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queers-gambit · 1 year

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Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

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inkskinned · 10 months

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it isn't really complicated, but i still can't tell my grandma about it. my girlfriend is also my boyfriend and i'm her girlboyfriend and there are a lot of days this feels like smoothing sheets over a good mattress. it feels like getting a cup of good hot chocolate. we paint our nails lesbian flag pink, and i watch her eyelashes make shadows on her cheeks. she wants to kiss me because i am really good at baking, and i want to kiss her because when i am freaked out about how i spilled coffee, she just hands me extra napkins and helps me clean. he is so handsome i want to eat my fist. they once just winked at me and i couldn't talk for like the next fifteen minutes.

i haven't seen the L word and i was raised catholic. my earliest experiences with queer relationships were through harrowing conversations and hushed questions and blood on the ground. i didn't like boys soon enough. what, are you gay? asked to a 6th grader, almost like a demand.

when she is asleep next to me and i can feel the dreams run up and down her body, i pretend we are both somewhere in the stars. i like to picture a future full of fruit trees, and writing him poetry. sometimes she wakes up, has a whole conversation with me, goes back to sleep, and utterly forgets that we ever even spoke. she is always kind to me, even in that liminal half-there ghost. i like the croaked, raw way her voice sounds in the very-early morning, the way she always seems surprised i'm still here, and home.

on the internet, there are a lot of people who would be annoyed by both of us, and how labels must be pruned into orchids. a box has to hold and define the insides. people must be organized.

we went on a date last night, and the host said, oh, table for 2 nice ladies? neither of us are ladies, but also we are very much 2 nice ladies. i have been wearing her sweater nonstop. he has frequently been forced into wearing my taylor swift official merch quarter-zip because i was worried about him catching a chill, and you simply cannot be cool in an official taylor swift quarter-zip. do not worry: they listen to better music than i do, and their voice sounds like leaves falling.

i wear the skirts and makeup and i am better with spackle and know how to drive stick. recently someone commented on my work - you're just a man trying to reappropriate lesbian spaces. sometimes i feel like she is a clementine to me, and sometimes i feel like he is a german shepherd and sometimes i feel they are a bird. i like watching his hands over a guitar. can i write this poem, even? how can you be a lesbian if you're sometimes with a man? or you are the man?

how can i, huh. you know, our first date lasted 3 days. we'd been flirting for over a year before i finally asked her out. i'd already written her into poetry. she'd already written me into songs.

last night, in the late night, when they woke up again, confused about where they were, they said - oh, thank god. this is your arm. there's just something so precious to me about the specifics, the denotation that the arm was (thank god!) mine. i really liked that definition. i liked the obvious relief because i understand it.

i say yeah, i have a partner. i mean - oh. thank god. it's your arm.

#writeblr #warm up #on gender politics lol #inkskinned try not to have feelings for someone challenge #time of death: they put my earring in their ear. they were wearing an unbuttoned black buttondown and a necklace with my name on it #you can just send me the coffin i was ready to crawl in

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slytherinslut0 · 10 months

Text

MATHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Thirty--info:-You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, PIV, Oral Sex (f rec), Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Degradation, Morning Sex, Love-Making, ANGST! FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF.

Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

In the depths of the night, your dreams unfurled a complex tapestry of fears and uncertainties. The lucid scenes played out like a haunting ballet, shadows weaving intricate patterns on the canvas of your subconscious.

In the dream, Dumbledore's venerable voice resonated with a gravity that bespoke both wisdom and disappointment.

"You must confront your challenges…your fears, young witch," he intoned, his eyes reflecting not just understanding but a palpable disappointment, a profound sorrow in his gaze as the conversation switched, growing more grave. "I regret to inform you that there are no positions available for you. Not after your unprofessional behaviour.”

Flashes of disappointment intensified, drowning your lungs in its depth, Dumbledore's scrutiny cutting through the facades you had worked so hard to carefully construct for all those bloody months. Before you could process it, the dream seamlessly transitioned to a poignant future, your long-anticipated graduation day, where joy was now eclipsed by an unspoken sorrow.

Mattheo, a figure of proud accomplishment tainted by the weight of disappointment, stood before you. In this dream, your fingers intertwined for a final embrace, the unspoken acknowledgment of paths diverging echoing with heartbreak. The whispered goodbye carried the burden of reality, the truth of life pulling you apart, and a palpable pain radiated from Mattheo, his eyes mirroring the depth of his hurt.

And despite all of these emotions, in the dream, you struggled to admit the true extent of your pain. The reluctance to acknowledge the wounds, the fear that this love might crumble under the weight of your mistakes, lingered in the subtext. The dream became a harrowing journey through the corridors of vulnerability, where the echoes of disappointment and heartbreak were met with an internal struggle to confront and heal.

You found yourself standing at a crossroads, torn between the desire to fully embrace your love for this man, and the paralyzing fear of the inevitable heartbreak that loomed on the horizon, a shadow you knew was yet to follow.

As you jolted awake, the tendrils of the dream still lingering, you found yourself face to face with a peacefully sleeping Mattheo. The room unfolded around you with hushed tranquility--the black lake just beyond the window mirrored the early morning light, its rippling reflections casting intricate soft shadows across Mattheo's peaceful face. The dim lighting in the room whispered of the approaching dawn, a delicate glow that hinted at the promise of a new day.

His arms were securely wrapped around you, one hugging your waist, the other under your head--creating a cocoon of protective solace. His long lashes rested gently against his cheeks, and a cascade of messy curls adorned his forehead, adding a touch of vulnerability to his slumbering form.

Feeling the sting of your dream still lingering, you wiggled in his embrace, snuggling in closer to him.

The air held a serene stillness, interrupted only by the rhythmic cadence of Mattheo's breathing. The juxtaposition of the dream's emotional turbulence and the peaceful reality of the waking world blurred briefly as you took in the details--the soft hues of the room, the play of shadows on Mattheo's features, and the subtle acknowledgment of the early morning hour--all of them calming your anxiety within seconds.

Mattheo's lids fluttered open softly at your movements, his eyes dazed as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. His chocolate pools, catching the morning light, held a timeless warmth as they met yours. A gentle hum escaped his lips, and he inhaled a sharp breath as he instinctively pulled you closer.

"What's the matter, Raven?" Mattheo murmured, his lids fluttering back closed in a languid motion.

The deep rasp of his voice, raw with the remnants of sleep, sparked a warmth within you, like a comforting ember glowing softly. His words, spoken with a blend of curiosity and a touch of husky vulnerability, lingered in the quiet morning air, igniting tingles on your skin.

One of his hands, calloused and tender, glided lower to rest on your hip, the connection between you deepening as your legs became entangled in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

"Sorry for waking you," you whispered, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. His hand, seemingly on a mindless journey, slithered around to rest gently on your lower back now. "It was just a bad dream."

"Who hurt you?" Mattheo mumbled in a groggy, raspy tone, his lids still resting closed. A completely serious expression adorned his face as he added, "give me a name and I'll strip the skin from their bones."

"Someone's definitely not a morning person," you quipped, a groggy chuckle seeping into his neck. A comforting warmth enveloped you as you teased, "Waking up ready for a battle, huh?"

He shifted, molding himself against you, and it was in that moment that you became aware of him, entirely--the firm press of his desire throbbing against your torso.

"Mm...I've certainly woken up with a fight in mind," Mattheo groggily purred, a trace of arrogance lingering in his tone. "But maybe not the one you're thinking about."

"Shit..." your thighs quivered, seeking friction, and with a sleepy smirk, you added, "no fight necessary, Matty...I was disarmed the second I heard that sexy morning voice of yours."

Mattheo's hand slipped lower, finding your ass and giving it a playful squeeze, his grip growing firmer with each passing moment. A husky groan escaped him as he throbbed against you, plush lips pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

"Not like you to surrender so easily," he teased, a shiver of anticipation dancing along your spine as he demanded, "tell me about the dream first."

You shifted, your hand tracing a deliberate path along the strong contours of his arm. With a tender yet purposeful motion, your fingers wove into his hair, entangling themselves in his tousled curls. His lashes responded like delicate butterflies, fluttering in rhythm with the shallow bursts of his chest as you tugged gently.

"It was nothing," your voice, a soft murmur, attempted to dismiss the weight of the dream. Coaxingly, your lips pressed kisses against his neck, their warmth acting as a soothing balm against his skin. "Just a stupid thing."

Your gentle murmur aimed to dissolve the tension, encouraging him to release the probing question that lingered in the tranquil, dawn-lit room, but of course, your efforts would prove futile.

"Clearly, it wasn't nothing." Mattheo's nails dug into the skin of your backside, his grip tightening with a fervor that bespoke an intense need. His body turned relentless, an urgency in his touch as if he needed you more than the very air he breathed. "If you don't tell me in five seconds, I'll deny you orgasms until you're in fucking tears, understand?"

Torn between a desire not to sound vulnerable and a plea for mercy, you instinctively tightened your grip on his hair. Your body flooded with warmth as you burrowed your head further against his neck, hiding your face from his view.

"It was about the future...about us," your voice was low, nearly inaudible. There was a long, silent pause before you spoke again. "I just...what do you want out of life after grad, Matty?"

In a sudden, swift movement, he flipped you onto your back. His strong fingers wrapped around both your wrists, holding them captive as he climbed over you. The weight of his body pressed against yours overwhelmed you with a clamouring lust, an undeniable force that spoke of desire and possession.

"What do I want?" he whispered, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left little room for evasion. "Hm..."

Seemingly lost in thought, Mattheo leaned in, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your cheek, a trail of warmth that heightened the tension between your bodies. His grip on your wrists tightened, a subtle yet commanding restraint as the proof of his desire pressed against your pelvis, fuelling flames that danced between your naked bodies.

"You know what I want, Raven?" As Mattheo mumbled against your neck, his curls gently tickling your cheek, your heart leapt with each syllable, your lids fluttering shut as you drowned beneath his warmth. "I want you to stop worrying so fucking much..."

Mattheo released your wrists, one hand finding purchase next to your head as the other threaded through your hair, softly soothing your scalp. Heat blossomed, blazing between your bodies as skin skimmed skin, and you writhed, wrapping your arms around him.

"I want you to stop doubting us....doubting me..." he mouthed wet, warm kisses at your throat. "But what I want...most of all...is just to be with you."

"But," you blushed, thighs buzzing with need. "What if we can't?"

Nipping your ear, he moved lower, hand leaving your hair to skate over your side, painting pleasure with his calloused palm as he went. He suckled at your clavicle, tracing a line to your sternum with his tongue--you whimpered.

"Then we'll find a way." He murmured, his breath washing warm over your skin. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Gripping your backside, he burned kisses between your breasts, briefly acknowledging them with a nuzzle before continuing--his mouth was tender and deliberate, as if you were parchment, as if you would tear under his touch. Amidst the caresses, a realization echoed within you--this man, once seemingly distant, had transformed before your eyes. The disbelief lingered, weaving through your internal thoughts as you grappled with the profound shift. His unwavering commitment, the assurance that he wasn't going anywhere, left you in uncharted emotional territory.

The conflicting currents of vulnerability and safety created a storm within. You still found yourself marvelling at how this man who was hardly a mere acquaintance at the beginning of the year, had now become a source of comfort, a haven within the unpredictable sea of emotions. It was a sensation wholly unfamiliar, yet undeniably welcomed--a delicate dance between disbelief and the profound realization that, in Mattheo's embrace, you had found a sanctuary, a place to be unapologetically yourself.

Tears brimmed, bliss buzzing. "Mattheo..."

Abruptly, he pulled back, his hand shifting from your backside and darting up to grip your jaw, his touch commanding yet tender. He met your eyes with an intensity that held a hint of vulnerability, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

"Do you understand me?" he asked, his voice a low, raspy murmur. His grip sought assurance, and he implored, "tell me you understand."

Your heart thundered. "It's just...we've said goodbye so many times before-"

Mattheo cut you off with a fervent shake of his head, his thumb continuing its gentle caress on your cheek.

"No more goodbyes, Raven," he declared, his voice resolute yet carrying a touch of tenderness. "We're not playing that game anymore--you think I could ever do this again? You think I could ever find another as maddeningly perfect as you are?..."

he paused, searching your eyes for a moment, before he finally whispered; "You have me...you're safe."

Your heart melted, and with that, he dipped low, his lips capturing yours in an instant. Out of pure joy, you sighed, surrendering to the warmth of the kiss, your eyelids fluttering closed, fingers delving deep into his hair.

A soft grunt escaped him, the kiss deepening, and he shifted his hand to cradle your head, pulling you closer. A contented whine escaped you, ecstasy radiating in your chest. In his embrace, you let go of tension, allowing the remnants of fear to disintegrate. You found solace in the trust that he would keep you safe, that you two would undoubtedly find a way to make things work.

"Nothing can change that," he mumbled against your lips, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks before he broke away again, kissing a steady path back down your neck. "I need you to get that through this beautiful, stubborn little head of yours."

A soft, breathy chuckle escaped you, your fingers slipping from his hair to gently trace mindless patterns on his back.

"Alright, alright," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll work on getting that through my 'beautiful, stubborn little head’...but only if you promise to keep reminding me."

Mattheo's lips continued their journey, a purposeful exploration down your chest. Each kiss marked a steady descent, and as he ventured lower, the subtle tensing of his muscles hinted at the strength restrained beneath his touch. His messy curls framed his face like an untamed halo, and he pressed further with a playful smirk, an amused huff escaping him against your skin.

"Reminding you is the minimum," he replied, his voice carrying a promise wrapped in a husky tone. "I'll fucking drill it into your bones, princess--you're mine, I'm yours. Say it."

Your breath caught at the intensity in his words, and a shiver ran down your spine. Meeting his eyes, a mix of desire and vulnerability, you whispered, "I'm yours, Mattheo. And you're mine."

With a gentle hum, he trailed kisses over the curve of your belly, descending to the intimate swell between your thighs. Settling between your legs, his lips tenderly caressed your thighs, eliciting delightful squirms as waves of pleasure surged through your nerves.

"That's right, baby..." he cooed, kissing inward toward the crease of your thigh. "You will always be my first, last, and only love."

With a deliberate touch, he pressed his lips to your pussy, tentative at first, grazing once, twice, before lavishing it with a deep, voracious kiss. Your cry echoed in the room as his strong tongue slid through your slit, exploring your tender folds, a soft groan resonating in his chest. Mattheo maintained eye contact, locking his gaze with yours while he lavished your sex with his mouth. Blinking, you struggled to clear the foggy haze of nearly-untamed emotions that threatened to spill out, his words echoing in your mind like a tempest.

Your fingers curled in his hair. "Oh, fuck..."

