a husband you have.

HELLOOOO i hope this was enjoyable for everyone ahu ahu 😓😓 unfortunately this is NOT a banger and my experiment of adding my goof into a piece failed erm 😓😓 still, thank you for reading!! hopefully, i'll post more bangers once i get out of my silly sad mood ahu ahu 😓😓 as always, reblogs, comments and likes are very much appreciated!!

#🐈‍⬛️.scorebook #⚽️.blue lock #🥅.itoshi sae #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #bllk fluff #bllk angst #blue lock fluff #blue lock angst #blue lock sae

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ghostgirl-22 · 5 months ago

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so i actually need pt 2 to the older patrick younger art fic right NOW.. jk but it was amazing

Y’all. Y’ALL. I heard you. And though I don’t really love writing sequels… I’ll do anything for you honestly <33

Original.

It’s a mess and way too long which is prbly to be expected by now. Idk. Sometimes you just have to get out of your head and post 😭

18+ NSFW

CW: AGE GAP 10-11 years, power dynamics, teacher/student vibes, first time vibes, AND mild daddy!kink whoopsie! How did that happen? Obviously if any of these things make you uncomfortable don’t read. I don’t take it personally. I’ll explain myself a bit. Art in my imagination here didn’t get constantly shown up by Patrick and because Patrick wasn’t there Art got the attention Patrick got for his skills so he’s a little more arrogant (still a little insecure because that’s his core) and still messy. Patrick had the Tashi injury which makes him a little less arrogant (brought down a notch but still overcompensates and actively self sabotages because that’s his core) and still messy.

——

Art is still keyed up the next morning. His roommate, Devon, is bragging about hooking up with a senior. Art is trying to pay attention but all he can think about is how he got on his knees and gave messy head to Patrick, Coach Zweig, his 31 year old ridiculously hot tennis coach. And how Patrick practically promised to fuck him if he was a really good boy all week. He’s sitting on his hands trying not to go crazy.

“What did you get up to?” Devon finally asks him. Picking up his towel and getting ready to shower.

“Can you keep a secret?” Art asks.

That makes him sit back down. “Yeah of course.”

Art tells him about Patrick, most of it anyway, watching his eyes widen. He’s not on the tennis team but he’s heard enough about Coach Zweig from Art that he can’t help giggling.

“You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“Holy shit. And I thought I was doing something with that senior. Wow. This would only happen to you.”

Art isn’t sure what he means by that but he’s suddenly asking a million questions. Art tells him some things, embellishing and withholding various details. The closest Art ever came to actually fucking a boy was when he used to sneak in Devon’s bed whenever he got horny at night. They were so close to fucking when Art made him stop. so he made Art promise to stop leading him on. And now they’re proper roommates with boundaries and everything. Though sometimes Art thinks if he asked for it Devon would still fuck him.

Devon thinks it’s hot, the whole Patrick thing. Thinks Patrick wants to make Art his kept boy. “Well I mean… he’s old and everyone says he’s loaded, right? He can give you whatever you want.” Devon says.

“Please, he wouldn’t even give me his phone number.” Art says dismissively. “And I don’t need to be kept I just need his dick.”

Devon chews his bottom lip looking Art over and Art wonders if he crossed a boundary. He’s so fucking messy with them.

“Lucky him,” Devon says dryly, rolling his eyes. “But maybe you should milk it. You’re young and beautiful and blonde and he’s your coach so it’s like.. it’s kind of illicit. He could get you a nice place off campus… be your sugar daddy. Girls do it all the time.”

“I think he’d kill me if I ever called him that,” Art laughs, making up his mind to definitely call him that at some point.

Devon agrees to come out with him next weekend but he still has to wait the whole fucking week. It feels like torture.

They have practice everyday and a game on Friday. Which means Patrick’s in those short shorts running them around the court every single day. Art can’t keep his mind off of him. Just wants his attention so bad, everyday he’s doing everything he can just to get Patrick to look in his direction. But Patrick’s got an epic poker face. He’s so fucking cool and calm and collected. So good at acting like nothing happened. Like everything is the same and they never did what they did.

There's one difference. Instead of having the assistant coach do it… he’ll bring Art to the side and personally correct him when he thinks Art could play better. Show him how to position himself, swing the racket, follow through. Big hands, rough hands, gripping Art's waist to turn his body, his wrist to direct his swing. The same hands that effortlessly lifted off his lap the other night.

“Can’t be all talk and no action sweetheart,” Patrick says lightly, as he’s standing behind him. God. It’s actually stupid how sexy he is. Art’s never thought this much about being penetrated, ever. He makes sure to arch his back just a little more than he usually does. Patrick presses a hand to the small of his back.

Art fingers the grip of his racket. “I don’t think I was all talk.”

Patrick chuckles, low and soft. “Stop it. Focus. Bring that energy here,” he says, “all that confidence right here and no one will rattle you.”

“Like this?” Art demonstrates. He makes a mess of it just so that Patrick will touch him again. It takes a minute before Patrick catches on.

“I think you get it,” he says dryly.

“Please show me one more time. I just wanna be a good boy for you,” Art says lightly. It makes Patrick swallow… his gaze falls helplessly over Arts body and then he looks away smirking.

“Are you having fun?” He says, leaning in close, eyes all crinkly with amusement.

Art wants to kiss him. “Mmhm,” he hums, pressing his lips together. “Though sometimes it still feels like my mouth is so full of you I could just… choke.”

“Yeah… right…” Patrick rolls his eyes, still smiling and then he takes a deep breath and drags his hand over his beard. “Hm…What’s today?”

“Wednesday,” Art says.

“And my plans for the weekend are still up in the air,” he says, patting Art on the shoulder as he takes his racket and turns to face the team. “Five laps around the court, everybody, let’s gooo!” He says loudly, blowing his whistle. “Fucking hustle!”

There’s an audible groan and the sounds of rackets dropping as everyone stops what they’re doing and starts running. “Go join them. And if you keep it up it’ll be sprints next.” Patrick says softly.

Art grins, as much as he hates running and he’s sure his teammates will assume he’s responsible for this bit of conditioning, it was still totally fucking worth it.

He probably should’ve focused more but he wins on Friday in spite of himself. Tennis is such a mental game and while he’s generally confident and loves the attention that comes with playing as number one on the center stage, he’s not consistent. That’s what Patrick always says at least. There are opponents that leave him feeling less sure of himself and then he tends to get in his head imagining he’s somehow inadequate or deficient.

One of those players is a French recruit from UCLA, Jensen Bordeaux. Art starts out strong. Crushes it in the first set. But when Bordeaux fights back in the second and he falls apart a little. It’s a bad habit. He wins another game but it’s not enough. He ends up nearly going into a third set.

“Remember what I said,” Patrick takes him to the side between points. “Stop acting like you can’t finish him off. You can have whatever you want right?”

Art gazes at him and bites his lip. “Mmhm.” He nods.

“Good. You know what you want. Just take it. Okay?”

“Yeah okay,” Art says breathlessly.

“Good boy,�� Patrick says, rubbing his shoulders, a little smirk on his lips. “Try not to… you know… choke.”

Art feels heated from the inside out. He goes back on the court except he’s not thinking about the game. Instead he’s so anxious for the promise of tomorrow night that all this begins to feel like a mere obstacle to that. He makes easy work of it, winning the tiebreaker and shifting it so that Stanford goes home the winning team.