You gasped for air, feeling the oxygen drain from the room. Tightening your grip on his head, your hips involuntarily twitched beneath him, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless. Dizziness washed over you--the heady blend of infatuation and the surging pleasure left you gasping, bucking in the throes of desire. Cravings surged within, a hunger for more, a yearning for him that still caught you by surprise, even after all of this time.

"What else worries you," he murmured into your cunt, his warm breath turning the blood in your veins to pure magma. "What else are you afraid of."

A muted cry escaped your lips, and you swallowed against a tightening throat--Mattheo's kisses delicately navigated your slit, as though tending to the intangible wounds forged in the ebb and flow of your complex, on-and-off sexual intimacy over the past few months. Surprisingly, words flowed with ease, a spontaneous revelation of your soul, unshackled by the torrent of bliss coursing through your senses.

"I...I'm afraid..." you gasped, your eyes squeezing shut, your breath hitching as his murmurs sent shudders through your limbs. "Afraid of losing myself in this, in you," another gasp escaped, "and of not being able to find my way back."

Mattheo purred in praise, urging you to keep going, delving his tongue in between your folds, his tongue wet and strong as it slipped through your slit. There was a deliberate avoidance of your clit--which twitched and stiffened in ways it would only do for him--his mouth marking you in memory as he kissed you not only in desire, but in apology. In servitude.

"And the fear of...of needing you more than I should," you admitted through gasps, your vulnerability laid bare. "Of loving you so much that...that I might lose sight of my own path."

Licking lines through you, Mattheo purred again when he reached the top of your cunt, circling your clit with lavish, lingering kisses. You groaned, fingers coiling around his curls, your hips bucking, begging for him, for his release. But he was torturous--drawing his tongue between your slit until his nose grazed your clit, sparking pleasure, a moan catching deep in your throat. Humming with satisfaction, he rolled around it, and air fled you in wanton breaths while you tried in vain to grind onto his face, fighting his hold on you.

"And...ah," you stammered through gasps, your admission laden with a heavy truth, tears brimming in your eyes, promoting you to squeeze them shut. "Most of all...I'm...I'm afraid of losing you."

Finally, finally--he rewarded your patience and flicked your clit with his tongue, swirling it in saliva before taking it between his plush lips. You sobbed, tears spilling free, body thrashed with waves of ecstasy, and Mattheo moaned into you, his mouth hot and soft and working your clit as it throbbed and ached against him.

Laving at you, he sucked, hands stroking up your sides until he reached your breasts, palming at them, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your back arched in bliss, and you jerked his head into you--in response, he battered your nub with his tongue, suckling you faster, chasing your wriggling frame as you gyrated in rhythm, your chin dropping to your chest, body plunged in pleasure.

"Let go for me," Mattheo murmured, his hold on your hips tightening, his shoulders tensing. "I promise I'll catch you."

He drove his face into your cunt, sucking your clit past his teeth, beating it faster, groaning, bathing in your slick. You whined, twitched, moaned, and euphoria exploded over your skin--within seconds, you were erupting, cumming hard onto his tongue, clit pulsing in his lips, walls spasming at his chin. Mattheo sucked in a breath through his nose, swallowing your orgasm, laving you into oversensitivity as he sucked until you twitched in discomfort. When he finally released you; you collapsed, spent, sweat sticking to the sheets, still shivering with tears.

"Such a good girl for me..." Mattheo massaged your thighs, strong, warm grip kneading your buzzing skin--the tenderness in his gaze flushed you with heat, and you began to tremble. "Shh..."

You swallowed, lungs still finding their rhythm. Mattheo's hands moved with a gentle reassurance, caressing up your thighs and over your hips in a rhythmic dance. Simultaneously, his mouth began a wet trail of soft kisses, ascending with each delicate touch up your stomach.

"Your vulnerability is a fucking honour, my pretty girl," his warm breath interweaving with the intimate cadence of his movements. "Don't keep any of that inside, anymore...you can trust me with your fears...your worries..." the comforting strokes continued, a tactile promise as he whispered, "I'm more than willing to take the weight off your shoulders."

His lips found your skin in a tender embrace, and he hummed against your tingling flesh as he added, "I'm with you...I'll help you find your way, just as you helped me find mine..."

Your chest heaved with a mixture of pleasure and vulnerability. As Mattheo's words echoed in the air, you managed to rasp out, "I trust you," each syllable tinged with the raw honesty of your emotions. "I fucking love you."

His touch, both commanding and comforting, sent shivers through your trembling form, and the weight of your fears began to lift, replaced by the reassuring warmth of his presence. Mattheo's gaze held a depth of emotion as he absorbed your words. His hands, still moving with a gentle reassurance, tightened ever so slightly on your skin.

And then, he shifted, collapsing down on the sheets and slipping up beside you, guiding you to turn onto your side, facing away from him, his arms wrapping around your waist, his mouth teasingly ghosting against your ear.

In a husky whisper, he murmured, "I love you too, Raven, but you already knew that...didn't you?"

He was all-encompassing, warm and solid and strong, enfolding you in something you almost believed was invincibility.

You hummed, lids fluttering softly. "Of course I did, Matty.."

"That's right, baby," Mattheo tucked his knees behind yours, shifting your ass so it rested against his hips--like this, you felt his cock flatted between you, throbbing as you tweaked your position. "My beautiful little angel...all I want from life is to wake up like this every fucking morning...with you...wet and needy for me..."

As you whined, squirming against him, Mattheo leaned in, brushing his lips against the skin behind your ear. He trailed kisses and nibbles down your neck, making you dizzy with pleasure, his hands moving to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs against your already hard nipples. You let out a soft moan, eyes rolling as you arched your back into his touch.

"You're fucking perfect." The low thunder of his voice melted in your ears, and he murmured your name. "You want me to fuck that pretty pussy, hm?"

Your throat was tight, and instantly, you nodded. "Yes, Matty...please..."

"Mm." He hummed. "That's my good girl."

You shifted your head to the side until Mattheo's lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, one of his hands moving to guide his throbbing length toward your core, groaning into your mouth as he entered you with an unhurried, deliberate thrust of his hips. The sensation of him filling you slowly, inch by tantalizing inch, elicited a chorus of whimpering and moaning, each one bringing forth a new wave of exquisite pleasure. As the kiss deepened and he skillfully rolled his hips, your body responded instinctively, arching into him, welcoming his intimate touch.

One arm held you securely against his chest, and the other shifted to your hair, the grip of his hand against your head both comforting and soothing, tracing calming strokes along your scalp. A fusion of bodies unfolded, your essence intertwining with his. The synchronized rhythm of your racing hearts echoed the now-openly spoken connection coursing through your veins.

Mattheo broke the kiss, pressing his forehead into yours. "You are the only one for me." He was seated inside of you, offering soft, gentle thrusts. "I knew it the second you saw the darkest parts of me...the fucking hell in my eyes and didn't even blink...when you told me it mirrored your own."

You whimpered, head spinning in a whirlwind of emotion, and he kissed your nose. "You've always been the woman whose words hang in my mind..." another kiss to your jaw. " ...the woman whose face I see before I sleep..." he confessed, snuffing a moan in his throat. " ...the woman who plagues me every moment I'm awake..."

Every single syllable from Mattheo's lips left you in utter disbelief, grappling with the unfathomable reality that had transpired within your life. Once entirely convinced that love was an unattainable concept, a realm you adamantly avoided, you now stood fully-drenched in the depth of a connection with a partner who defied every single living expectation. Mattheo Riddle, a man who should have been everything you steered clear of, turned out to be precisely what your heart craved--a revelation that shook the foundations of your entire understanding.

In the whirlwind of emotions, you found yourself astounded by the depth of this unexpected bond. He saw facets of your being that had remained veiled to others, unraveling layers of your soul with an understanding that transcended imagination. It was then that you realized, some hearts just understood each other, even in silence.

"You're relentless," his lips hovered mere millimetres from your ear as he intensified his pace, his fingers finding your clit. "You're maddeningly fucking beautiful." A forceful jolt from his hips, and you shattered, the pleasure overwhelming. "And you're the most insatiable, fierce little creature I've ever come across. You stirred me up without effort.”

Your voice was a whimper. "Mattheo..."

His embrace tightened around you, anchoring you as he thrust deeply, filling you completely. "Fuck-you're my good fucking slut...all fucking mine..." he groaned your name, sucking at your shoulder, tongue leaving hot lines on your neck. "This tight little cunt only stretches for me...those pretty lips only moan my fucking name..." his fingers whirled your clit. "I'll be dead before I allow that to change."

"Gods-" you choked, eyes squeezed shut, wetness damping your cheeks as you clutched onto his arm, revelling in every single inch that he was giving you, the pleasure from his fingers intoxicating your conscious. "Matt-fuck-oh...."

"Fuck--" a feral kiss bruised your lips, his cock splitting you with deep thrusts. "Such a good fucking slut...my good little cockslut, hm?"

"Yes-" you gasped, his fingers moving quicker. "Yes-yes!"

"That's it..." He muttered your name against your mouth. "Cum for me...let me feel how much you love this cock..." "

"Fuck-" one more breath, one more gasp, blink, moan, and you were there. "Fuck! Mattheo! Oh, Gods..."

Euphoria swept through you like a tempest, unraveling the seams of your sanity, and you shattered, convulsing with the overwhelming intensity of your climax. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him hard, and Mattheo held you, groaning and grunting into your mouth as he held off his peak for as long as he could, until it was too much and he surrendered--his lips working over yours as he came deep inside your heat, hips hitting your ass with every rush of rapture.

After what felt like minutes, he stalled, the aftershocks of bliss rippling through your bodies at once while you remained there catching breath, still connected.

Languid and sated, the two of you paused in a state of post-ecstasy bliss, your senses heightened in a way that defied fatigue. Mattheo, positioned behind you, had seemingly recuperated--his withdrawal from your cunt accompanied by a slow, deep guttural groan that reverberated through the aftermath. A sigh of relief escaped him, and you grinned, nestling against the contours of his body, not ready to leave the solace of his warmth.

The press of his lips against your temple held a silent reassurance, a whispered promise of care and comfort in the aftermath of shared passion.

Finally finding your voice, you could hardly articulate your thoughts, but one question lingered on the forefront, slipping past your teeth. "Where the fuck have you been, all this time..."

Mattheo hummed, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, nestling his face into your neck. "On my way here, Raven."

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thewickedspinster · 5 months

Text

Of Eternity (Thranduil x Reader)

pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader

synopsis: Thranduil and Y/N know each other from what seems like a past life; one that both would rather forget. Once secret lovers, hidden from the prying eyes of the Elvenking's court, the two elves' disagreements became too much, their opinions too divided. Y/N departed for Rivendell and sought shelter with her friend, Elrond. But when the Elvenking of Mirkwood comes to parlay with the Lord of Rivendell, he once again meets Y/N, and someone else who looks awfully familiar...

warnings: afab!Reader, pregnancy, elf children, war

Tathrenion = son of one willow-made

requested by @starlight5cat

Of Eternity

In Rivendell, the seasons turned as flowers bloomed; with a sudden burst of color against the greys of winter. They came and went quickly for elvenkind, rising and eddying like the tide, and with them came new wonders and sounds, new flavors. Song.

Y/N could hardly remember a time when her life was not dictated by these rhythms, when time was so magnified as to hear her own heartbeat, to watch the sunlight catch upon a dewdrop. Though, it was not so long ago she was in a place where seasons hardly touched, where time stood still and light lingered in honeyed moments. Where her breath raced in her body, and youth stretched into eternity. Where naïveté was all too familiar.

Here, she had more responsibility. Here, she was unequivocally welcome. When she had fled the confines of her life before in Mirkwood, where she had been daughter of a Ñoldor house descended from Fingolfin, and gone westward into the Misty Mountains, she had only hoped her old friend, Elrond, would grant her sanctuary. He welcomed her with open arms. Here, she sat on his council of advisors. Here, life was warm and full of light once more.

For a short time of twenty-odd years, there was peace east of the Misty Mountains. Though her cousin Galadriel could not believe it, it had appeared the dark servant of Morgoth named Sauron had been vanquished. The grey elves lived in peace with the sons of Durin and helped the wayward man, but kept to their forests and their mountains. All had seemed well, and with the protection of the haven of Rivendell, the darkness of old seemed unable to touch her.

Such comforts cannot last. Not so long as Morgoth and his fell creations plagued Arda.

As soon as word reached Rivendell of a darkness fallen upon southern Mirkwood, Elrond sought Y/N's counsel.

"You know the eastern forests well," Elrond said softly, guiding them both down towards the river. Water fell in a gentle curtain of silver ahead, glinting in the moonlight. "What sort of evil could cause these things?"

The pair ducked behind the waterfall, and the sound of rushing water hushed their voices. There hidden was an alcove, large enough for a small group, with cushions surrounding the burnt-out embers of a fire. Elrond had come here often in the early days of ruling Rivendell, and when Y/N had arrived, had brought her here in her most vulnerable moments.

"The Elvenking's Halls are to the north, but in my many wanderings, I went south," she answered, settling on the floor alongside Elrond. "Mirkwood is vast and its creatures untold, but I have never seen anything that would produce this sort of rot."

Elrond hummed, deep in thought. Elven and human messengers alike had been passing along rumors of dark creatures in the southern Mirkwood, things that walked on more than four legs, with slavering maws and the stench of evil surrounding them. Elves who more often ventured south returned with harrowing stories of voices, of song coming from the dark trees. The canopies had grown so thick that sunlight hardly reached the ground. Some had even reported sightings of Orcs.

"You know what this means," Y/N said, interrupting Elrond's reverie. "Galadriel was right. She was always right. We cannot know that Sauron is vanquished. We burned no body. Isildur brought no head. Only the Silmaril."

"There are no credible rumors of Morgoth's creatures, Y/N."

"There are," she insisted. "They have started calling this force 'The Necromancer.' This is no coincidence, Elrond. All evil in these lands comes back to Sauron. To Morgoth. So long as their discord remains, none of the children of Eru are safe."

Beyond his red head, with his noble face, the silvered water fell in sheets, dulling to a gentle sheaving. Waiting. When he raised his gaze, he said, "What would you have me do?"

Galadriel would have them go to war. Though she had grown less brash since the last age, she had grown no less desperate for Sauron's defeat. But Rivendell was a haven, a place of peace for wandering elves. She could not see amassing forces and marching to Mirkwood unaided. Besides, it was not Elrond's territory to march on.

"You know exactly what you must do, my friend," she said at last.

"You do not like him."

"What of it?"

"He is the reason you fled your home."

It was true enough, though it still gave Y/N pause. Mirkwood had been a home for long centuries, it was true. But before that, she had known the lushness of Beleriand, and the glory of Númenor. She would always be a wanderer. But the Elvenking of Mirkwood brought with him memories too fresh to be painless.

"He is the lord of Mirkwood, and should you wish to do anything at all about this rising evil, you must first confer with him," she said firmly. "Invite him here. Invite his entire court. They will leave Prince Legolas to guard the north, but Thranduil will come."

"I would have you by my side upon his reception."

Y/N caught the glimmer of ancient mischief in Elrond's eyes, and offered him a faint smile in return. "It would be an honor."

~~~

Word came within a fortnight that the Elvenking's party would embark on the Elf-path by the full moon. This gave the people of Rivendell little time to prepare, but showed Elrond and his council how dire circumstances were in Mirkwood.

As Y/N stood at Elrond's side on the dais before the sweeping steps to the city, she knew that in this matter, as all others, that Thranduil would be stubborn, cunning, and seemingly omniscient. It was in his power as king to appear so to his people. But Y/N, he could not fool. She and Elrond would simply need maneuver with tact, to force Thranduil into showing his hand.

In the distance, the royal traveling party rounded a bend and came into view, the Elvenking in his raiment of grey and silver astride his great antlered steed. From here, Y/N could feel his piercing gaze upon them, focusing on her at the Lord of Rivendell's side. Robed in rich, dark green against Elrond's golden raiment, Y/N stood tall. A circlet of gold sat upon her brow, and in it, an opal enshrined. Befitting of her station, she stood to Elrond's left, his wife Celebrían to his right.

Y/N had known true fear in the face of evil, yet facing the Elvenking of Mirkwood after these twenty years turned her chest cold. She could never fear him - she knew him too well, but that was just the problem. They shared a deep past of friendship, of love, forbidden though it may have been. And pain, at the last. Since their parting, she had, for the first time, lived many secrets that she kept from him still.

The party finally arrived at the dais, the great reindeer's feet clapping against the stone as thunder. The Elvenking dismounted, stepped before Elrond, and inclined his head.

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell, you honor me with your great hospitality," he said formally, the Sindarin tongue rolling like quicksilver from his mouth. "And Lady Celebrían, thank you for welcoming my host into your household."

Elrond, Y/N, and the council assembled bowed to the king.

"We are pleased you answered our invitation," Elrond replied, his tone, as ever, one of deliberate lightness, as if he knew something no one else did. "How long shall you stay?"

"A week," Thranduil said shortly. Finally, finally, his silvered eyes shifted to Y/N. She breathed in deeply. "There are matters to attend to in Mirkwood."

"I do hope Prince Legolas is well," she said softly, smoothly.

Thranduil looked momentarily surprised she'd spoken, his eyebrows drawing together at the sound of her voice. "He is taking to his responsibilities well."

A moment of silence passed. The river roared below. Then, Celebrían was taking gesturing towards the king, leading him away into the great wood house of Rivendell.

Formal greetings complete, the rest of the crowd quickly dispersed, and elves moved swiftly in preparation for the feast prepared in the king's honor. Soon, only Elrond and Y/N remained. She watched the sun setting over the vale, eyes fixed on the rushing waters surrounding.

"Will you tell him?" Elrond asked, voice so quiet only she could hear.

"How could I?" Y/N whispered. She felt her fingers tremble.

"It is unfair to -"

"You shall not tell me what is fair or unfair, Elrond," Y/N whirled, suddenly furious. "You know not what it is to have my fears."

Elrond held up his hands. "I only wish to say that truths are better spoken. Deception is the chaos-sower."

"It will put him in danger."

"It will give him power."

"A curse," she hissed. "A bounty upon his head."

"Or a crown."

She stared at her friend, stunned. "You do not mean that."

Elrond only watched her in return.

With no words left between them, Y/N turned and disappeared into the house, bracing herself for the week to come.

~~~

It was the fourth day of the accursed sessions of counsel, and Thranduil had still not admitted there being any disturbance in Mirkwood. He spoke on matters of trade, of agriculture, of relations with Khazad-Dûn, but nothing of the murmurs from the Sutherlands.

Y/N was beginning to lose her patience.

Elrond, blessedly, had more of it to spare. Ever the diplomat, he listened to Thranduil's concerns and complaints of their relations, and constructed plans to fix them. Ever the master of compromise, he kept Rivendell's secrecy and best interests at heard. Ever the more patient of the two, he kept prodding the Elvenking towards revealing his secrets, to no avail.

Y/N sat, posture relaxed, around the dais at the center of Elrond's pubic chambers. The elves around her deliberated, debated, while she kept her mouth closed. As Elrond's chief advisor, her primary duty was to listen. She interjected when Elrond looked to her, and when someone said something entirely ludicrous. Elves tended to take a laboriously long time to come to any sort of agreement in politics, and were reasonable to the point of boredom. Y/N's engagement had thus far been minimal, though she heard all.

They had turned to the topic of weapons, and of Rivendell's protection. They were inching closer to the topic at hand, but she knew Thranduil had a deep well of patience, particularly when it came to dealing with elves. The high noon sun blazed down on the white marble.

"How have you fared in the training of your ranks?" Thranduil inquired, sipping at a goblet of honeywine.

"The archers excel, under the tutelage of Sindarin masters," Elrond said. "The swordsmen, under that of the Ñoldor. Khazad-Dûn has agreed to provide us with weapon designs, and with materials to forge them. Durin is all too happy to help an old friend."

Thranduil scoffed lightly into his cup. "Old friend, indeed."

Y/N sat up straighter at the tone, the scoff. She had heard it many times. "Prince Durin has provided us with an excellent relationship over the years. He is a close friend to Rivendell."

Thranduil looked at her, through her, in her. Before her mind's eye flashed his face, poised over her, abed. Soft candlelight shone from beyond his features, and his face was softened into the loveliest of smiles. Gone in an instant.

Just then, lithe footsteps from just inside, and bursting from behind the curtains came three elven children, small and laughing. A maid reached out, trying to snatch them by their tunics, but too late. They sprinted into the circle, and straight up to Elrond.

"Father, we would like to go the Gates," one boy panted. Elrohir.

"Apologies, Father," the other interjected, suddenly serious. Elladan, his twin. "I told him not to come."

"Our swordmaster is at the Gates, and asked us to join him," the third explained. Y/N sat forward, staring down at the boys.

"Tathrenion," she said severely, hiding the quake to her voice, "you know not to enter this chamber when Lord Elrond is taking counsel."

The third boy, unlike the other two, with (Y/HC) hair and striking grey eyes, paled, bowing to Y/N. Even when he straightened, he kept his eyes averted. "Forgive me, Mother. Elladan and Elrohir wished to go, and I wished to accompany them."

It was only then, as the boys turned to glance around at the present company, that Elrond spoke.

"You are in the presence of Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood."

Shuffling, with a soft gasp from Elrohir, the three boys bowed low to the king. Thranduil said nothing for a moment. Instead of on the children, his eyes were pinned on Y/N, wide with unbridled shock. When he finally did look at the boys, at the one called Tathrenion, he found his own eyes staring back, steady and calm.

Thranduil stood abruptly, setting down his goblet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "We shall eat. Elrond, you shall decide what to do with your sons."

He swept off the dais, out of view, and Y/N was left staring at the spot he once occupied.

"Go after him," Elrond murmured to her, leaning close.

"Tathrenion-"

"Leave the child to me." And an unspoken promise to keep her son safe.

Y/N was up in an instant, following in Thranduil's wake as quickly as possible. But he was moving fast, and kept dodging out of sight, around corners that he did not know. Servants moved out of the way as Y/N passed through an adjoining kitchen at a sprint, intercepting Thranduil as he rounded the corner into the next room.

She caught him by his elbow as he tried to pull from her grasp, but she held firm.

"Thranduil," she said. "Stop. Just... Stop. And listen."

His rage made his jaw tight, his brows drawn low. "I will not stand here and listen to you when you have -"

"I had to leave," she interrupted, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I could not be your concubine, Thranduil. I would not."

He scoffed, that same sound he made when he thought someone foolish. Beneath him. It hadn't started this way, but as they fell deeper into each other, he'd started scoffing at her the same way. It was part of what drove Y/N away from Mirkwood. "You were not a concubine, Y/N."

"Then tell me what I was to you."

Thranduil bent lower, so their faces were inches apart. "You know exactly what you were to me."

"I know that I was not your wife." And that was venom in her tone, sour and deadly.

A shadow passed over his features. "You were everything she was not."

"And that makes me whore to a king."

"You have never been a whore!" He shouted.

The surrounding house went quiet. Y/N trembled, fingertips numb.

"Tathrenion is your son," she said lowly, practically hissing into his mouth. "Your son, Thranduil. Our place in Rivendell is of your doing. You never recognized what it was to be in my place, with no guarantee of my safety in your court."

"I always would have protected the both of you."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Our love felt increasingly fragile. I doubted that it even existed any longer. Had we been found out, I doubted you would protect me from exile."

Thranduil was quiet. The house had moved on from his sharp outburst, exhaling as his anger passed. Y/N's grip loosened on his tunic, her truth spoken. But her touch lingered.

"Did you know?" He murmured hoarsely.

"Not when I left your halls. Not until I reached the Misty Mountains."

"And all... went well? With the birth?"

Elven births were rare, and dangerous for mother and child. "Blessedly, Elrond's midwives and healers some of the most gifted, and I healed swiftly. He was born squalling."

He loosed a soft breath, and some of the tension left his features. He had always been beautiful, but it was when he was away from prying eyes that he truly became ethereal. Radiant. Himself.

"You should always have been in Mirkwood, with me." She just looked up at him. "I am sorry, my Y/N. I never meant to make you afraid."

"It is safer for both of us away from you and Legolas."

Thranduil snorted. "My son has proven impertinent. And lacking the character to succeed me."

"He will mature," she said softly. "He is young still."

"He will have to fight soon."

"Then this Necromancer..."

"Is a threat. Whatever darkness lurks in the south of my lands, it is dangerous and spreading."

"Tell Elrond," she urged. "He wishes to aid any fight against Morgoth's darkness in these lands."

"My forces are strong."

"They will be stronger with Rivendell's. Don't let your pride cloud your judgement."

At that, a small smile graced his mouth. "That has always been your advice for me."

"It will always stand. Unless you change."

"Would you come home?"

The question surprised her. "You would have us? So soon after the death of your wife?"

"I would have your company," he said. "And I would have my son raised by the both of us."

Y/N did not have an answer, and she was about to say as much when a smaller voice said, "I would like to go to Mirkwood."

Y/N whipped around, and found young Tathrenion standing behind them. She took a large step away from Thranduil, then lowered herself to her son's level, steeling herself.

"What did Lord Elrond tell you and the twins?" She asked.

"He said we may go to the Gates, but I decided to stay behind." Tathrenion peered past Y/N, to the Elvenking. "I wished to speak with you."

Thranduil could hardly stomach looking at his son's face, the very reflection of his own, untouched by age yet full of a strange wisdom. "Speak, child."

"I know little of why my mother left your kingdom, but I know she has done everything since for my sake. Please, do not ply her with false hopes. If you invite us to Mirkwood, you pledge to keep her safe."

"And you," Thranduil answered immediately. "I will protect you both, and welcome you into my household in places of honor."

Y/N was speechless, her throat swollen around pride for her young son.

"I know you not, Your Majesty, but I would like to," said Tathrenion simply.

Thranduil smiled.

Y/N sent him on his way, leaving her alone once again with the Elvenking. This time, he reached out to her, and against logic, she stepped into him, leaning into his fingers upon her cheek. She had longed for his touch, his kiss, his steadfastness ever since she left the forest. Leaving Mirkwood had been one of the hardest decisions of her long life.

"Let us think about this," she whispered. "And let these diplomatic matters be done first. Speak to Elrond in earnest."