Everyone on the team goes out to a frat party to celebrate and Art is so drunk and horny by the end of the night. He stumbles into his dorm at 1 am, falls drunkenly into bed and starts touching himself. Fingers in his mouth imagining it’s the heavy weight and thickness of Patrick’s cock. Imagining Patrick’s large hands in his hair, imagining the soft, easily amused tone of his voice as he murmurs. “Good boy.” Makes him come so fast and hard he passes out.

He’s a mess in the morning. In more ways than one. They don’t have practice after game days so he sleeps off his hangover and the day flies by. He takes a long hot shower before he gets ready to go. Anxiety and anticipation competing for space in his brain and body. Devon loans him clothes that are so much tighter than anything he wears regularly. “Trust me, he’s gonna be all over you in this.”

They get there at the same time as last week but Patrick doesn’t come right away. Art’s waiting and waiting and waiting for Patrick to show up at the gay bar. Devon is at a table, a new boy on his lap and they’re making out. Art is half tipsy, swinging his legs on a barstool while this guy from the baseball team stands between his thighs asking him everything about tennis like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. And that’s when Patrick finally arrives. He spots Art across the bar and smirks. Art gets up right away, making excuses to the now frowning baseball player about seeing him around on campus.

“That was fast,” Patrick smirks, as Art sidles up next to him.

“Well I didn’t know you’d take so long to come,” Art says, moving closer. “Is that an old person thing?”

”Mm, you…” Patrick chuckles, tapping his credit card on the bar. He’s got such a great smile. God. Art is so far gone. This is tragic.

“Can you buy me a drink?” Art asks in his ear.

“No fucking way,” Patrick says, amused.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, how many drinks have you had tonight?”

Art holds up 3 fingers.

“Is that how many fingers I’m gonna have to put in before I can… nevermind…” Patrick says.

Art grins. Warmth spreading throughout his body. “It’s really big,” Art whispers. “Maybe you need four?”

“God…” Patrick laughs, incredulous. “I shouldn’t even fucking be here.” He sighs, as the bartender approaches them. He orders a whiskey and because it’s two for one he gives in and lets Art pick something. He orders rum and coke.

Art feels giddy as he sips on it.

“So used to getting whatever you ask for,” Patrick says, looking him over, teasing a finger into one of his belt loops. “Twenty years old. God. You make me fucking crazy.” He whispers in Art’s ear.

Art can’t help grinning.

Patrick makes him wait while he talks to people his own age. Acting all wholesome. “Oh he’s just one of my players, I’m gonna make sure he gets home safe.” He even gives Art the key so he can wait in his jeep. Art’s hard as soon as he gets in it. Listens to music too loud and ponders touching himself.

He’s kissing on Patrick right away when he finally gets in the car. He’s been so eager all week. “Mm…” Patrick pulls back, tangling his fingers into Art’s hair. “Fuck… gimme a minute to get you home, okay?” he says and he turns on the engine and puts the music back at a sensible volume.

“Is it far?” Art asks.

Patrick huffs a laugh. “Take a deep breath.”

It doesn't help. Everything smells like him. Art puts a hand on Patrick’s thigh, his skin is so heated. He remembers how warm Patrick’s cock felt in his mouth and then his mouth starts watering.

“Is Tashi there?” Art sighs.

“What do you fucking think?”

Art leans close, just breathing him in. Resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder. ”She’s so pretty.” He hums.

“I know.”

“You’re so pretty.”

Patrick chuckles, a low vibration Art can feel from his throat that makes him shiver. “And you're so tipsy. And so fucking young.”

“But you like it.” Art says softly, rubbing Patrick’s thigh. Skin so warm he’s like a furnace. Already hard enough that Art can feel it.

”And I know I’m gonna regret it.”

Their house is actually huge. On the nicer side of Palo Alto. It’s one of the ones with a pool and a tennis court and a crazy nice view of the city. Art doesn’t know any of this until later because as soon as they're inside he’s trying to get his tongue in Patrick’s mouth. Patrick walks him back towards the living room where there’s a huge leather sofa. Art climbs onto his lap as soon as he sits down. Patrick is touching him everywhere, fingers tangled into his hair. Hands under his shirt, rubbing him, teasing him. Art is just trying his best to feel him, lick into his mouth and taste him. All while grinding against his prominent bulge. Grabbing at his zipper trying to get it out.

“Can you fuck me?” Art begs against his lips.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes against his lips, he’s gripping Art’s waist tightly. Slowing him down. He sighs like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Mmkay. God. Stand up a minute. I need to get a condom and some lube.”

Art gets up reluctantly, nervous energy making him bounce on his toes like he’s waiting on a serve. Patrick smirks, “Relax… I’ll be back in a minute.” He pats Art’s shoulder as he gets up and disappears into another room. It doesn’t matter whether Art sits or stands, he’s anxious. He looks around the lavish room, fancy furniture, paintings that look expensive. Massive kitchen like the kind you see in movies. Patrick comes back and he’s all loose, t-shirt wrinkled, hair messy, eyes soft. He’s probably done this a million times. He’s got a condom between his fingers which he hands to Art.

“You wanna put it on me?”

”Mmhm,” Art says. He’s also carrying a little bottle of lube. Art’s trying to rip the packet open but his hands are all shaky. Especially when Patrick lifts his t-shirt off, he’s so solid, strong biceps, chest hair that gets darker condensed down the line of his stomach to where his jeans are unbuttoned. Art wants to lick it.

“Okay,” Patrick settles on the sofa, kicking off his shoes. “Give me that, you pretty little virgin and take those clothes off.”

Art hands him the condom a little embarrassed, and starts undoing his jeans. Kicks off his shoes and peels off his shirt so he’s only in boxers. Patrick bites open the packet and eases his jeans down and his cock out. Art takes shallow breaths watching him roll the condom on. It’s so big the condom is a magnum size and it fits snug. He’s heard horror stories about first times, even read a few on Reddit and he’s starting to feel a little panicked.

”Look at you.” Patrick says softly, eyes dragging slowly down Arts body. He pulls Art onto his thighs, god he has thick muscular thighs, Art can’t help wiggling. Patrick’s got him close so their cocks line up, and his palm is covered in lube and he’s gripping them both at the same time. It feels so fucking good Art thinks he might come too fast. He’s moaning, eyes squeezed shut when Patrick stops. Art opens his eyes to see Patrick wetting his fingers with more lube and slips a thick calloused finger back along Art’s entrance. Art feels himself seizing up as Patrick presses slowly inside.

“Take deep breaths,” Patrick whispers. Advice Art tries to follow but it just feels so crazy. He eases another finger in and Art tenses even more.

“Mm if your so fucking tight, I can’t fuck you sweetheart.”

“Does it hurt?” Art whispers.

Patrick takes a breath. “Yeah a little at first… but I think I can make it feel a little…uh better…”

Art shivers, his body suddenly overrun by pleasure as Patrick’s teasing his fingertips deep inside him. Art can hear himself moaning voice suddenly pitched so high he barely recognizes it. “Please… please… “he begs. “Please fuck me… fuck me… fuck me daddy.” Art gasps, losing himself as he’s riding the sensation.

“Fuck… what did you call me?” Patrick whispers.