"I will wait for your return to my side, Y/N," he murmured. "I have been waiting since the moment you left."

~~~

Dappled sunlight shone down upon the glade, lighting the page Y/N read. It was a letter, signed in Elrond's familiar hand, detailing the phalanxes marching towards Mirkwood. They would join Thranduil's army in patrolling for evil in the south, just as they had hoped.

Amongst the trees, a young boy laughed, and an older one hollered. Legolas was nearly fully mature, but had taken to playing with his younger half-brother in earnest. Together, they romped through the forest, and Tathrenion adored having someone elder to look up to and learn from. He excelled in archery, now, thanks to Legolas's tutelage.

A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her backwards, and she fell upon Thranduil's chest. He was stretched upon the grass, feline at ease. She luxuriated in the feel of his body against hers, in his fingers in her unbound hair. In his mouth, pressed to her shoulder.

She had refused to take him to bed since her return, but she had begun to let him back into her heart. He had honored his word, and the loss of his wife had left him in need of comfort, in need of counsel and a tender hand.

Besides that, over honeywine in the candlelight one night in Rivendell, he had finally told her he loved her. Words were the playthings of elves, and though they meant little to some, they meant everything to Y/N. She opened up visions of the future that had ere been clouded.

"Of what do you think, my love?" Thranduil breathed against her skin.

She came back to the dampness of the grass beneath them, the golden green of the canopy above, the laughter of her son in the distance. The warmth of her king at her back.

She smiled. "Eternity."

#thranduil x reader #lotr #the hobbit #the silmarillion #fanfic #f!reader #please be kind this is my first fic

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ithebookhoarder · 4 months

Note

your Eloise fics have me in a chokehold! If you would I need an eloise and fem reader first kiss moment! friends to lovers type best

First Kiss (Eloise Bridgerton x F!Reader)

A/N: Well, I love me a good ol' 'friends to lovers' trope, so thank you for sending this in! I am in full S3 mode. 💕Also, side note, but I see this request existing in the same universe/as a prequel to my other piece 'This Love' - which you don't have to read to understand this but if you want to, then check it out.

Warnings: Beginnings of smut, implied homophobia, era-appropriate sexism (let me know if I missed any)

Masterlist

"What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly, I choose you and me religiously..."

('Guilty as Sin' - Taylor Swift)

“I simply don’t see the appeal of such things.”

“You don’t?”

“No. What could be so appealing about kissing?” Eloise muttered, staring down at the couple on the other side of the library in which you had both hidden.

Fed up with ducking dance partners for one evening, you and the Bridgerton girl (who had been your closest friend since infancy) had escaped the ballroom of the Smith-Smyth family town house and the festivities being held there. Of course, like most nights spent trying to hide from the Ton and its never ending scrutiny of young females, the pair of you had sought refuge in the library of the home. After all, it was typically the room least likely to be occupied, and had more than enough dark, quiet corners for you two to hide in, curled up with a good book until it was time to go home.

It was far superior to being passed from one suitor to the next like some curiosity to be examined, admired, and appraised.

Tonight had been no different so far, with the pair of you taking the first opportunity to bolt and conceal yourselves on the upper gallery of the impressive library. However, you had only been alone maybe a handful of minutes when the door had burst open and a rather amorous young couple had staggered through, a tangle of limbs and lips.

Both you and Eloise had barely had time to even realise what had happened, let alone plan any kind of escape. Unfortunately, the upper level - whilst more private and out of sight - was only accessible via a spiral staircase. There was no way on earth either of you could make it down said staircase or all the way to the door without being seen.

You didn’t know who would be most embarrassed in that instance - you or the couple caught in a compromising position. That, and you’d also made the fundamental error of waiting too long to make such a decision and announce yourselves.

As such, you’d had no choice but to scamper back into the darkness and pray the couple either didn’t hear the hushed shuffling above them, or that they simply left … and soon. However, given the groans and moans coming from the pair as they pawed at one another, you didn’t think they were in any rush to return to the ballroom anytime soon.

“I mean… mama says it depends on the person you’re kissing,” Eloise continued, eyebrow raised quizzically as she leaned closer to the railings as if trying to get a better look. “That if you’re with the right one then it all just feels ...”

“Natural?”

The word fell from your lips easily without a second thought.

“Perhaps,” Eloise continued, tilting her head as the couple’s kisses began to move from their lips to other parts of their bodies.

The sight was enough to make you blush, a sudden ache awakening inside you. It was an ache that had become strangely familiar to you in the past months, even if you would never confess such a thing aloud. You were a woman after all. You weren’t supposed to feel such things, let alone share that fact with other people. Maybe your future husbands, but that was ‘simply not done’ as your mother had cautioned you, whilst giving a rather harrowing talk about ‘the facts of life’. Demure, reserved, and dignified - that was what husbands wanted.

Needless to say, none of those words could be used to describe you at present, nor your best friend. It was what had drawn you two together in the first place - a recognition of a kindred spirit, desperate to survive in a world that was clearly not designed for your kind.

For the first time in whole your life, you hadn’t felt so alone. She too loathed everything society said you were supposed to enjoy - sewing, the latest fashions, making oneself appealing to the other sex. Instead, she encouraged you and your passions, sending you new books she thought you’d like about topics that interested you. She also spoke to you like an equal and wasn’t afraid to debate current issues like politics, female rights, and science. Hell, she hadn’t laughed when you had confessed that you’d be perfectly content living a life that didn’t involve a man at all (let alone as a husband). If anything, she had encouraged it.

So, years later here you were, thick as thieves with Eloise Bridgerton and not the least bit interested in any kind of future that didn’t have her in it.

“I just can’t ever picture me being like that with another person,” she continued, staring at the couple with seeming disbelief. “Especially not one of these boys that peacock themselves about the place, acting like they’re anything other than children showing off for the air-headed debutantes. It’s embarrassing honestly.”

You tried not to laugh at your friend’s visible repulsion at the sight. She had never been one to hide her feelings and her expressive face gave their true nature away every time.

“Agreed,” you murmured, eyes still focused on the display despite vocalising your disapproval. “Oh. I… That hardly looks comfortable. In fact, she rather looks like she’s in pain.”

“Well, considering the fact that he looks like he’s trying to eat her, I’m not surprised.”

“El!”

“What?” she scoffed, sitting up and finally crawling back from the edge of the railings. You followed, shuffling backwards further into the shadows and safely out of sight. Anyone who dared look up would be unable to see you from this angle. “It’s the truth. I’m merely surprised he hasn’t dislocated his jaw yet like some python and simply swallowed her, and her fortune, whole. I merely wish I could understand what drives a person to do such a thing. It isn’t exactly like one can simply look it up in a book. They all simply say that a kiss has some divine power that makes a person lose all sense. That can’t be possible.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

“Oh, really? What could possibly make you think that?”

You froze.

How could you tell her the truth? That you knew it to be possible because every time you looked at her, what you wanted most in the world was to be able to pull her into your arms and kiss her like it was the last thing you would ever do in this lifetime? That, you had long known that your feelings towards her were well passed the point of friendly?

Even now, your heart raced in your chest in a way it only ever did when she was near. The faint traces of her orange blossom perfume made your head spin and you knew you'd be smelling it hours after she had gone as you always did.

“I don’t know.” You gulped, trying not to let your warming cheeks give away your sudden train of thought. However, your mouth and your brain had never been the most co-operative of organs. They often had a way of defying one another, just like now in fact, as you opened your mouth and the words simply came tumbling out. “Maybe that’s the problem… maybe we don’t know because we have no experience. Nothing to base it on. Maybe, it’s one of those things you have to try and see for yourself… ‘find out’ as it were.”

Eloise’s eyes looked like dinner plates, they became so wide.

“What? That’s… that’s a ridiculous proposition,” she choked, her voice raising dangerously loud. However, a well-timed moan from below brought her back to her senses as she remembered just where you were and what had brought you two into this situation in the first place.

Switching back to a frantic whisper, she continued. “I … I mean - who - what… no one would agree to such a foolish idea, not when they’d think I was trying to entrap them into a marriage-“

“El-”

“-and we all know they’d be desperate to brag about it to everyone. I would be dragged down the aisle by the end of the night, if my brothers didn’t drag them outside and shoot them first-“

“El!” You reached over and took her face in your hands. Holding her still seemed to do the trick as she instantly fell silent. “Breathe. Ok? I didn’t mean with a boy, or some stranger… I … I meant…”

The words died in your throat as your mind raced to maintain in control. There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea, the first and biggest being that your friendship was the most precious and treasured thing in your life. Risking it was beyond idiotic.

You knew that that was precisely what Eloise would tell you too, if she knew what you were about to say. However, you said it anyway.

“I meant someone you trusted. Someone you knew. Someone who cared about you.”

Eloise snorted. “And who would that be then? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I hardly have a line of suitors waiting for me, let alone any that suit those criteria-“

That was it. You couldn’t wait any longer. You kissed her.

The kiss was everything you’d been brought up to fear and avoid, but you knew that nothing in your life had ever felt so right. You hadn’t been made to want anyone other than Eloise, and you’d spent too many years trying to force yourself to believe otherwise. To believe that your mother was right, that you’d find a suitable man and feelings would grow in time. To believe that you were wrong to imagine kissing a girl rather than a boy…

Well, it was happening. It was no longer just a fantasy and… in a word? It was thrilling. The entire world stopped. The moment was breathtaking… and then it was over.

You paused, waiting with bated breath for her to react. However, moments passed by and Eloise failed to say anything - which in itself was a signal something was wrong. It took a whole minute for her to even open her eyes, let alone look at you.

Ice cold fear spread through your veins and you felt the world crumbling around you.

“I- I'm so sorry,” you choked, hastily pulling away. “I’m so sorry, I … just … I shouldn't have done that, El. Please, if you don’t say a word about this then I’ll stay away from you and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise-"

“W- what?”

Eloise blinked, suddenly waking from her stupor as you began to scramble to your feet, desperate to make your escape - amorous couple, or no. However, her grip was tight as she grabbed your hand, refusing to let you go. She was surprisingly strong.

“No, wait,” she begged, her desperation clear by the way her voice broke. “Please, just - just wait. I … I just was surprised. That’s all, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting it or to… like it. Or at least, not that much.”

“You ... liked it?”

"Yes."

You could have been knocked over with a feather at that point. Instead of rejecting you, or rebuking you, or even feeling repulsed by what you had just done, Eloise seemed almost excited as the shock wore off.

She began to smile, making the tension simply evaporate between you two. Instead, she looked almost liberated, her cheeks flushed and her lips were plumped from where you had just pressed them against your own. Several strands of her hair had also come free from their perfect coiffeur throughout the evening and yet, Eloise had never looked more perfect in your eyes.

You’d have done anything to frame that moment to preserve it forever.

“I did," she murmured. "It seems you were right after all. Perhaps it was a matter of finding the right person to kiss.”

“I was?”

“Indeed,” Eloise purred, a newfound eagerness surging within her as she reached out and pulled you back into her arms. “But, maybe we should test it one more time? Just to be sure. Any sound scientific theory must be based on evidence, after all.”

Well, who were you to argue with that?

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton x you #eloise bridgerton x yn #Bridgerton

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flanaganfilm · 9 months

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hey mike, big fan here. samantha sloyan is an incredible actor, no other character terrified me as much as bev keane did. what i wanted to know is, how is it like working with her and do you plan on casting her in any of your other future projects? also, was the character of tamerlane written with her in mind?

Sam is the BEST. I first met her as my wife Kate's best friend. They'd been incredibly close for years before we met, and Kate always insisted that Sam was the best actor she knew. I first worked with her on HUSH, where she played the doomed neighbor Sarah. That movie had very little money, and we couldn't afford to do much in the way of casting for supporting roles, so Kate suggested we ask Sam to do it as a favor. She flew in and delivered a wonderful character in only a few minutes of screen time, and a death scene that is absolutely harrowing. I immediately wanted to work with her again. I cast her in HILL HOUSE as Steven's wife, Leigh, and it was a fairly inconsequential part until the final episode, where she dropped a monologue that gave me goosebumps. So when MIDNIGHT MASS came around, I was writing the role of Bev Keane just for her. Netflix was initially resistant to casting her, wanting a "bigger name" for Bev, but we held firm on that. And after seeing her test for the part, they came around and agreed. Her performance roared out on the first day of shooting, and I knew it was going to be a career defining role for her. The ironic thing is that Sam is opposite of Bev Keane. She is maybe the kindest, quietest, most humble person I know. My biggest worry, while watching her play the part, was that she was doing such a good job that people may actively dislike her after they've seen it. Her rendition of Bev is just so loathsome, I was concerned that people might cross the street to avoid her when she went out in public. I wrote the roles of Shasta in MIDNIGHT CLUB and Tamerlane in USHER specifically for her. She has a terrific role in THE LIFE OF CHUCK, which will be finished soon, and I hope to work with her for the rest of my career. She's a ferociously talented actor, a great human being, and a dear friend.

#midnight mass #the fall of the house of usher #the haunting of hill house #the midnight club #samantha sloyan

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anna-the-undertaker · 1 month

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Indomitable Will

The human will is a force to be reckoned with... especially when they have something to protect.

Tags: @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @obeyme-sheeplife @caprinaesprout

Part 1: Adrenaline

MC awoke slowly, the sensation of soft sheets against their skin gradually pulling them back to consciousness. Their body felt sore, muscles aching with a dull, persistent throb that reminded them of the intense fight they had survived. As their eyes fluttered open, they recognized the familiar surroundings of their room in the House of Lamentation. The dim light of the Devildom's moon filtered in through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. They wondered how long they had been asleep.

Sitting up, they winced as the memories of what happened began to return in fragments—the ambush, the fight, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that had kept them going after their body should have given out. They touched their side gingerly, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin where there had once been deep bruises and possibly broken ribs. Simeon must have healed them, though the soreness remained as a stark reminder of how close they had come to losing everything.

Swinging their legs over the side of the bed, MC took a moment to steady themselves before standing. Their limbs felt heavy, but they needed to find the others. They needed to know if Luke was okay.

MC walked slowly through the quiet halls, each step bringing back more of the harrowing ordeal. The house was eerily silent, the usual background noise of the brothers' banter and activity absent. As they neared the living room, they heard hushed voices—a conversation already in progress.

When they reached the doorway, MC saw everyone gathered together. Some were seated while the others were scattered about the room. Luke stood in the center, tears still glistening on his cheeks as he recounted what had happened before and after they had been dragged to the forest. The others listened intently, their expressions ranging from confusion to concern.

Solomon stood nearby, leaning casually against the wall with a sly smile on his face, eyes glinting with a knowing look as the others pressed him for answers.

"How could they have fought off those demons on their own?" Lucifer asked, his brow furrowed in frustration.

"I thought humans were supposed to be fragile," Levi added, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"MC didn't use any spells," Asmo chimed in, looking equally puzzled. "They didn't use our pacts either. So how did they manage to beat up those demons as badly as they did?"

Solomon only smiled more broadly. "That's something you'll have to ask them yourself."

At that moment, MC stepped fully into the room, drawing all eyes to them. Luke was the first to react, his blue eyes widening as he rushed forward and threw his arms around MC, hugging them tightly. “MC! You’re okay!” he cried, his small frame shaking with relief. “Thank you, thank you so much for protecting me…”

Before MC could respond, Simeon moved next, enveloping both MC and Luke in a gentle but firm embrace. “You did something truly brave, MC,” he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you for keeping Luke safe.”

As they finally released MC, Simeon guided them over to the couch, where Mammon and Beel quickly made space between them. MC was barely seated before Belphie climbed onto their lap, his legs draping over Beel’s, while he latched his arms around MC’s torso, burying his face into their stomach.

Mammon's arm came to rest protectively across MC's shoulders, his worry evident in his tight grip. "You had us all scared, ya know," he muttered, though his tone was more gentle than usual.

Beel nodded solemnly, his eyes not leaving MC aa his hand came to rest on Belphies back, an open invitation for MC to hold it. "You shouldn't have had to go through that alone."

"Don't scare us like that again," Belphie grumbled, his voice muffled. "Next time, just summon one of us, okay?"

MC managed a small smile, one hand grabbing Mammon's and the other grabbing Beel's as they looked around at the others. The warmth of their friends’ presence was comforting, and for a moment, they just soaked it in.

But then, the questions started.

Diavolo, who had been standing by the fireplace, finally spoke, his voice filled with both curiosity and concern. "MC, we've heard what happened, but what we don't understand is how you managed to fend off those demons on your own. It's... remarkable."

Lucifer crossed his arms, his gaze sharp but worried. "Indeed. You've shown strength that we didn't expect, even knowing you've grown since coming here."

Barbatos, standing next Diavolo, nodded thoughtfully. "It's almost as if your strength increased dramatically in the heat of the moment. How is that possible?"

MC took a deep breath, gathering their thoughts. "It was the adrenaline," they began. "In situations of extreme stress or danger, the human brain releases a hormone called epinephrine or more commonly known as adrenaline. It makes you stronger, faster, and more focused. It's a survival mechanism."

Solomon, who had been silently observing, offered a knowing smile. "Humans are fascinating in their resilience. Adrenaline can push the body to its limits, allowing them to achieve feats they wouldn't normally be capable of. I've seen it many times in my long life."

“Yeah. There are stories of humans lifting cars to save someone trapped underneath, or running for miles without stopping when they’re in danger, or even fighting off animals like bears or tigers," MC added. "Adrenaline can even be used in medicine to restart someone’s heart if it stops beating.”

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone processed this information. Asmo looked genuinely impressed, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. “I had no idea humans could be so… fierce,” he admitted.

Levi looked both awed and slightly unnerved. "So, you're saying it's like a temporary power-up? But it's something humans can do naturally?"

MC nodded. "Yes, but it's also dangerous. The effects of adrenaline can wear off quickly, and you're left exhausted, sometimes even in shock, and any pain you have will hit hard. That's why I passed out shortly after you all arrived."

Satan, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward, his eyes intense. "So, this ‘adrenaline’—it’s something that can be triggered in any human under the right circumstances?"

MC nodded. "Yes. It’s not something we can control easily. It’s just... there, when we need it."

Beel frowned slightly, his protective nature shining through. "But it’s dangerous, right? If you push too hard…"

MC gave a small, tired smile. "Yes. It can be. But in that moment, it was one of the things that kept me going."

Belphie tightened his hold on them, his voice low. "I don’t like the idea of you having to rely on something so dangerous. We’re supposed to protect you."

Lucifer spoke once more. “You’ve explained the physical aspects of adrenaline, but what drove you to fight so fiercely? What was going through your mind?”

MC took a deep breath, their gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before they met Lucifer’s eyes. “Fear was definitely there, but it was overshadowed by my need to protect Luke and to survive, not just for myself, but for all of you.”

Mammon's brow furrowed. "For us?"

MC nodded. “All I could think about was everything we’ve been through together, everything we’ve done, and everything we’ve yet to do. I refused to die there. I refused to let those demons take away everything I’ve fought so hard for.”

Asmo placed a gentle hand on MC’s arm, his usual flamboyance muted. “You were protecting us…even when you were the one in danger?”

MC smiled softly. “It wasn’t just about me. It was about all of us. I felt the adrenaline kick in, and it made my heart race, my mind sharpen…but there was something else, too. I felt all of our pacts. I felt all of you with me.”

Simeon, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. “You felt your pacts? But you didn't use any magic?”

MC shook their head. “No, no magic came from them. It was just…a reminder. A reminder that I had people waiting for me. People who would be hurt if I didn’t make it back. That’s what pushed me to keep fighting.”

Levi looked away, his voice tinged with guilt. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone…”

MC turned to him, their expression earnest. “I wasn’t alone. I had all of you with me in spirit.”

Beel smiled softly. “You fought for us. Even though you were hurt and scared, you fought because you didn’t want us to lose you.”

MC nodded again. “Exactly. I fought because I had things I wanted to protect. The thought of all of you, of everything we’ve done together, gave me strength. The adrenaline pumped my heart harder, but it was the memories of all of you that kept me standing.”

Solomon spoke last. “The human spirit is something remarkable, isn’t it? Even in the face of overwhelming danger, it finds a way to endure, to protect what matters most.”

As the Avatar of Pride and the eldest of the brothers, Lucifer has witnessed countless battles and conquests, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom. He’s seen power in all its forms—brute strength, cunning intelligence, and magical prowess. Yet, MC’s resilience is something altogether different, something that challenges his understanding of power. They have stood against him, faced dangers that would crush most beings, and survived trials that even the strongest demons would falter under. “Humans are fragile, or so I believed. But this one and possibly others… They defy that fragility with every breath. It’s not just physical strength or magical ability—it’s their spirit. They have something that even I, in all my pride, cannot fully grasp. A will to survive that seems almost reckless, yet undeniably admirable.”

"The human will is a force beyond comprehension," Lucifer mused, his expression thoughtful. "Humanities tenacity in the face of danger is something even a demon can admire." He felt a mix of pride and concern—pride in MC’s strength, but concern for what such strength might mean in the future. Their unyielding spirit was an asset, but also a reminder of the unpredictable nature of humans.

Mammon’s feelings for MC are complicated, filled with a mix of protective instincts and admiration he struggles to express. He’s seen them face down enemies that should have easily overpowered them, yet they keep getting back up. He knows what it’s like to fight for survival, to be driven by the fear of loss, but MC’s tenacity is something he both admires and fears for. “They ain't just any human. They’ve been through so much—stuff that would make most people give up. But not them. They fight like they’ve got nothin’ to lose, but I know it’s ‘cause they’ve got everything to lose. They’re strong, yeah, but I can’t help but worry. What if one day they push too hard and…” Mammon shakes his head, unable to finish the thought, the idea of losing them more painful than he’d ever admit.

"How could I have let them face that alone?" he berated himself, but beneath the guilt was a deep-seated respect. "They fought like a demon…no, even fiercer. They fought like a human."

Leviathan has always struggled with self-esteem, envying others for their strengths and abilities. But MC’s courage is something he finds himself in awe of, even as it stirs a familiar jealousy. They don’t back down, even when they’re scared, and that’s something Levi can’t help but admire. “I’ve always thought I was weak, that I couldn’t stand up to anything. But they… they face things that terrify me, and they don’t even flinch. It’s like they have this hidden power, not magic or strength, but something deeper. I wish I could be that brave, to stand up and fight even when everything seems lost.... I always thought humans were weak," Leviathan admitted to himself. "But this human, my Henry… they’re like a protagonist in one of my games and animes, standing up against impossible odds."

As the Avatar of Wrath, Satan understands the drive to fight, the need to stand against what angers and threatens you. Yet, MC’s resilience goes beyond anger—it’s a calm, unwavering determination that he finds perplexing and admirable. He’s watched them endure pain, betrayal, and even death, yet they continue to stand, to fight, to protect those they care about. “I’ve always believed that wrath is what fuels survival, that it’s anger that keeps you going when nothing else can. But they’ve shown me something different. It’s not rage that drives them, but a resolve that’s deeper, more unyielding. Human strength doesn’t come from wrath, but from something else, something I’m still trying to understand."

His final realization is this: "It’s a dangerous thing to corner a human who has something to protect. They will fight beyond their means."

Asmo’s world revolves around beauty, pleasure, and love. He sees beauty in everything, but in MC, he sees something different—an inner strength that shines even in the darkest of times. Their resilience, their refusal to give up, is a kind of beauty he’s never encountered before. “Humans are usually so breakable, so easily swayed by their emotions, but not them. They’ve faced so much darkness, yet they shine brighter for it. There’s a beauty in humanities strength, in the way they keep going, keep fighting. It’s… captivating, really. They’ve shown me that beauty isn’t just in looks or charm, but in the strength to endure.”

Beel is driven by loyalty and a deep sense of family. He’s seen MC put themselves in harm’s way to protect others, something that resonates deeply with his own values. He admires humanities courage, their willingness to sacrifice for those they care about, even when it means facing dangers far beyond their capabilities. “They’re always thinking of others, always putting themselves last. It’s something I understand, something I respect. Humans endure so much, but they never stop fighting, never stop protecting. It makes me want to be stronger, to be there for my family like MC's been there for us.”

Belphie’s relationship with MC is the most complex, haunted by guilt and remorse for what he did to them. He once saw them as weak, a mere human not worth his time. But now, after seeing their resilience firsthand, his view has shifted dramatically. “I tried to break them, to make them give up, but they came back stronger. I used to think humans were weak, that they couldn’t stand up to us. But they’ve proven me wrong, time and time again. They’ve survived things that should have destroyed them, things that would have destroyed me. Now, I can’t help but feel… respect. And maybe a little fear, too.”

Diavolo’s fascination with the human world is well-known, but MC has shown him something even he didn’t expect. Their resilience, their will to survive and protect, has become a testament to the potential he sees in humanity. “Humans are full of surprises. They endure, they adapt, they fight even when all seems lost. It’s that spirit, that unyielding will, that makes them so interesting, that sets them apart, that makes them so valuable to our world. MC has shown us all that humanity has a strength all its own, a strength that’s not just about power, but about their will. It’s a reminder of why this exchange program is so important, why I believe in the potential for our worlds to learn from each other. The human spirit, when allied with demons and angels, could create something truly formidable.”

Barbatos is ever the observer, always watching, always analyzing. He’s seen MC’s journey from the beginning, and their resilience has only confirmed his belief in the importance of Diavolo’s vision. “Humans are more than they seem. MC’s journey has shown us all that their strength lies not in power or magic, but in their will. It’s a strength that defies logic, that challenges the way we see the world. Their resilience is a testament to the potential, a potential that we must not underestimate.”

Simeon has always believed in the potential of all beings, in the power of love, faith, and the human spirit. MC embodies these beliefs in a way that resonates deeply with him. “Humans face so much darkness, yet they refuse to be consumed by it. Their spirit is unyielding. It’s a reminder of the strength that lies within all of us, a strength that comes not from power or magic, but from the heart.”

Luke looks up to MC as a protector, someone who embodies everything he admires about humanity. He’s seen their strength, their courage, and it fills him with a mix of awe and worry. “I’ve always admired them, but now... I realize just how strong they really are. They’re not just a human, they’re my hero. I want to be strong like them, to protect the ones I love like they’ve protected me.”

The young angel realized that a human's actions weren't just about survival—they were about love, loyalty, and an unwavering determination to keep their loved ones safe. It was a lesson in courage that Luke would carry with him forever.

Solomon, with his vast experience and knowledge, sees MC’s actions as a reflection of humanity’s greatest strength. He knows better than anyone the potential within them, and he’s proud to see it realized. “Humans have always been underestimated, but that’s their greatest advantage. In the face of danger, they find strength even they didn’t know they had. MC is a perfect example of Humanities indomitable will. It’s a power that defies nature. And it’s something that, as long as it exists, makes humanity a force to be reckoned with.”

Bonus:

After the story of MC's encounter in the forest spread at RAD, the reactions from the demons became mixed.

Some demons became wary of MC, keeping their distance as they realized that the seemingly "fragile" human was capable of holding their own, even without magic. They whispered about the event, exchanging nervous glances when MC walked by. The idea that a human could take down multiple demons in a fight unnerved them, making them more cautious.

However, not all demons were deterred. A few, intrigued by the tale and eager to test their strength, began trying to pick fights with MC. They saw the story as a challenge, wanting to see for themselves how this "little human" had managed to overpower their kind. These demons would approach MC with sly grins, making snide comments or outright challenging them to duels, eager to provoke a reaction.

Despite this, MC's reputation at RAD began to shift. Some demons now looked at them with a newfound respect, acknowledging their strength and tenacity. Others kept their distance, not wanting to be on the receiving end of that same strength. But whether it was out of fear, respect, or curiosity, one thing was clear: MC was no longer seen as just a human. They had proven that humans were more than capable of surviving in the Devildom, and that alone was enough to make everyone at RAD take notice.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon

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funnyao3 · 6 months

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“I had such a funny dream,” Wylan says, keeping his voice hushed.

Jesper’s spine stiffens, ever-so slightly. Wylan having a funny dream could either mean he’s about to share a harmless and sweet anecdote, or a harrowing and traumatic memory.

-pendulum swing passengers by MaudeAlise

#soc #six of crows #soc ao3 #soc fics #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #nina zenik #matthias helvar #funny ao3 #ao3 out of context

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pin-k-ink · 3 months

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no regrets // ichikawa reno

tw ⇢ highly suggestive content, alcohol consumption, semi public stuff, dry humping, nipple play, making out, drunken confessions, dirty talking, he basically humps your hand at one point

wc ⇢ 4.3k

The raucous sound of laughter and clinking glasses slowly faded into the night as you guided Reno's unsteady steps away from the division's celebration. Despite his typically reserved demeanor, your oldest friend had clearly indulged a bit too much in the post-mission festivities.

"Geez, Reno," you chided gently, keeping a firm grip around his waist as he swayed against you. "I've never seen you cut loose like this before. Who knew you were such a lightweight?"

He made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat but didn't protest the mild jab. Instead, Reno simply squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into you further, radiating warm contentment in a way you rarely saw him allow.

"S'not...so bad once in a while," he mumbled, forehead brushing your temple as you navigated the darkened path back towards the base. "Been a rough few months...felt good to kick back a little."

You hummed in reluctant agreement, recalling the harrowing mission that had landed Reno in the infirmary alongside Iharu. Seeing their battered forms in those hospital beds had twisted your insides into knots.

Perhaps it was understandable, even admirable, that the typically unflappable Reno had finally let his usually rigid self-control slip after such a close brush with oblivion.