Art bites his lip, his body heating up immediately with embarrassment. “Mm sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I meant like sugar…” He says softly as Patrick slowly pulls his fingertips out. Art is breathless. Patrick doesn’t look mad but his expression has gone heady.

“Fuck… I can be daddy if you need it,” Patrick breathes. “Come…sit on daddy’s dick. Holy shit. What are you doing to me?”

Art swallows, his stomach doing flip flops for the way Patrick says it. He sits up on his knees, he can feel Patrick lining up. It actually feels like a lot. Like way too much. Impossible to take. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut and watering feeling the insane stretch as he sinks so fucking slowly down on it.

“Oh god,” he keeps whispering over and over like a prayer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. His hands gripping Art’s waist.

He’s anxious moving slowly, gripping tightly, it’s too much, he’s too full. And Patrick starts to adjust him while gently rubbing his tummy. “Relax… lets try this angle,” Patrick whispers. Fucking into him in a way that he starts hitting that pleasure spot deep inside with even more intensity. “Good… good boy…that’s right…breathe… breathe… keep breathing… fuck…” Patrick coaches. And then slowly as it happens Art is moaning, bouncing on his lap just to feel it hit over and over and over and over again.

“I wanna… mmm I like it so much. wanna do it all the time,” Art moans nonsensically as he’s riding, not sure what’s happening, just that he’s seeing stars. “I wanna fuck you all the time. All the fucking time. wanna fuck you at school… during practice. In your bed. Wanna be your boy toy. Play with your big dick. Fuck me, oh fuck… fuck me daddy, daddy please. It feels so fucking good.”

“Jesus,” Patrick groans he barely grips Art’s cock and he’s coming loudly, spurts of it covering Patrick’s chest and his own. He can feel Patrick still pressing up into him, it suddenly feels like way too much. Every movement making him shake with how sensitive it feels and then Patrick stills, swearing over and over, gripping Art’s body tight and burying himself deep. Low gravelly sounds against Art’s ear.

”Fuck,” Patrick gasps, breathlessly. “Oh… god. You’re so… fuck I’m so screwed.”

“Mm,” Art collapses against his chest, running his fingers down Patricks soft chest hair all painted with his jizz. His knees are all sweaty and sticking to the leather but he doesn’t really care. He just wants to be close. Patrick is gently rubbing his lower back and it feels amazing. Art can feel him softening and slowly slipping out of him, he thinks he might fall asleep like this.

“You okay?” Patrick asks.

”Mmhm,” Art says.

“You sure?”

”Yeah. Can we do it again?”

“God,” Patrick laughs. “I need at least five minutes and I need you to get up cause I gotta piss.”

“No,” Art whines, unhappy about anything that means he won’t be warmed by Patrick's body heat even for a second. He wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick chuckles. “I can’t go anywhere?”

“No,” Art says. “You’re my pillow.”

“Guess I fucked your virgin ass good,” Patrick says.

“For an old guy,” Art says softly, smiling against Patrick’s throat.

“For your daddy, you little freak…” Patrick says gently, squeezing his ass. “Come on, get up or we’re gonna have a bigger mess to clean up.”

Art groans and unwraps his arms. “Can I come?”

“To piss?” Patrick raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Art nods.

Patrick smirks and rolls his eyes before gently curling his fingers into Arts hair. “Yeah sure, come on.”

Art kisses him and he sighs into Arts mouth. “I need a fucking cigarette too.”

“Can I stay over?” Art asks against his lips.

“Mm…” he ponders and sighs. “Fuck it I don’t know why I bother pretending to set boundaries with you…” he says, helping Art to his shaky feet. “Tashi will be home tomorrow afternoon. So you know… better not sleep too late.”

Art grins at him. “Does she know about me?”

“Does she know that after I finally got a good job as a tennis coach at my old school that I’m this close to losing it because I can’t help fucking my barely legal 20 year old star player? No actually. She doesn’t know.” He says dryly.

Art laughs. “I wouldn’t tell. But I mean imagine if I slept with you both. I’d learn so much about tennis.“

Patrick snorts, “This kinda talk is gonna make me take you home tonight actually…”

“Mm too late. You let me call you daddy,” Art grins. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

#challengers fic #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #artrick smut

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icaruspendragon · 4 months ago

Note

Take on snakes?

one time I was kayaking with some friends and we came around a bend that had a little beach. the bank held a few families with little kids. all of whom were having a grand time doing river beach in bumfuck, tennessee activities.

as we were out in nature, there happened to be a little snake guy swimming through the water, just minding his business doing river snake in bumfuck, tennessee things.

upon spotting the little snake guy, one of the adults calls the kids back to shore. not an unexpected move as there are several venomous snakes to watch out for in the south–namely copperheads, rattle snakes, and cottonmouths. cottonmouths are also referred to as water moccasins, a moniker earned as they are frequently found in/near bodies of water. most children in the south are taught which snakes to avoid pretty early on. and so understandably the snake warning makes the kids scared. my "brother" skylar was the closest to our slithery little guy. he calls out to the bank that the snake is harmless.

now. as a kid who grew up in bumfuck, alabama watching animal planet I love little creatures.

my childhood summers were spent exploring creeks and swamps looking for crawdads and little fishies and lizards and turtles and snakes and pollywogs and salamanders and frogs.

did this love for little creatures cause an inadvertent introduction of an invasive species? yes. but sometimes childhood curiosity causes whoopsie-doodles.

my love for little creatures never went away. I was curious, not afraid. and as fortune favors the bold, the snake swam my way. once the little creature was close enough, I gently lifted it from the water with my paddle so I could get a better look.

it looked like a snake.

my friend slid off and back into the water, swimming closer to me, under my kayak, then popping up on the other side. now that it was near enough, that childhood curiosity came back in full force. I did what I thought anyone in my situation would do.

I gave my snaky friend a couple of light strokes on the tail as he swam away.

once we were a ways around the bumfuck, tennessee river beach, skylar turns to me and furiously whisper-shouts, "why the fuck did you touch that thing?" confused by his ire I say, "because he’s a little guy? you said he was fine.”

he gives me a look that can only be described as incredulous before speaking again, "yeah dumbass. I was lying because I didn't want those kids to freak out. the adults knew what kind of snake it was."

brow furrowed, I demand, "then why the fuck didn’t you tell me not to touch it?"

that's when my husband, who previously hadn't been listening to our conversation asks, "wait? did you really touch it?"

I give him a Look. "of course I did, that shouldn't be surprising."

our party stops paddling, all eyes are now on me.

"you touching a snake isn't the issue. the issue is you touching a water moccasin."

it's my turn to be incredulous. "how the fuck was I supposed to know that? skylar said it was harmless, so of course I touched it!"

"all skylar does is lie to fuck around around with people, something you most definitely know."

skylar chimes in once more, "to be fair to myself, I thought she knew I was lying."

I did not.

but to answer your question my take on snakes is that i think they’re neat.

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genderlessdude92 · 1 year ago

Text

PRECIOUS

PAIRINGS: Alastor x Reader

SUMMARY: You and Alastor get into a fight because you’re just worried he got hurt after a fight with Vox. He snaps at you and…well, you isolate yourself. whoopsies!