"For what it's worth," you murmured, tightening your steadying grip fractionally, "I'm glad you made it through okay, dummy. Don't know what I would've done if--"

The words stuck in your throat as Reno abruptly shifted back just enough to pin you beneath the weight of his piercing blue stare. Though glazed from the sake, those striking eyes still shone with the same diamond-edged intensity that never failed to rob you of breath.

"I wasn't gonna let some dumb kaiju be the thing that kept me from you, [Y/N]," he husked out, deep timbre reverberating through where your bodies were pressed flush. "Not when you've always been my...my reason for..."

Trailing off, Reno simply shook his head in a jerky motion, tousled locks shadowing his suddenly troubled expression. You blinked up at him with rising bewilderment, painfully conscious of the tension singing through his powerful frame against yours.

"Reno? What are you--?"

"God, if you have any idea how crazy you drive me sometimes..."

The gravelly confession punched from his broad chest in a rush, accompanied by his rough palm rising to brush over the thin material of your top. Your breath hitched as calloused fingertips skimmed the lace pattern near your collarbone with featherlight insistence.

"The way you move out there in that suit..." Reno continued in a hushed rumble, pupils blown wide as his stare grew hooded with perceptible longing. "So graceful and brave...always diving in no matter the danger..."

His free hand found your hip and pulled you roughly against him to punctuate the breathy declaration. You choked back a whimper at the undeniable ridge of cock pressing into your lower belly through his fatigues.

"It's like being surrounded by pure fucking sin in motion," he all but growled against your lips, broad chest shuddering with each exhale that washed over your parted mouth. "How the hell am I supposed to keep my head on straight around someone as intoxicating as you?"

The desperate edge to his words robbed you of breath entirely. This was the normally cool, pragmatic Ichikawa Reno splintering before your very eyes - shedding his consummate control to reveal the blazing forge of pure hunger and need raging beneath.

All on account of something as simple as your combat suit clinging to your form...or perhaps on account of your mere presence alone. The thought set off an electric thrill sizzling through your veins hotter than any residual alcohol could excuse.

"Reno..." you rasped out tremulously, tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips. "I--I didn't know you--"

But he simply shook his head, one sculpted arm banding around your waist to haul your body flush against his powerful frame with an indelible thud. The air rushed from your lungs at the collision, leaving you utterly pliant against him.

"Of course you didn't," Reno growled, hot and wrecked against the throbbing pulse point beneath your jaw. "I never wanted...I couldn't stand it if you knew how undone you leave me, [Y/N]..."

Then his mouth was slanting over yours in a branding, searing glide despite your hitched protests - all molten velvet and insistent demand as his tongue speared past your parted lips to delve hotly, deep and possessive.

Your whimper of shock swiftly dissolved into a throaty moan, fingers snarling into the thick strands of his hair on instinct as Reno ravaged your mouth with single-minded ardor. Fire licked through your veins and settled in a smoldering knot low in your belly, synapses shorting out beneath the sheer onslaught of his pent-up hunger and need now unleashed.

When oxygen became an imperative issue, you wrenched your lips free on a desperate gasp that only seemed to inflame Reno further. He laved a path of searing kisses along your arched throat, hands roaming over every lush curve with mounting desperation.

"For years..." he grated out in a barely-contained growl against your shuddering pulse, "you've been right there all this time, and I couldn't...fuck, I never dared..."

His confession fractured with a sharp inhale as you arched wantonly into his heated caresses, nails scraping his nape in silent pleading. That scorching undercurrent of need lapping at your already blazing arousal left you quaking and slick with desire, completely unmade at the mere hint of his unraveling self-control.

"Well now I've goddamn dared," Reno husked with naked resolution, dragging your mouth back to his in a searing, soultremor of a kiss. "So don't try and stop me, [Y/N]...because I've wanted this - needed you - for far too long to pull back now..."

Reno's mouth slanted over yours again with bruising intensity, tongue delving in a heated glide that stole your shuddering breaths. You whimpered against the insistent claiming, simultaneously yielding and pushing feebly at his solid chest.

"Reno...wait," you managed to gasp out when he dragged his lips free to blaze a path down your arched throat. "You're...you're drunk, we can't--"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," he growled in that gravelly baritone that zipped down your spine in licks of liquid heat.

One large palm curved around the generous swell of your breast possessively, callused thumb rasping over the hardened nipple with delicious friction. You cried out at the ripple of electric pleasure, nails scrabbling at his shoulders on instinct.

"Been wanting this for years..." Reno continued in a low rasp against the hollow of your throat. "Fooling myself all this time, pretending I wasn't utterly fucking gone over someone as gorgeous as you, [Y/N]..."

His full lips scorched over the upper curve of your chest in between each husked confession, tongue flicking out to lave at the heated flesh greedily. Your back arched despite your feeble protests, chasing the addictive blitz of sensation he was so relentlessly stoking within you.

"But not...mmf, not like this, Reno..." you gasped out desperately even as his clever digits worked your top aside to bare more of your flushed skin. "You'll regret this in the morning, we should...oh!"

Another shuddering cry tore itself free as Reno sealed his mouth over the swell of your breast, silky tongue lashing your nipple with exquisite pressure. He growled deep in his chest at your involuntary reaction, vibrations ricocheting through your nerve endings in dizzying rapture.

"The only thing I'd regret," he husked in that sinful tone dripping with promise, "is not being buried so deep inside you right now, baby..."

You whined helplessly as he rocked his clothed cock against your own throbbing pussy, coating you with the visceral evidence of his lust. Every muscle tensed and rippled beneath his sleek uniform, utterly mesmerizing you as Reno ground out a guttural sound of unchecked hunger.

"Please, [Y/N]..." he rasped suddenly, seizing your wandering hands to pin them above your head in a scorching brand. "Just this once...let me give in to temptation before I fucking combust from needing you so badly..."

Those piercing blue depths smoldered into yours with naked vulnerability and undisguised want as Reno pinned you in place with his weight. Utterly at his mercy and hopelessly undone by the intensity of his confession, your composure wavered dangerously once more.

All coherent protest dissolved into a plaintive whine as he sealed his mouth over the stiff peak of your breast again. Twin points of fire blossomed behind your fluttering lids from the exquisite torment, desire cresting hotter with each rasping lap of his sinful tongue.

"Yes..." he husked in a tone made to gut you, staring up from beneath those inky lashes. "Let me hear just how bad you want this, sweetheart. Want me..."

You writhed against him with a high keen, body practically vibrating with the need to chase more of his merciless friction even as self-preservation screamed to regain control. Reno's cock seemed to swell impossibly harder against your quivering pussy through his damp fatigues in heady response.

Before you lost yourself utterly to his whirlwind seduction, you placed a trembling hand over his corded chest and pushed weakly. "Reno, stop...you're drunk, ohhhh..."

He growled in frustration, plush lips skating across your jawline until his smoldering stare pinned you in place with the heat of a physical brand. "You think I haven't fantasized about doing this more times than I can count?" Reno rasped in accusation, grip flexing on your hip. "Tasting every sweet inch of you because you haunted every waking thought like a fever dream?"

You gulped audibly, mouth going dry as his words washed over you in an intoxicating flood of heat and promise. Reno only leaned closer, nose brushing yours in a nuzzle that made your eyes drift shut helplessly.

"Once I get started there'll be no stopping, [Y/N]," he rumbled in a tone of finality, every word shuddering through your core as if to emphasize what awaited should you surrender. "So if my being a little drunk is the only hangup...then fucking let me indulge in you properly for once."

Then his mouth was on yours again before you could muster a rejoinder - all unhurried glide and tempting suction, thoroughly devouring your gasps and whimpers of rapture. His hips undulated in tandem, thick cock dragging against your slick cunt torturously until your nails scored down his back in desperation.

After several dizzying moments teetering on the precipice of blissful oblivion, you finally tore your lips away with a ragged cry.

"No!" You gasped out harshly against his scorching follow-up kisses scattered over your bared throat. "No...we can't, Reno! I won't let you do this drunk, and...and then hate me for it later..."

You shoved him away with the last of your waning restraint, heart thundering in your ears as the space between your bodies suddenly yawned in a chasm of cold air. Reno sucked in a sharp breath, jaw tensed while he scrubbed one large palm over his features in a rare show of frustration.

"Dammit, [Y/N]..." he growled hoarsely, raking you with a look equal parts exhausted and utterly wrecked. "When are you gonna get it through that stubborn head of yours, huh? That I've wanted this - wanted you - for far too fucking long for something as petty as a whiskey-fueled haze to register?"

He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair, chest still rising and falling from exertion and undoubtedly thwarted arousal. You remained rooted where you'd staggered back, torn between fleeing to escape the yawning temptation his undone state represented...and charging back into the firestorm of his embrace to indulge every illicit yearning you'd cradled for years now.

"Fine," Reno bit out finally, looking utterly spent as he leaned back against the rough brickwork. "You want the drunk, honest truth? The goddamn truth is that I think about bending you over every flat surface going, about marking up your gorgeous skin until you're fucking ruined for anyone else, every single moment of every fucking day."

A broken noise punched up from your chest at the guttural confession, making Reno's smoldering stare sharpen into piercing focus once more. He prowled closer again, boxing you back against the opposite wall with looming intent despite your keening whimpers, until his chest brushed yours with each shallow inhale.

"And it kills me..." he husked against the slick curve of your lips, words whiskey-rough and utterly devastating. "It guts me having to pretend like I don't ache for you every second, [Y/N]. To watch you be so unaware of how completely you haunt every waking thought...how much I fucking crave you..."

Then his mouth slanted over yours with liquid heat, gentle yet utterly uncompromising in its thorough mapping of your trembling form. You sagged against him helplessly, all the fight fleeing your liquefied limbs in the wake of Reno's confession lashing you to the bone.

Stars erupted behind your lids until he finally, finally withdrew enough to let you suck down a shuddering rush of air. His eyes had taken on a hooded, molten sheen despite the sobriety returning to that penetrating gaze - unadulterated hunger now unleashed from its cage of restraint at long last.

"Whether I'm drunk or sober..." he rumbled with quiet intensity, "doesn't change the fact that you're the only thing I've ever wanted in this life. But if that's your only issue right now, then I'm more than happy to pursue you fully conscious from now on."

You blinked up at him with wide, stunned eyes, mouth working soundlessly in search of a response that wouldn't come. Reno simply smirked and slid his hands into the back pockets of your slacks with practiced ease, the picture of self-satisfied calm once more.

"Sleep on it, baby," he purred against the sting of your blush, smirk widening fractionally. "I guarantee you'll want me haunting those pretty daydreams real soon enough..."

Before you could stammer out a retort, Reno stepped back and turned to saunter away with loping strides like he didn't have a care in the world - utterly unbothered by your frozen, flushed silence ringing behind him in the stillness.

You remained slumped against the cool bricks for several charged moments with only your thundering pulse for company...dreading and craving the inevitable moment when Reno's words would indeed come slithering back to torment your every restless thought, rendering sleep a distant fantasy.

(A little while later...)

The soft clicking rhythm of your boots against the polished floors echoed through the dim corridor. Having managed to mostly compose yourself, you figured your best bet would be to escort Reno the final stretch to his personal quarters before turning in yourself.

Maybe, just maybe, you could convince your raging hormones to see reason at last if given enough time to process everything fully. Not to mention allowing Reno to sleep off the residual alcohol in his system that had clearly lowered his usual pristine inhibitions so dangerously.

Then again, you mused with a shiver, his breathless parting shot about pursuing you even while dead sober...there was no denying the raw, electrifying allure of that particular temptation.

Shaking off the tantalizing thought before it could regain its full, feverish grip, you turned into the small communal office space adjacent to the living quarters. And there, seated at one of the desks with his back to you, was the source of your quandary.

"Reno?" you ventured hesitantly, slowing your steps.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat, spine stiffening minutely as your footfalls neared. You gnawed your lower lip, suddenly unsure of how to broach the metaphorical minefield between you anew.

"Look, about...earlier..." you began only to trail off as Reno abruptly rose.

The scrape of the chair across the parquet floor made you flinch, suddenly regretting pushing the confrontation so soon. For a long moment, Reno simply remained hunched with his broad shoulders squared towards you in tense silence.

Then, with an abruptness that stole your breath, he surged upright and whirled to face you fully. You instinctively stumbled back a step at his fevered expression and the way one sculpted forearm worked visibly beneath the clinging material of his shirt.

Without preamble, he grasped the hem and tugged the garment off over his head with jerky impatience. The sudden display of his bared, toned torso gleaming with perspiration robbed you of words entirely.

"Uh...Reno, what are you--?"

"It's too damn hot for this in here," he growled, pitching the shirt aside with impunity.

You watched with eyes widening by the second as he tugged the sweat-dampened fabric up over those sculpted abdominals, flexing pectorals rippling with the motion. Reno didn't hesitate in the slightest as he stripped the garment off completely, pitching it aside with utter disregard.

"There..." he rumbled in evident satisfaction, straightening to his full towering height. "That's much better, don't you think?"

Your mouth went bone dry at the bold display of his powerful, half-naked form mere feet away. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't tear your stare from the defined ridges and hollows cording across that compact, muscular torso.

A fine sheen of perspiration gilded every dip and swell, highlighting the stark cuts of Reno's musculature in stark relief. As if hypnotized, you followed the tantalizing paths formed by each individual bead trailing from the notch of his collarbones down...down...

"See something you like, [Y/N]?" he husked out suddenly, snapping your wandering focus back up in a daze.

Reno's smoldering gaze bored into yours with darkening intensity, that penetrating blue gaze seeming to scorch you to the bone as you gaped soundlessly. He took a prowling step forward and you instinctively matched it with a retreating shuffle before you could think better of it.

The corners of Reno's lush mouth curved in a self-satisfied smirk at your visceral reaction. With each measured advance, you backpedaled until your thighs thudded against the solid oak of a desk behind you.

Trapped, you realized with a hammering pulse as Reno used his superior height to effortlessly crowd your space, not even attempting to disguise the open roaming of his stare. You swallowed hard on a thin whine as one sculpted forearm braced the desktop beside your hip, rendering escape utterly impossible.

"Nothing to say for once, baby?" Reno rumbled in that gravel-rough timbre that washed over your shivering nerve endings in sparks. "No snappy comebacks about all this not being a...what was it? A big deal?"

He cocked one elegant brow, nostrils flaring slightly as he dragged in a measured inhale - doubtless catching the first whispers of your arousal now that you were effectively pinned. You shook your head mutely, utterly unable to formulate a single coherent retort beneath the tsunami of molten need crashing through your senses.

"Good," he growled in evident satisfaction. "Because maybe...just maybe if you stay quiet long enough...you'll finally let yourself feel what this is really doing to you."

He punctuated his low utterance by snaring your wrist in one powerfully large hand and drawing it inexorably towards the vee of his hips. You felt your breath hitch in your lungs as your suddenly clammy palm encountered the rock hard length straining at the front of his fatigues.

A guttural whine tore up your throat at the feel of Reno's cock searing your skin through that thin cotton barrier. You tried weakly to tug your arm back on instinct, yet he persisted easily - guiding your slack fingers to wrap around the swollen shaft as he simply rolled his hips in a sinuous grind against your trapped palm.

"Feel that?" He rasped hoarsely, shuddering aftershocks of pleasure visibly chasing across his tensed musculature. "That's what you do to me, [Y/N]...all the fucking time, just by existing in that sweet fucking temptation of a body..."