WARNINGS: Emotional abuse, Toxic relationship dynamics (but they both love each other dw), Intense emotional distress, Language, Potential Triggers, Donestic conflict. (MAJOR FLUFF AT THE END THOUGH!!! ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP!!!) They were a couple alive too if you don’t mind idk i suck at writing- USAGE OF Y/N I ALMOST FORGOT AHHH- Lmk if i missed anything :3

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.< Property of @l4zyb0n35 and @genderlessdude92

Requests are open, support is highly appreciated!

WORDS: 1.7k

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

“Alastor, are you serious?!” You yelled as Alastor started to walk away from you, mid conversation.

Alastor had just gotten into a big fight with Vox, luckily survived, though. The frustrating part is, he won’t even let you heal him. Or know what the battle was even about?!

Which made you really, really paranoid.

“Alastor, don’t walk away from me, that’s rude.” You caught up with him and began to match his pace and he walked to the halls of the hotel to lucifer knows where. “We need to talk about this.” You say firmly. “I’m going to find out one way or another.” You add, raising your voice slightly.

Alastor stopped walking and turned around to face you. He was looking down at you, which always made you feel so small. Even if he wasn’t actually looking at you, you could still feel it.

“Well, then.” His voice was calm, but a hint of annoyance was there. “Aren’t you just invested in my little public hiccup.”He crossed his arms, waiting for your response.

“Yes I am. And I think we should talk about it, instead of you getting defensive.” You looked him dead in the eye and kept talking. “And why you didn’t tell me.” Your voice went quieter again.

Alastor hid a chuckle, “I thought you would care more about me surviving, than knowing how many lives I took today.” He raised his eyebrow, mocking you. “Or maybe, I don’t want to share this kind of information with someone who will judge me for it.” He was now fully annoyed by you.

You stepped closer to him, trying to keep him from leaving again. “Alastor, please stop. I’m just trying to help. I don’t…” You trailed off nervously. “I don’t want us fighting.”

Alastor smirked at you, “Oh, don’t worry love. We aren’t fighting. Yet.” His tone was harsh and he leaned down to look you in the eyes. “But I will if you continue to harass me about this.”

You felt yourself start to panic, but tried your best to hide it. “I’m sorry Alastor, I just…” You couldn’t finish your sentence, as he interrupted you.

“No. Don’t ‘just’ anything. You know I hate that word.” He said with a cold smile. “Now leave me alone before I get upset with you.”

“…You know,” You began, standing in your place as Alastor walked away, “You should at least act like you care about my opinion, maybe act like a husband, as well.” You snapped back, but in a more calm, collected tone. (minus the shakiness in your voice.)

“That’s rich coming from you.” Alastor snapped back, turning around to face you again. “What did I ever do to deserve such a self-righteous wife?” He raised his voice a bit, but not enough for others to hear. “How dare you assume things about me without even asking. How dare you come here and make demands of me. How dare you try to control me.” He continued yelling, walking towards you. “You have no right to tell me what to do! I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

“I’m not trying to control you. I’m just saying, maybe you could at least consider what I have to say sometimes…” You tried to say bravely, but failed at the end. You felt so small. So insignificant.

You felt like nothing.

Alastor was now right in front of you, towering above you. His height and stature were intimidating, but his voice was worse. It was rough and demanding, making you feel like you weren’t worth anything. “You are nothing, nothing compared to me.” He sneered. “I don’t give a damn about what you think. What you say. What you do. You’re just a pathetic little sinner who has no idea what real power feels like. You’re not worthy of my time. You’re not worthy of my attention. You’re not worthy of my love.” He spat out the last word like it tasted sour in his mouth.

His words were cutting through your heart, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

You dashed away to the nearest staircase, needing to get to your office. Your only safe space.

***

It has been about a week now since the fight you and Alastor had.

It had also been a week since you came out of your office.

You didn’t really leave your office because, one, it had a fridge of food and other things. Two, you had a makeshift bed with the couch. And three, why would you even go out there?

Only problem is, you’ve cried everyday, and that made you feel like complete imp-shit.

You really wanted to see Alastor, but you knew it wouldn’t end well.

You also didn’t want to be around anyone else, either.

***

Alastor was a gentleman to all women who deserved so.

An example he would give you is Rosie. He’s a gentleman to her because she’s nice to him and has manners. She deserves it.

But, if he was near Velvette, he would call her cruel names and shred all her ‘designer masterpieces’.

But, now he was confused.

What happened with Y/N?

He had never fought like that with her before no, usually she would be next to him in bed right now.

He was starting to miss her.

…he needed to give her an apology.

But he knew he wasn’t good with words.

So, he brainstormed.

“I could probably give her a heart…” He thought, stepping out of bed and pondering for a moment, “…no, no….maybe…some flowers?…” he looked over to his bayou. “…Allergies.”

He slumped onto his armchair and looked around his room for any ideas at all.

“…maybe some candy? No.” He thought, “She doesn’t eat much sweets.”

He sat there for a while longer, thinking.

Then it hit him.

***

You heard footsteps outside your door, and immediately froze. You looked around your room for any escape route, and found none. You decided to sit back down on your couch, and began to wait for whoever was there to leave.

The footsteps stopped outside your door, and a knock sounded out. “Y/N, open the door.” Alastor’s voice was stern and commanding. “I know you’re in there.” He added.

You opened the door slowly, and peeked out to see who it was.

“Hello, darling.” Alastor said with a warm smile. “Can I come in?”

You just stared at him, saying nothing

‘fuck’, he thought, ‘i caused this.”

“Y/N, I just want to apologize.” He finally said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I was wrong.”

“…you don’t mean that.” You replied, still not moving.

“I do mean it, darling. Please jsut…let me in.” Alastor said sincerely, taking a step forward.

You hesitated for a moment, then moved aside to let him in. He closed the door behind him and stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of what to do or say next.

Then, your eyes wandered to the large picture album he was holding to his side.

“Alastor…what’s that?” You asked, taking a step back cautiously.

“…it’s our picture album.” He looked at you, remaining calm. “…from…when we were alive. You know, with all those crappy photos.” He smiled softly.

You looked up at him, “…I’m scared.”

Alastor knew exactly why, as well.

He sighed, “I promise…I will keep myself contained if i ever, ever lash out like that… ever again.” He claimed, tears building up in his eyes.

“What i said back there was not true at all. You are everything to me, you are worth so much, and most of all, I love you.” He dropped the book to the floor and held out his arms to hug you.

You didn’t move, “…I don’t want to be here…” You said, letting a tear fall.

He nodded, “That’s okay, dear, let’s go to our room, okay?” He reassured, picking the book back up and holding you tight to his waist as the shadows consumed you both, talking you to his room.

***

You and Alastor missed this.

Limbs tangled together in bed, holding each other close, breathing in each other’s scents, you wish you had this sooner.

Alastor flipped a page of the album, “Oh look,” He noticed, pointing his claws to the first picture in the album, “It’s our cat, oh, what was his name again?” He asked, looking at you.

You were still crying.

He took a deep breath, “Y/n,” he exhaled, “It’s okay, dear…please don’t think about it.”

You looked at him, “w-what?” you said, wiping your cheek.

He ran a claw through your hair, “Nothing.” He said, smiling softly.

You put your head on his shoulder, “Okay,” you mumbled into his chest, closing your eyes and enjoying his scent.

He stroked your hair, “Do you remember our wedding day?” He asked.