Your knees threatened to give out beneath you as Reno picked up a relentless rhythm - dragging your hand up and down his thick, pulsing cock as he chased the friction shamelessly. With hooded, molten eyes, he drank in your expression of stunned rapture greedily while subjecting you to every intimate roll and grind of those lean, muscled hips.

"So hot and ready for it, just like this..." he rumbled darkly, daring to skate your knuckles up over the flushed tip peeking from the line of his waistband. "Makes a man go half out of his mind just thinking about finally slipping this cock deep inside you...feeling that pussy squeezing me so fuckin' tight..."

You released a strangled cry at the visual he painted so viscerally, certain you were already half-ruined with arousal just from Reno's molten words and the obscene drag of his dick against your palm. He groaned roughly in evident approval at your response, somehow managing to intensify the erotic rhythm rocking between your tangled bodies.

"Dammit, [Y/N]..." Reno growled with naked desire roughening his voice as your free hand found purchase on his bared abdomen. "Say something...tell me you want this as bad as I fucking do before I snap..."

He was already panting harshly, perspiration gilding the sharp hollows and ridges of those powerful muscles for you to drink in with unrestrained hunger now. Your fingers splayed and raked down his flexing torso greedily, following each undulation with rapt focus as your thoughts spiraled into blissful white noise.

"I..." you rasped out, barely clinging to sanity amidst the maelstrom of sensations overwhelming you wholly, "I need...Reno please!"

That was all the encouragement he seemed to require. With a low, feral growl of manifest need, Reno crushed his mouth to yours in a searing, devastating kiss.

You whimpered into the velvet heat and tangled your fingers into the dark strands at his nape, tugging him closer, closer as his tongue swept between your lips to claim you in hungry swirls and lashing caresses. It was all you could do to simply hang on as Reno's bulk boxed you against the desk immovably - pinned between blistering muscle and searing demand with no avenue of escape.

But before you could voice the dizzying scope of your need, his hand seized your wrist in a crushing grip to wrench it away from his straining erection. The sudden loss of friction drew a hoarse keen from your chest despite yourself.

"Shhh, no, fuck..." Reno gritted out, chest heaving between your separated bodies. "We...we can't, not like this..."

You blinked up at him in gradually returning awareness, stunned by the sudden reversal from his earlier heated avowals. Reno pinned you with those burning sapphire irises, jaw visibly tensing before he managed to tear his stare away from your slick, tempting lips with effort.

"At least, not while you're worried my judgement is compromised by too many shots, yeah?" he clarified in a gruff rumble, calloused fingertips stroking through your mussed strands in a soothing caress. "Because I want you more than my next breath, [Y/N]...but I won't let you doubt a single perfect second that you have all of me finally making those fantasies reality."

Another tremor wracked your form despite the fevered ache still coiling between your thighs. Not from the soul-searing rapture of his veneration still coursing through your entwined bodies...but from the profound depth of understanding and sheer adoration shining back at you from his piercing stare.

Reno might have initiated this teetering courtship drunk on liquid courage, but there was no mistaking the clarity blazing from those diamond-sharp irises now. Emboldened by sober revelation at last to stake his claim and pour every single ounce of molten desire into ensuring you never once felt anything less than worshipped utterly between his skilled embrace.

"Just..." He exhaled a steadying breath, thumb tracing over the flutter of your pulse reassuringly. "Just promise me you'll still feel the same way after tonight. That I can wake up without regrets of having ruined our friendship or whatever this is between us by finally giving in to what I've craved since--"

Your finger silenced him with a gentle press over his parted lips, smile tugging upwards despite the lingering haze of arousal. Reno's eyes hooded with fresh hunger at your touch, riveted entirely on committing this unspoken exchange to memory down to the most infinitesimal detail.

With a delicate tug, you drew his head back down until your brows brushed in a feather-light span of closeness. Your gazes locked and held across that infinite distance - lips scant inches apart, chests rising and falling in torrid synchronicity once more as you simply allowed yourself to drown in one another.

"I promise," you finally whispered in a hushed rasp of steel, the wispy heat of the words fanning across his mouth deliciously. "So wake me up already, Reno...and show me how I've ruined you completely."

His splintered groan of sweet anguish and relief swallowed your answering sigh as Reno's mouth crashed over yours to pour out every unspoken yearning he'd wrestled with since the start. This time there was no restraint, no tenuous hesitation as he branded you with molten possession - tongue delving deep, powerful body coiling yours into complete surrender as you both finally, blissfully, indulged in what simmered between you uninhibited at last.

Around you, the rest of the world fell away into insignificance against the storm of bliss raging from your joined forms. Only the whisper of half-shed clothes and the thunder of ragged breaths echoed through the dimly lit space with each glide and reverent caress leading you both deeper into rapturous ruin together.

When dawn finally streaked the horizon in pale light, two bodies lay tangled amid the scattered aftermath of your explosive joining. Reno nuzzled his face against the sweet hollow of your throat, lips quirking in private satisfaction as his lashes fluttered against your fevered skin in the softest of barely-there kisses.

"No regrets," he rumbled in a raw, utterly contented murmur muffled by your embrace.

Outside, the crisp spring morning sang with new awakenings and emboldened promise. But in the sanctuary of your shared cocoon, you had already slaked your deepest thirsts and rendered sleep a distant fantasy yet again - drunk on each other through the hazy glow of a different rapture entirely.

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senualothbrok · 29 days

Text

Oath of Devotion

Summary: When you accompany Karlach to Avernus after the defeat of the Netherbrain, you assume it is the end of your romance with Gale. But you have a lot to learn about the meaning of devotion.

An exploration of the power of love and friendship, featuring Professor Gale, Paladin Tav, Karlach and Wyll.

Word count: 6.6k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort.

A/N: This fic is dedicated to @dekariosclan, who wanted a story about a Tav who romances Gale but goes with Karlach to Avernus. I hope this hits the spot for you!

The dialogue in the scene at Withers' party is canon but for a few additions- you can watch it here.

Thank you again to @inglorionamy-ammy, beta reader extraordinaire.

She barrels into you when you hold it out. It is a ratty, one-eyed thing, as bruised and battered as you look on this winding road through death and destruction. But Karlach’s face lights up like you are offering her a gold-plated battleaxe, not an abandoned rag of a teddy bear.

“Mate!” she screeches, and you lurch at the tackling force of her embrace. “You shouldn't have!”

You cackle, because every time it is the same. As the heap of discarded and deformed teddies in her tent grows, each one anointed with a name and cherished place next to the inimitable Clive, so too does Karlach’s excitement. When you found her the first couple in a deserted shack - whimsically named Sasha and Roberto - you assumed that the novelty would soon wear off. But as usual, Karlach's enthusiasm knows no bounds.

“He's so cute!” She shrieks as she draws back from you, squishing the mangled thing against her cheek. “He looks like a Gary. Yeah. That's right. Gary. That's what we'll call him.”

She beams as she assigns Gary a sacred place within the mound of teddies in the corner of her tent. Peering inside, you chuckle at the chaos of weapons, armour and trinkets littered around her. She pats Gary proudly on the head as she returns to you.

“Never gets old.” You mirror her grin.

“You’re the best.”

She gives you a quick squeeze. You ignore the way her skin sears yours in her elation - nothing that a simple healing spell cannot fix - and clasp her shoulder with a laugh. When she gestures towards the blanket laid out on the grass and the bottle of wine beside it, you nod keenly, bounding over to lay side by side, staring up at the stars.

You have always been a traveller, journeying from place to place to follow whatever orders you received from the Justiciars of Tyr. Camping out under the bright expanse of the night sky is as familiar to you as breathing. The road has always been your home.

It is not that you hated returning to the Halls of Justice, your headquarters in Waterdeep, where you spent most of your formative years. But over time, it has worn on you, the rigid, tight-lipped Tyrran priests, the narrow-eyed magistrates, knights and lords who were as joyless as they were harsh. It was not that you did not love Tyr, that you did not believe in truth and justice and law and order. It was not that you did not wish to defend and protect. You just could not see why you had to be so miserable while doing it.

You have never been the sombre, stick-up-the-arse sort, the type to inspire hushed envy. You have always had your feet firmly on the ground, quick to laugh, slow to put on airs and graces. You are straightforward, run of the mill. With you, what you see is what you get.

You are ordinary. Unremarkable.

So you have known, from the start, that you would never rise up the ranks. You know you will never be a Justiciar of Tyr. And though that harrowed you when you were young and wide eyed - so determined to bring honour and glory to your parents as they toiled away on their meagre farmstead - you find it amusing now. With the stench of the House of Hope still clinging to your pores, you and Karlach guffaw at Raphael’s ridiculous singing as you felled him, the crash of Yurgir falling to the floor like a drunken toddler as she delivered the killing blow. Though the threat of doom looms around every corner, the fate of Faerun hanging over you like a noose, joy burns within you with a ferocity that you have never felt before. You have never felt more alive, or less alone.

But when Karlach tells you, in a conspiratorial, slightly bashful tone, about how tenderly Wyll removed a stray leaf from her hair earlier, she suddenly halts. Her face contorts as she sucks in a sharp breath. Her hand flies to her chest. You jerk up, stiff with worry.

“It’s alright.” She grits her teeth. “It’ll pass. It’s alright.”

Scorching tendrils pulse out from her chest, serrated cuts threatening to rip her apart. You grimace, your fingers sizzling as they rest on her arm. She curls into herself, braced against the onslaught. You feel frenzied, helpless. All you can do is wait.

“Karlach,” you plead after a pause. “We need to get you to–”

“Don’t,” she chokes. “Don’t even say it.”

Her fire is hurting now. You cannot help but flinch back. “It’s getting worse. I can’t just watch you-”

“Tav.” Her eyes are dark wells, flickering with flame. You realise that she is crying from the pain. “Don’t ask me. I won’t go back. I’m never going back.”

You shake your head. It is an argument you have had with her before. You do not wish to see the glee in your friend’s eyes shatter into rage, to hear her breathless from anguish rather than laughter. You do not wish to tell her what she does not want to hear. But you cannot bear it. You cannot allow her to suffer when there is a solution within her grasp.

“Ten years,” she spits out. “Ten years in that fucking place, with nothing and no one to call my own.” A fine mist rises from her heart as tears trickle down her skin. “I would rather die than be alone again.”

You notice that the flare of her chest is dimming, her breaths levelling as her features soften. But her resolve remains, as unyielding as her goodness, her loyalty, her zeal for life. You would not change her, not for all the fame and glory in the realms.

In that moment, you want to promise her. You want to tell her that she would not be returning to Avernus alone. But your mind is flooded by indigo streaks across a blue-green sky, the sandalwood scent of a brown sea, the spell of stubble on your skin. And you cannot speak.

So you take her hand, and you do not let go, even when your skin begins to blister.

*****

“How in the hells did you get everyone to clear off for the night?”

You are still adjusting to the stillness of your room at the Elfsong Tavern. After the whirlwind of panting cries and thrown off armour, the lurching groans of the bed beneath you, the calm feels almost unnatural.

Your head rises and falls on Gale’s chest as he laughs. You feel it as a low rumble through you, your arm draped over the muscled grooves of his abdomen. The damp down on his skin tickles your cheek as your fingers weave upwards through his tangled locks. You are drunk on the taste and scent of him, heady and bittersweet. It is a crackling bonfire on the coldest of nights, a bottomless ache that rubs you raw. You cannot get enough of him. You do not know how you will survive a separation.

“I confess, I did have some help from Karlach and Wyll.” He chuckles. “The three of us can be very persuasive. As can a generous budget for evening entertainment.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

You flick your tongue playfully over his nipple. He tenses, moans, tightens his grip on the cheek of your ass. All at once, you are ravenous.

“I live to impress you.”

The kiss starts as it always does, tender with longing, a gentle caress. And then you are all hunger and need, wanting and grasping and seeking, drinking from each other with a thirst that cannot be slaked. Drowning in the sea of him.

It scares you. The all-consuming demand of it, the fierceness of the passion that swallows you whole. The way the yearning blazes through every part of you, breaking down the barriers you have fortified between your mind, body and soul. How completely you want him, as though he is the answer to your every question. A feeling like no other, for a man like no other.

You have always been wary of reckless abandon. It was a lesson you learned early on in your travels. Love was a recipe for disaster when you could not guarantee you would be alive from one week to the next, or predict the movements of your missions. Love was a privilege you could not afford. Temporary delights sated the cravings of your flesh. You told yourself that was enough.

And then you met him.

“I’ve never felt this way before.”

You are not sure why you say it. Perhaps it is your body speaking, wrapped up in him, caught in a drowsy lull, fleetingly sated. He has expressed his love for you countless times, but you have not yet used the word. You are not sure what love means, beyond the orb and Mystra and the Crown of Karsus, beyond the Netherbrain and the threat of the end of the world. You see no half measures, no deceit or reserve in him. When he speaks of love, he means it.

But who is to say his love is not formed from desperation? That it is not just gratitude at unexpected companionship, a compulsion to seize every moment for fear that it might be his last? If you defeat the danger that threw you together, how can you be sure his love will endure? That you will not return to your vastly separate lives, as though it were all just a passing reprieve?

He smiles, glowing with the sheen of sweat, soft and hard and magnificent.

“Nor have I. And I never will again.”

His sincerity still surprises you. The openness of his gaze, like a clear horizon. You could lose yourself in the promise of his love. But you steel yourself. You remember who you are, the life you have led. He jumps on your hesitation.

“Do you doubt me?”

You try to sound wry, teasing.

“We’ve both been around awhile, Gale. You’ve had lovers before Mystra. You know your way around a bedroom.”

He tilts his head. “I can't tell if that's a compliment or a caveat.” His brow flickers, the beginnings of a frown. “Is that a cause for doubt, or…?”

“No. Yes. Well.” You look away, and when you meet his eyes again, you see that he is not fooled. Sometimes, it is unnerving to be known. To be seen. “What I’m saying is… you could have anyone you want. You did before, and you can again.”

You cannot bring yourself to mention the future. To ask, even implicitly, what will happen if you save the world and survive. If this is to be a pleasurable distraction, a momentary delight, then you would not want to ruin it. Yet somehow, the uncertainty is a thorn in your heart. It hurts to acknowledge it.

His eyes widen, as though he is stricken, almost offended.

“And I want you. Only you.”

He cups your cheek. There is an urgency there. Under the intensity of his gaze, you feel vaguely embarrassed. You had not planned to show him this. Your doubt. Your vulnerability.

But it does not deter him. Inexplicably, you know it never would.

“I love you, Tav.” His voice trembles with conviction. “I've never met anyone like you. You're…extraordinary. Extraordinarily beautiful. Extraordinarily strong. Extraordinarily kind, and wise.”

He pauses briefly, and the curl of his upper lip sends a roiling through your core.

“Extraordinary in your…unique talents.”

Your eyelids flutter as his fingers whisper over your hip, settling just beneath your navel. The catch in his breath mirrors your own.

“I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you, and I'd wait a thousand more.”

He says the words like they are easy. Like they are not oaths, solemn and harrowing - a sacrifice only made for the greatest reward. You struggle against them, and you are not sure why. You want to trust him, but you do not know how.

Because you have always suspected that love was never meant for the likes of you. The love Gale speaks of is the stuff of songs and sagas, fairytales of noble maidens, not gruffly scarred farmer's daughters who have made no mark on the world. And you know, with every fibre of your being, that Gale deserves immeasurably more than your mediocre offering.

Fear and hope flit across Gale’s features as he gazes at you, waiting. You know he wants you to reply. He needs you to tell him you feel the same. To declare that you love him with the same consuming constancy. That you are his, just as he is yours.

But you cannot speak. His turmoil pierces you, and you feel helpless, frenzied. So you crush yourself against him, and you answer with a kiss.