You shook your head, “…no, I don’t…it was too long ago…” you said, sniffling.

He kissed the top of your head, “That’s alright, sweetheart, we have plenty of time to talk about it.” He assured you, pulling you closer to him.

You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You felt safe in his arms. Safe and loved.

Alastor flipped the pages until he found the wedding pictures, “Oh, here we are. Look, see how my mother walked you through the aisle?” He rubbed the picture with his thumb, rethinking back the memory.

“…yeah…I remember now…” You snuggled closer into him, trying to control your ragged breathing.

“…just breathe daring.” He reminded you, “Look here, you see how much you’ve changed?” He laughed softly, flipping another page, “See here? Here you are at our anniversary dinner, you wore that beautiful dress that made your legs look amazing.” He blushed lightly, “I remember you told me I was the only one allowed to see it.”

You giggled, “…that was a joke, silly.” You said, opening your eyes and smiling up at him.

“Ah, yes, I know.” He smiled back,

“…You’re so precious to me, y’know that?” He said, leaning down and kissing your forehead.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

END NOTES: Idk what i was thinking when i made this fic erm…! Idk I’ve been going thru some shit rn but I’ve gotta impress the community because the notes/likes/comments/reblogs on my posts aren’t doing to good rn!! Oh no!!! (that is a sign from my greedy ass) And i just started a multi-chapter fic so like idk why i’m typing this- support is appreciated. BAI!!![![![11!

-Lynn ¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩ Masterlist Link

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x wife reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x you

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thatcoolweirdgirlwrites · 6 days ago

Text

"If You Want" Series: Heart To Heart ♡ || S.B

Sirius Black x Fem!reader

part one, part two, part three

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Slow Burn, mutual pining, emotional tension, use of Y/N, minor angst, miscommunication

Summary: A tense moment with Sirius Black turns into late-night regrets, an apology letter, and the slow unraveling of something neither of you expected. Slowburn, miscommunication, and a little heart to heart.

A/N: I accidentally deleted my last blog... WHOOPSIE! Thankfully I saved my fics so I'm going to repost them. It's all the same, except for the Warnings, summary, and A/N. Anywayssss... (not proofread)

Thank you for reading, my lovelies!! (Fic below cut)

You weren't really friends with Sirius Black.

Not really.

He was there most of the time — loud, dramatic, and unapologetically himself — when lily would drag you along to Hogsmeade to hang out with her boyfriend, James Potter, and his three friends— one of which was Sirius. So of course sure you've had your fair share of conversation, but nothing to profound. Mostly dry small talk.

You never really knew why she was so persistent with inviting you and neither of your two other friends. Every time you asked she would just tell you the other two weren't as tolerant of the boys even though you know that was a lie.

⸻

Tonight was no different.

It was a Friday, so of course most normal sixth-year students would be going to parties, drinking, snogging and what-not.

But instead, you were sitting in your dorm, papers spread around your bed as you studied for an exam you had that upcoming Monday. It was taking up most of your brain space, so you did not fully register the words lily was saying from over your shoulder until you felt something hit the back of your head.

You whip your head around to find Lily looking straight at you. Your eyes flicker down to find her shoe on the floor then back up to her eyes.

"Yes, Lily?" You say with a rather annoyed, exasperated tone that she did not seem to pick up on, considering her constant chatter.

"Are you even listening to me?" She says with an unimpressed look

"no," You say bluntly. You give a slight shake of your head for affirmation and look back at your book, mumbling, "didn't comprehend a word."

Lily scoffs, rolling her eyes as she stands and crosses the room to plop down beside you, pushing some papers to the side.

Before she could open her mouth to speak you look at her and put a hand up. "No Hogsmeade today. I have to study-"

"You don't have to-"

"I want to. I can't fail this test, Lils, I'm sorry." You say trying your best to sound apologetic, but it sounded a bit too clipped to carry that through.

"Come on, when have you ever failed a test, Y/N?" She sounds absolutely flabbergasted that you would even think that could happens. "You and I are quite literally the smartest girls in our entire year."

You let out a sigh of defeat and close your book.

"You know, you could always tell James that you just want to go with him instead of a group. Then maybe we wouldn't have to do this every weekend."

"You mean me begging you for an hour just for you to eventually give in and go? I think that problem could be solved without me telling James I don't like his friends and breaking his heart." She lets out a small chuckle, rolling onto her back, her arms resting over her stomach.

"You know what, fine. When are we going? Same as last time?" You say, tossing your book to the corner and grabbing your wand.

You sit up abruptly, papers around you crinkling as you collect them and put them neatly away.

Lily nods once and stands up. "mhm, same as last time. I'm off to tell Jamie that you're coming- oh by the way, Sirius will be there tonight." She says with a grin that makes you blink a few times in confusion.

You nod once and watch her walk off. You had not seen Sirius in a minute, because it seems the only time you ever cross paths are when it's planned by your mutual friends, and the past couple of hang outs have been vacant of your presence due to 'studying'— Or at least that's what you told them.

⸻

Later that evening — after taking not even five minutes to get ready — You walk down to the common room, finding Lily, James, Remus, Peter, and Sirius huddled by the couches, looking cozy.

You felt a bit bad being the last one out, making them wait for you, but you shrug off the feeling of guilt weighing on your shoulder and walk over.

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you lot waiting" you say quietly, watching them all stand up

"It's quite alright, we weren't waiting for long. Sirius took forty minutes to do his hair and you took — what — five?" James says with a grin, looking at Sirius, who grumbled and rolled his eyes, walking to the door of the common room.

You watch him walk away, pulling his leather jacket around himself more. A small smile graced your lips. Not particularly at him, but more the fact that he had taken longer than you just on his hair.

It was the start of winter — so of course, it was blistering outside — and in your rush to not keep them waiting you forgot to grab a jacket.

"Shit-" You mumble to yourself as the snow and cold hits your skin through the long sleeve shirt.

The coverage barely did anything to keep you warm.

You were walking a bit behind the rest, your feet sinking into the snow and your arms wrapped around your body, doing nothing to conceal the shivers that ran through you.

Your eyes were downcast as the chatter of James and Lily laughing a bit too loud at something Peter had said filled the air. How the hell were they always so cheery?

The chattering of your teeth echoed loud, so much so that you didn't realize the figure walking next to you. That was until you felt something get draped over you.

You jumped a bit, the crunch of snow under your nearly soaked converse stopped as you came to a halt. Your head shoots up and your eyes were wide as you see him standing there with a soft smile on his face.

Sirius Black.

He tilted his head a bit and his smile turned into a grin. "What? Something on my face?"

You blink your shock away and start mumbling something, sentences that even you couldn't fully understand. You were completely thrown off by his action and started to take his leather jacket off of yourself to give it back to him.

"I can't- Here, you're going to freeze-"

He shook his head adjusting it on your shoulders and pressing a hand to your back, not forcing you, but lightly urging you to walk forward — as the group had gotten a bit further ahead.

"Don't mention it, love. I'll be fine, cold doesn't bother me" he whispers while looking ahead, his voice uncharacteristically soft, maybe that's why he said it so quietly, but instead of dwelling on it you choose to walk.

His hand never left your back until you got up to the rest.

⸻

The pub smelled of butter beer, wood-polish, and sweat. There were plenty of old drunk wizards all around, but eventually you all found an empty table to sit at.

You choose the seat closest to the wall, feeling like you'd be less of an intrusion on the groups conversation that way. Sirius took the spot next to you, Peter beside him, and the other three across.

You weren't much of a fan of butter beer, so instead you sat there. You listened to the conversation (barely) and your eyes kept darting to the door. You couldn't wait to get back to your dorm.

You had completely forgot you were wearing Sirius' jacket until you heard Remus across from you. "Y/N, Is that Sirius'? When did you get that?"

And just like that all eyes were on you. Your face turned a light shade of red, heat creeping up for neck and to your ears and cheeks.

"Oh- Uhm yes- it's- I wasn't-" You gave up on trying to speak after that embarrassing stumble of words that left your mouth and just blinked and nodded.

Your fingers were messing with the hem of it, the sleeves falling a bit past your fingers. Your eyes were down on your lap as you heard them teasing. Thankfully Sirius noticed your uncomfortable body language.

"Don't be weird, you lot. I just gave it to her because she was shivering. I barely even know her. It means nothing. If I wanted to do anything more I would've done it already."

He says it so confidently that you nod, but then you think for a moment. You look up at him. You were never the confrontational type but the way he said that seemed almost demeaning.

"Would've done it already? And pray tell, Black, what makes you think I'd let you do anything with me?"

You scoff, going from grateful to offended in mere seconds.

He glances at you and looks a bit shocked at your question. "Come on, Y/N, look at me," He gestures to himself, one hand still holding hid butter beer. "You're telling me you wouldn't want one night to have all of this?"

By the way your eyes widened a fraction and the table got quiet he could tell he just said something wrong. Lily in particular knew how you were when it came to men being like that.

"Right, because you're just soooo hot and perfect." You laugh. The sound was not sweet or warm. It was bitter, like what he had said just changed your whole view of him.

"Are you always this arrogant and full of yourself? Sirius, there is not a chance in this world would I want to do anything with you. Ever. I don't know you like that, and merlin knows now that I don't want to. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot broomstick."

The table was now dead silent.

Even James — who could talk through all of detention and and then some in one breath — sat there, not saying one word.

You could feel the weight of every gaze around you. Lily’s eyes were wide. Now, with Sirius Black sitting beside you — his leather jacket still warm on your shoulders — you felt too exposed.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, that cocky look was swiped right off his face. His jaw was tight. He looked at you for a long moment. not sharp or defensive. Just watching you, like he was trying to read something off your face, though he's not even sure what invisible words he's searching for.

“…Right,” he said at last. Not playful. Not sarcastic. Just quiet.

He stood up, too sudden.

“Anyone want another drink?” His voice was too light now, forced. “No? Alright then.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked off toward the bar, the heels of his boots muffled by the pub floor.

You felt your heart stutter in your chest. You didn’t say anything.

Because what were you supposed to say? Sorry your joke flew over my head? Sorry for reacting with the emotions that i felt in the moment?

You sank into the back of your chair, fingers still fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket.

It smelled like him. Smoke and something like pine, musk, and leather. Cologne most likely. You hadn't really smelled it before this moment. You hated that you noticed, because now that you did it was overbearing.

⸻

Sirius didn’t come back for a while. When he did, he didn’t sit. He walked past the table and gave James a look, nodding toward the door.

“Think I’m heading out. It’s late.”

It wasn’t late.

But no one argued.

Instead you all stood and got our things.

The walk back was silent.

No loud talking. No laughter. Just the crunch of boots against packed snow and the way Sirius’ jacket weighed heavier on your shoulders now that you were acutely aware of the feeling on your shoulders.

He didn’t walk with the group. He kept a bit ahead and kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched over and a unreadable expression on his sharp-featured face. You hated how your eyes kept drifting toward him.

When you finally made it back to Gryffindor Tower, he didn’t wait at the portrait hole for James to say goodnight to Lily.

You followed a few steps later. You felt your chest tightening. guilt was gnawing at the edge of your thoughts.

You hadn’t meant to be so cruel to him.

You’d meant to stand up for yourself. You always had a hard line for people like him — boys who flirted like it was a game, who thought you were there to fall for them. But for some reason, it hadn’t felt satisfying to put him in his place.

It felt like you’d broken something you didn’t know was there to begin with.

⸻

That night, after everyone trickled back into their dorms in uncomfortable silence, you found James lingering near the stairs to the boys’ dormitory with Lily.

“Sirius already went up,” he said when you stopped in front of him, jacket folded neatly over your arm.

You didn’t look up, just held it out. “Can you give this to him?”

James nodded, something gentle and unreadable in his expression. He didn’t say anything. Just took it from you carefully and disappeared up the stairs.

You follow pursuit in the girls side. Lily followed not too far behind. You ignore the chatter of Marlene and Dorcas as you walk into the room, your mind replaying the words over and over, trying to find some reason for caring so much.

It means nothing.

If I wanted to do anything more, I would’ve done it already.

Would’ve done it already? And pray tell, Black, what makes you think I’d let you do anything with me?

You flopped onto your bed face-first, the mattress creaking beneath you as you groaned into your pillow. What had gotten into you?

You weren’t supposed to care.

Not about bloody Sirius Black.

“She’s sulking,” Marlene’s voice came through the air like a siren, equal parts smug and concerned. “I can feel it.”

“I’m not sulking." you mumbled into the pillow.

Lily sighed, walking over to her bed and fell back onto her own bed, the frame creaking. “You absolutely are."

She turned to look at the other two girls. "She told Sirius off in front of all of the boys. He was being himself and... you know how that goes."

“Leave her alone,” Dorcas said lightly from her spot at the window. “She’s humiliated.”

You groaned. “Why are all of you like this?”

“Because we care,” Marlene sang, throwing herself onto your bed and nearly bouncing you off the mattress. “Also, because you stood up to Sirius Black in front of half of the pub, and I will be talking about it until I die.”

It wasn’t even that big a deal,” you muttered.

Dorcas flopped beside you, tugging the pillow away from your face. “It kind of was. He never gets called out."

"How did the conversation even go?" Marlene asked curiously, and without a second thought you started to explain. All the way from him giving you his jacket to the moment he left.

"Then he left. Said it was 'late'. We all followed."

Marlene laughed. “He acted like you should be grateful for the privilege of being flirted with by him. I would’ve hexed him for that one-liner alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, thank you, Marls, but this doesn’t actually make me feel better.”

Dorcas gave you a small smile. “You know, he didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so now we’re defending him?” Marlene scoffed.

“No,” Dorcas said firmly. “I’m just saying—he didn’t sound like he was trying to humiliate her. He was trying to cover.”

“…Poorly,” Lily added, nodding. “But yeah. I don’t think he meant to hurt you. I think he’s just an idiot.”

You let out a long breath and turned onto your back, staring up at the canopy of your bed. “Yeah. Well. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“No,” Dorcas agreed. “But maybe you should apologize.”

Marlene scoffed. “Apologize? For what? Not throwing yourself at him? That man needs to be humbled more often.”

“He already was, Marls,” Lily said with a grin. “Trust me. He’s probably lying in bed right now staring at the ceiling, contemplating his existence.”

You closed your eyes, cringing. “Great. So we’re both having a crisis.”

You sighed loud and dramatically. Why do you feel so bad for him now?

Then Dorcas sat up straighter. “Okay. I’ve got it.”

“Oh no,” Marlene muttered.

Dorcas ignored her. “A letter.”

You cracked an eye open. “A what?”

“A letter,” she repeated. “Nothing dramatic. Just a short apology. Something honest, and non-flirty, and perfectly vague.”

Marlene was already shaking her head. “That’s so boring.” She rolls onto her side with arm propping her head up.

It’s mature,” Dorcas countered. “And it gives her control over the narrative again. You don’t have to grovel. Just acknowledge that it was a weird moment and you didn’t mean to snap. No harm done.”

You blinked at her. “That’s… actually not a terrible idea.”

⸻

It was half-past midnight now.

You were all on the floor, backs against your bed frame, your duvet pooled behind you and a battlefield of crumpled parchment scattered across the rug.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” you muttered, glaring at your latest attempt.

It read:

Sirius,

Sorry for snapping at you. I’m not usually that Aggressive? Defensive? Loud? Whatever.

Didn’t mean to ruin the night. Thanks for the jacket.

– Love, Y/N

You flopped back against the floor with a groan. “He’s going to think I’m obsessed with him!" You whine.

“You are not obsessed with him,” Dorcas said calmly, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment. “You’re just being decent.”

“I called him full of himself and said I’d never touch him with a ten-foot broomstick.”

“Well…” Marlene shrugged. “He was being a prat.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point,” Lily cut in gently, “is that you want him to know you’re not actually angry. Right?”

You nodded.

“Then just say that. Forget the formal stuff. Just be you.”

You swallow thickly and blink a few times, mulling over your thoughts. Did you really want to be you for Sirius? You didn't even know the boy well-

oh.

Perfect.

You pick up your quill and begin to write:

Sirius,

I think I overreacted.

You made a dumb joke, and I let it get to me in a way that surprised both of us.

I don’t usually snap like that. You didn’t deserve it.

Thank you for the jacket. It was kind of you, even if the delivery afterward needed…work.

We don’t really know each other. But maybe we could.

If you want.

– Y/N

You stared at it for a long moment.

Marlene leaned over and, without asking, drew a tiny heart in the bottom right corner. She didn’t say a word. None of them did.

Then Dorcas took it, read it, nodded once, and folded it carefully.

“I'll go give it to James,” Lily said. “No big moment. No drama. Just…a letter.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay.”

As soon as you start to overthink Lily was on the way out to the boys dorms.

"wait- she's going to think I like him! Shit, I shouldn't have said I wanted to get to know him- to desperate. I'm not desperate-"

"It's fine, Y/N" Lily calls before the door shuts completely and you fall back, running your hands over your face.

What did you just get yourself into?

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #slow burn #marauders fanfiction #sirius black imagine #marauders era #marauders x reader #marauders fluff #marauders angst #marauders fic #hurt/comfort #harry potter

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kurishiri · 7 months ago

Text

12 ┊ Jude’s main story

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— a legendary, iconic chapter in jude’s main story. trust me, you don’t need to know a lick of what happens before or after to understand this chapter. (yes, it's a filler chapter. iykyk.)

— cw: some angst. but it's mostly fluff! some silly crown antics, heh.

[LIBRARY]

Victor: Have you fallen for Jude?

Kate: Wha— ah…um…

Victor: Ahaha, I find it quite endearing how you’re like an open book in your expressions and actions.

V: Well then, mind if I ask what’s gotten you so motivated to study?

(I guess I really can’t evade someone as sharp as Victor, can I,)

(when I tell him I want to borrow books related to international trade and economics so suddenly.)

I gave up on the notion of hiding it, instead looking directly up at Victor.

Kate: In some cases, knowledge can become a weapon. An art of protection, if you will.

K: So first and foremost, it’s for myself. But also, I was thinking how I wanted to become someone Jude can rely on,

K: and someone he can lean on, whether he is going through happy times or sad. And him liking me would just be an added bonus and all…

That was the answer to the strange way my heart [1] had been acting these past few days.

Kate: That said, I do feel he’d brush me off, saying it’s an unnecessary burden.

Victor: But in some cases, that ‘unnecessary burden’ may be what binds a person to life too, is what I think.

V: For it’s neither knives nor poison that kills a person — it’s solitude.

Albeit just for a moment, I felt those jewel-like eyes cloud over…

Kate: …Victor, have you ever felt loneliness before?

Victor: Hardly. I’ve long forgotten such feelings.

Saying so, Victor flashed me a bright smile, as though to coax me at ease.

—— Neutral POV ——

[DINING ROOM]

Jude: Ha, what’s with this.

Jude had just returned from work, and seeing a sleeping Kate there bent over the table in the dining room, his face scrunched up, when…

Victor: If it isn’t Jude, welcome back. I just brought in a blanket for Kate.

V: She had been studying the entire time, you see, and it seems she’s a bit worn out now——

V: Whoopsie, I fear anything past that’s a secret between Kate and me.

Jude: N’ that’s fine by me. Just take care o’ the costs by the end o’ month.

Victor: Gladly. Then I leave this in your hands.

Jude: The hell?

Victor pushed the blanket at Jude with a smile before leaving,

and Jude looked down at Kate, soundly in the world of dreams…

Jude: …Tch.

Putting the blanket over Kate in a nonchalant gesture, he tried to leave when something caught onto the hem of his clothes then.

Jude: …What are ya, a tot?

He looked on at Kate, who held onto the hem of Jude’s clothes as she slept, a fed-up smile in his eyes.

Then, he saw the mountain of books scattered across the table.

Jude: ………

Kate had been burying her nose in studies… for his own sake.

Jude let out a sigh, and then took a seat next to Kate, whose hands were still grasping the hem of his clothes.

Jude: ………Ya really are a hopeless case, aren’t’cha.

—— Kate’s POV ——

I had started learning about things I hadn’t known before on topics such as international trade and economics.

That said, sometimes the contents written in the books were difficult——

[BASEMENT LABORATORY]

Roger: Since the Navigation Acts [2] were abolished, ships from other countries were permitted entry,

R: and from there, the competition of which ship could arrive at London the quickest became more cutthroat.

Kate: So that’s how tea races came to be, right?

Alfons: How deeply profound it would be, were we to think the tea on this table originated from the victors of those very races, indeed.

Roger was equipped with an abundance of knowledge, so I went to him for help, but…

At some point, that evolved to everyone in the back, enjoying tea.

Alfons: This graceful, mellow fragrance is quite a far cry from the constant smell of gunpowder and blood.

A: I daresay, have we not been wallowing too much in the front of life as of late?

Liam: Ah, I’ve been thinking about that too. We haven’t done a single thing for the season, so it’s a little lonely, maybe.

Roger: Hey guys. Mind quitting with the chit chat?

Just as Roger said this, seemingly annoyed, the door to the research laboratory opened with so much vigor, it could have broken down.

Victor: Did I just hear that my dear boys are not enjoying life? Now what a grave situation we have on our hands!

Roger: Hey, you, don’t just come in outta the blue like that.

Victor: But never to fear, as Victor presents! A very out-of-season fireworks party is in the works, yippee!

V: I consulted with William beforehand about using his private beach already. Goodness me, how capable I must be!

(Fireworks, huh...)

It was indeed a bit out of season, to be sure, but everyone was bored enough to agree to the proposition.

Victor: And so, with that, I have a small favor to ask of you, Kate.

(A favor? What is it, I wonder?)

[RAVEN CO.; JUDE'S OFFICE]

It turned out said ‘favor’ was——

Jude: If ya lot wanna go that bad then just go off on your own.

Kate: But I won’t like it if you’re not coming with!

It was to drag Jude to the fireworks party.

Or, more accurately, it was to ‘drag both Jude and Ellis,’

but Ellis, seeming delighted, affirmed immediately that he would go, which would just leave dragging Jude along.

Ellis: I also won’t like it if you’re not coming.

Jude: How many times are ya gonna say that. It’s hella annoyin’.

(I thought he would say that, so now that it’s come to this——)

Kate: Jude.

Jude: What.

Kate: Lulipia [3] has proposed giving their new product exclusively to Raven Co.

K: But, the condition was that Ellis and I took charge of it.

I had recently learned about the art of negotiation in a book, and when I utilized that, Jude raised a brow in irritation.

Jude: Ha, lookatcha, tryna negotiate with me. Ya got some guts, huh.

J: Fine then.

Kate: Wait— really...?

Jude: When it comes to costs n’ expenses, I got somethin’ to gain outta this. End o’ discussion.

Kate: Then... w-we did it!!

Ellis: You did well, Kate.

(Sure, it was a bit of a low play, but that doesn’t change the fact Jude is coming along!)

[BEACH - NIGHT]

The fireworks launched to the sky lit up the shore.

Kate: Wow...!

Elbert: ...It’s pretty, isn’t it.

It was a bit out of season, but that seemed to become irrelevant with how beautiful the fireworks burst in the night sky.

Victor: Bravooo! The fireworks may fade in an instant, but the memories will stay for an eternity more in my heart.

Cheering as fireworks were launched one after another, we also had colorful fireworks at the shore.

Liam: Kaaate! Over here, over here!

Harrison: Here, this is yours.

Kate: Thanks!

I tried lighting the stick for a firework, when Alfons thought of something, a complacent smile on his face.

Alfons: Ahha, I’ve just thought of something good.

A: The one whose firework lasts the longest will be able to give a single order to the rest of us. Does that sound appealing?

Roger: Oh, sounds interesting.

Kate: But I feel like there’s something fishy too...

Ellis: Come to think of it, Al was looking really carefully at the fireworks just now.

Kate: Wha— don’t tell me you already tampered with the fireworks, Alfons!

Alfons: ...Just what are you going on about?

William: Haha, it seems our little robin has gotten a solid grasp on all the Crown members.

In the end, with Alfons’ schemes ousted, there was no such match, and we lit up the fireworks in order.

(Hm? What about Jude...)

I saw him a little ways away, and I brought Jude’s firework, running to him.

[1] Give him a launcher firework.

[2] Give him a handheld firework. (+4 / +4)

[3] Give him a firecracker.

Kate: Here, Jude, your firework.

I held out the handheld firework I had lit out to him, when...

Jude: .........

Jude took it wordlessly, pointing the crackling flower my way.

Kate: Hey, wai— don’t go pointing that at people with that nonchalant look!

Harrison: Damn... what a brute, that guy.

Roger: But looks like Jude’s having his own fun too.

Everyone’s faces were illuminated by the beautiful fireworks, like an illusion.

And, all of a sudden, the depths of my heart squeezed.

(At some point, I had become a part of their circle.)

To think I had once feared the ones in this very circle, too.

Jude: What’s with ya, grinnin’ ear to ear like that.

Kate: Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about how much fun I’m having...

Jude: What a happy-go-lucky princess ya must be——

As though to interrupt Jude’s words, exceptionally large fireworks were launched to the sky.

The sight of the large flowers that blossomed in the night sky took everyone’s breaths away.

William: It was Victor’s idea.

Victor: A biiig surprise!

Harrison: You guys really don’t hold back, do you. ...Well, it’s pretty, I’ll give it that.

Kate: It really is.

Seeing everyone’s smiles, lit up by the fireworks, my chest started to feel unbearably hot...

Liam: I’ll definitely make this next play a success!!

Liam suddenly shouted.

Roger: Haha, are we declaring our resolutions now? I like that.

R: I will gather data from Cursed ones all around the world!!

Kate: Oh, then me too—

(So that I can stand together with Jude at the same place, and see the same world as him...)

(And so that I can become a person Jude can rely on...)

Kate: I will grow more and more!!

Jude: What’s with that dim resolution?

Ellis: I will grow more and more tall!

Jude: Bloody hell, don’t go growin’ even more.

Kate: Are you not going to shout out your resolution, Jude?

Jude: What are ya, a birdbrain?

With those words, Jude stared up at the fireworks that rose up to the Prussian blue sky before fading away.

And as for me... I discreetly looked at his profile as he did so.

(...Jude’s face looks very colorful.)

It was almost like he himself was a firework.

Fierce and intense, dangerous if I went too close... and yet also, for an unfathomable reason, unable to keep myself from looking away.

But, at the same time, perhaps because I had been looking at him this entire time, I felt a certain sense of unease from within me.

(Just like there is no firework that can light up for eternity, there are times I feel like Jude will up and disappear...)

It was like his very profile would fade out just like that, saying not a word to anyone and leaving not a memento behind...

And, so that he wouldn’t go off anywhere else, I gripped the hem of his clothes.

Kate: Jude, I want ice cream.

Jude: What?

Ellis: Me too.

Alfons: And me three. Well then, someone can be our dear dogsbody——to go and buy some.

Jude: Can’t help it then, I’ll go n’ buy ‘em.

Alfons: Dear me, I do insist, let me be the one.

William: Then I will go.

(Wait, what? Huh? The way this is going... does this mean I have to say it too!?)

Kate: Ah, then I’ll go and buy them!

Jude: Then off ya go.

(Wait, what?)

Seeing the grin play on the corner of his lips, I realized then that I had been completely wheedled.

Kate: ——That was in such bad taste...!

Jude: Hah—

J: Ya really are easy to trick, aren’t’cha, princess.

Kate: ...!

Seeing Jude’s smile, my heart throbbed — to the point it hurt, and to the point it became unbearable — and it wouldn’t stop.

(I probably am not much of anything in Jude’s eyes...)

(But, if I can at least become an occasional source of Jude’s smiles, then that would be fine with me too.)

Beneath the sky where beads of light shimmered and swirled, I made a wish... that this fun time would last, even if it was for a moment longer.

But, alas, such times did not last long.

ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

NOTES:

[1] In Japanese, there are two words for heart: [心] (kokoro) and [心臓] (shinzō), the former referring to a more ‘conceptual’ or intangible version of the heart that sort of drives emotions or empathy (the pathos, if you will); and the latter being the physical organ. Here, Kate uses [心臓] (shinzō).

[2] The Navigation Acts (1651, 1660) were acts of Parliament, based on earlier precedents, intended to promote the self-sufficiency of the British Empire by restricting colonial trade to England and decreasing dependence on foreign imported goods. The laws also regulated England's fisheries and restricted foreign, including Scottish and Irish, participation in its colonial trade.

[3] To clarify, Lulipia, which could be translated into a different spelling — the original Japanese word they used was [ルリピア] (ruripia), is a company, not a person.

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