*****

You are grumbling at the rip in your breeches, your punishment for swinging at a rabid imp just a second too late. The sky is darkening like a blood clot. Karlach is jabbing at the caves in the distance where you will make camp, launching into ancient strategies and hoarded secrets. With her engine stabilised here, she is broader, defter, more self-assured. In spite of the smothering decay of Avernus, she radiates with life.

But you are exhausted. The stink of sulphur scours you, and you wonder if you will ever feel clean again. You long for the relief of lush greens and blinding blues, the caress of silk and softness. You miss the cool brush of the wind and sea. And beneath the murk and mire, a chasm has opened inside you that you struggle to ignore.

You are nodding and grunting as Karlach spitballs, and then you see it. A mangled lump by your feet. A soiled leather cover, clinging to shreds of charred vellum. You surge forward to pick it up.

“I reckon we'll be safe there tonight, but–”

Karlach stops, glancing over. “What?”

You sweep away the crust of dust and blood from its scorched surface. Nearby, a half-buried skeleton gapes in rotted robes.

“A spell book. Useless now.”

Karlach stares at you. You can feel the weight of her appraisal as the memories assail you - dancing fingers and lavender lightning, intricate crow's feet adorning smiling eyes. Rumbling incantations, tingling on your skin.

You stuff the tattered tome into your pack and walk on.

***

You are flicking through the remains of the torched tome. In the glow of the dying campfire, you can just about make out the haphazard scrawl of its dead owner. You are disappointed by the sharp, messy strokes, so harsh and ugly compared to the elegant cursive you know so well. The sparse pages, devoid of elaborate diagrams and rambling annotations. Their emptiness winds you. Grief follows like a wave, and you fight against the shaking of your hands.

“Come on then, soldier. Out with it.”

You start at Karlach's voice. The force of her presence jars you back from the brink. When you look up, her eyes are firm and gentle at the same time.

“Out with what?” you blurt.

She huffs, picking at the carcass of the abyssal chicken you shared for supper.

“Whatever’s got your goat.”

Instinctively, you wave her away. But you gasp as she lurches forward, grabbing you by the shoulders. When you break free, she holds your gaze.

“You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, right?”

You are stunned by her unexpected seriousness. She waits, expectant, stubborn. You sigh.

“Of course I do.”

Her brows steeple. “Then talk to me. Because if I have to go one more day seeing you this fucking miserable, my heart might actually break.”

You raise an eyebrow, your last defence. “We came here to stop that from happening.”

“Exactly!” She throws her hands up. “So ‘fess up.”

You shift awkwardly. You suddenly realise how difficult it is to speak about your feelings, even to Karlach. Not simple feelings like lust or anger, amusement or delight. Not the stuff of throwaway comments, wry banter or gushing anecdotes. Those things come as easily to you as your friendship.

No. What you cannot admit is the gaping hole inside you. How it felt to be cocooned in his embrace. The miracle of joining your soul to his, as though you had always been complete. The boundless warmth of him nestled inside you, flowing around you, melting into you. The ebb and flow of home.

You remember the anguished panic on his face, shadowed in the setting sun. The realisation in his searching eyes as you knelt beside Karlach on the docks, paralysed by choice. The tight line of his soft lips as you looked at him one last time, haunted by the ghost of that final, unclaimed kiss, of everything spoken and unspoken.

If you speak of these things, they will swallow you whole. And you are not sure you can endure that, even after all the battles you have survived.

“You can talk about him, you know,” she says, as though she can read your mind. As though you never needed a tadpole to understand each other.

“Who?” A knee jerk answer.

Karlach rolls her eyes. “Who do you think? Do you know another magic man with big doe eyes who can ride you into the astral plane?”

You grimace. On a drunken ramble back in Baldur’s Gate, you had described in detail to Karlach all the places and ways Gale had taken you. You will never live it down.

“Admit it. You miss Gale. That's what's eating at you.”

Part of you wants to shrug her off, tell her to drop it. But you know the doggedness of Karlach’s loyalty, constant as the sun. She jostles you, a motion meant to reassure. Her nails rap loudly against her chest, a clattering echo around the darkness of the cave.

“When we've fixed this baby, we'll go home. I'll find Wyll, and you'll find Gale. It'll all work out. You'll see.”

She sounds so certain. Once again, you marvel at her stalwart optimism, unwavering through the most unimaginable cruelties. You feel almost ashamed to burst her bubble.

“Karlach, Gale and I aren't…”

You gesture uselessly. Your chest heaves.

“It's not like you and Wyll,” you manage. “You guys are practically married. You know he's waiting for you in Baldur’s Gate. He knows you'll go back to him when all this is done.”

“And?” She frowns. “How's that different?”

You look down at the spell book in your lap. A sliver of vellum dissolves into black dust on your fingers.

“I left, Karlach.” You sound defeated. Small.

You watch as Karlach’s features tighten in thought, then widen in realisation. Sorrow twists on her face.

“Soldier,” she whispers. “I never asked for–”

You straighten immediately. “You didn't have to. I wanted to." Your voice swells as you clasp her arm. "You're my best mate, Karlach. My sister. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.”

For a moment, you think she might cry. Then she clutches you against her so tightly you can barely breathe. She does not smell of sandalwood and soap, but oil and sweat. And though her warmth is that of a blazing furnace and not the summer sea, you rest in it for a while.

“He loves you, Tav." Her words are muffled by her embrace. "More than anything.”

“Maybe he did," you concede. "Maybe he was lonely, and horny, and scared. But I left. He’s probably given the Crown back to Mystra by now. She's probably taken him back.”

Karlach pulls back roughly. “You’re joking. You think Gale would go back to Mystra, after everything? After you?”

You shrug. “Well, if not Mystra, he could have his pick. Plenty for him to choose from.”

“I can't tell if you're being serious. Are you serious?”

She stares at you, incredulous. You draw in a shaky breath.

“It would never have lasted, Karlach."

You offer it as an explanation, but she seems more baffled than before.

“What in the hells are you talking about?”

An image of Gale comes to you unbidden. Poised and ready, all broad shoulders and billowing robes, threads of silver shining amidst the brown waves that frame his chiselled face. He flashes you that smouldering look, halfway between a smile and a smirk, as his lithe fingers whip up a storm in the distance.

You toss the spell book on the ground.

"A man like Gale... a woman like me." Your jaw clenches. "What happened between us was a fluke. A blip for him. I probably did him a favour by leaving. No loose ends to tie up. Now he can move on. Greener pastures, and all that.”

Karlach stiffens and scoffs. “Now I know you can't be serious. Because my mate Tav isn't a total idiot who's completely lost the plot.”

You are taken aback by her uncharacteristic scorn. You are about to shoot back a reflexive retort when she halts.

“Oh.” She blows out a long breath. “I get it.”

You twitch. “What now?”

“It’s your blind spot." She nods smugly, as though she has cracked a puzzle. "Like how you drop your guard sometimes when you dodge.”

You do not follow. It does not escape Karlach's notice, the mounting frustration squirming beneath your skin.

“You can't see what's fucking obvious.” Her words are harsh, but her tone is placating. Patient. She sighs, heavy with affection.

“Tav.”

There is tenderness in the way she leans forward, looking you straight in the eye. You cannot help but soften. To be mad at Karlach would be like fighting without your sword. You just cannot do it.

“This is a bloke who talked my ear off about how your armour brought out the green of your eyes.” She chuckles. “He just wouldn't shut up about you. How brave you are, how kind, how awesome you are. How the sun shines out of your arse. We used to leave him with Minsc just so we could have a break.”

She chortles, then notices your surprise. In mock defence, she raises her palms to you.

“Look, I love Gale. You know I love Gale. And I adore you. But I really don't want to hear about your muscles bulging in the heat of battle. Or anywhere else.”

When you burst into laughter, Karlach beams.

“Even Wyll couldn't take Gale's lectures. I think he even fell asleep once.”

She bobs her head, lowering her voice into a husky baritone, her pointed finger wiggling in the air.

“Do you have a minute? Because I need to tell you about how loyal and smart and caring Tav is. No, I must insist on telling you all about it. Now. Pish posh.”

You cackle, but you cannot stifle the ache that tears through you. What you would not give to have him here with you now, and not an absurd imitation.

“Gods, that man would not let up about you," Karlach groans. "Shadowheart almost threw up when Gale started talking about your musk. He almost melted Astarion’s brain, too, when he said your scars were ugly."

You wish you had been there for these interchanges. You had no idea of them, beyond curiosity at Gale's unexpected affinity with Minsc. Now, the idea of Gale singing your praises and defending your honour makes you want to weep.

"A couple times, I even saw Lae'zel chuckle at the way Gale looked at you." She guffaws. "Lae'zel! Chuckling! She didn't even go off on one about istiks being pathetic. That's the power of love, right there.”

You are staring at your trembling hands. A whirlwind of hunger, hurt and hope is gathering inside you. You do not know what to do with it.

Karlach is silent for a while. When she speaks again, her voice is solemn as a promise.

“He loves you, Tav. That kind of love doesn't just go away.”

'I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you,' he had said, 'and I'd wait a thousand more.' You wrestle with the weight of his words, the weight of hers. You shake your head.

“I never told him, Karlach. I never got to say….”

The tears choke you. All at once, you cannot think, cannot speak. She takes your hand, and she does not let it go.

“We'll fix me up, and then you can tell him. You can tell him everything.”

****

“So you came back.”

His gaze darts away from you, his hands clasping and unclasping. He looks as nervous as you feel, stooping awkwardly to greet you like a half-stranger. But in the haze of candlelight, buoyed by the heavenly breeze of meat and mead and flowers, he glows. He is just as you remember him, a vision in purple and gold. Your every longing and memory made flesh.

“You look well.” He shuffles, a halting smile quivering on his lips. “A little singed around the edges, but well.”

You have never before felt self-conscious in his presence. But standing before him now, so close you could reach out and touch him, you are ashamed. You are embarrassed by your dented armour, your torn and dusty boots. Having just narrowly survived a group of cambions sent by Zariel, there had not been time for you and Karlach to primp and preen - not that the two of you ever wasted energy on that. You could not have leapt faster through the portal back to Faerun to answer Withers’ summons.

Appearances never mattered to Gale. He always saw through to the heart of a person, finding beauty in the alignment of a soul. It is one of the things you love most about him. But tonight, as the strange stiffness between you expands, you find yourself fretting over the bunching of your braids, your unpainted eyes, the fresh scars on your arms.

“So do you, Gale.”

Your voice is strained. Every muscle in your body yearns to spring forward, to talk to him with touch. But he stands apart, worlds away. Perhaps he is beyond your reach, after everything that has passed between you.

At the corner of your eye, Karlach throws her arms around Wyll’s neck with a squeal. You turn to watch as she lifts him up, twirling him around to a chorus of hoots and whistles. You grin and clap as they collapse into each other. You hear Gale chuckling behind you, that most soothing of sounds.

When you turn back, there is a moment when you simply gaze at him. You notice the empty canvas of his chest, laid bare by the tantalising dip of his richly embroidered doublet. Freedom, plain and pure, radiates from the unmarred plane of his bronze-kissed skin.

You think of all the times you traced the mark of the orb with your fingers, your lips, your tongue, pressing your love into his wounds, covering them with the balm of your desire. Is it recognition that glimmers in his eyes as they meet yours? Yearning?

He clears his throat. Perhaps not.

“I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Not sure where to begin.”

For months, you have imagined what you would say to him. All the doubts you would lay down, all the things you would confess. In the silence of your loneliest nights, you prayed and pleaded with Tyr for a second chance, promising, with a resolve as strong as your Oath of Devotion, that you would not waste it.

But now that he is here, words fail you. What you want, in this instant, is to listen. To hear the resonant song of his voice, the lilting passion of it. To soak in the gentle earth of his eyes, the gossamer lines of delight and wisdom that dance on his face. To bask in the miracle of him.

“Why don't you start at the beginning?” you ask.

He tilts his head. Then his jaw clenches, as though he is bracing himself.

“I promise I've not been moping around waiting for your return.”

It jolts you, the hint of bitterness. You have hurt him, and maybe there can be no second chances after that. Perhaps you cannot make amends for who you truly are.

But then his voice drops. His brow arches ever so slightly. There is the ghost of that sideways smile that has always driven you wild.

“Though of course I longed for it.”

It takes you a moment to register it. He longed for your return. Waited. Slowly, mercifully, he begins to tell you about his life at Blackstaff Academy. You savour the familiar enthusiasm that snowballs as he speaks, the lively flurry of his hands, a secret language in itself. When you learn that he is a Professor of Illusory Magic, hear him extol the manifold wonders of imagination and lament the ineptitude of his apprentices with wry affection, you grin so widely that your cheeks ache.

You have always believed in Gale - his stout heart, girded with goodness, his keen mind, honed as the sharpest blade. It has always been your greatest hope for him - to see him content with the man he is, no longer shackled to a mirage of the man he should be. If this is the end of the road, if a stilted goodbye is all that lies between you now, it would be a torment. An agony you will carry with you for the rest of your days. But there is no doubt in your mind. You would suffer any pain for his peace. His happiness.

It is like you are old friends when he asks about your time in Avernus. You tell him about the endless hoards of hunters trailing after you, the running count of kills that Karlach insists on keeping (she is currently leading by three). He shares your disgust with what passes as food in the hells, your excitement about the blueprints you found. When you tell him about Zariel’s forge, where you and Karlach are heading to fix her heart, you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he furrows his brow. You explain that Karlach is making inroads with one of Zariel’s guards, an old acquaintance of hers who thrives on chaos. Now, it is just a matter of biding your time before you make a move.

You are struck, again and again, by how much you have missed Gale’s laugh. The brightness of his discerning eyes. The plump arc of his lips curving into a grin. Lost pieces of yourself, restored for a fleeting night.

“I almost feel sorry for the devils in your path.” He smirks. “I mean, I don’t, of course. I’m sure they deserve it.”

He leans forward. As the wind weaves through his hair, you catch the notes of leather, scrolls, and sandalwood. Home. You breathe deeply, storing up his scent. You do not ever want to forget it.

“I've told my students plenty of tales about our escapades. You're something of a hero to them, you know?”

Something reverberates inside you. Dimly, you recall the weariness in your parents’ eyes when you returned to their farm on your thirtieth birthday. “Not a Justiciar, no. Still just an ordinary Paladin.” When, a few steps down the dirt track on the day of your departure, you turned back to wave goodbye, they had already scurried back into the house. Relieved to see the back of you, to be done with yet another disappointment in the ceaseless toil of their lives.

But Gale looks at you with pride, a kind of awe. A hero, he says. Extraordinary, he once called you.

“I'll be delighted to introduce you to them when you return. That is, if you wish to return to Faerun. Or to me.”

There is a fullness in his gaze now. The brown flame that flares is unmistakable. It is a swollen, throbbing desire that roils through you, a desperate mirror of your want.

He waits. For all this time, he has waited. Standing together where it all began, surrounded by the symphony of those you cherish most, you see him so clearly. The depths of his devotion. The boundlessness of his love. His need and hunger, wrestling against his fear.

There is so much you want to tell him, so much of your soul you wish to lay bare. It is not too late, you realise. If you open yourself to him, he will embrace you, as though there is no past, no future. Only the endless horizon of the astral sea.

“I want nothing more, Gale,” you whisper.

He heaves, a burst of relief, disbelief, elation. His whole body seems to vibrate, beaming with the bliss of a burden lifted, a mystery finally solved. The glorious end to a grueling journey, a terminus for which he has fought tooth and nail, trusting, against all odds, in a home where you would both come to rest. And when he steps forward, reaching out to you, you drift towards him like a star falling back to earth.

But then it seizes you. You stop in your tracks, bowled over by a compulsion to protect. An urge to throw yourself before him like a shield. This man, who has sacrificed and suffered for you. This marvel of a man, who deserves nothing less than the full measure of you. You cannot take away the victory he has won, against all odds, over the demons of his history. You cannot jeopardise the peace he has laboured so hard for. You could never forgive yourself.

You force yourself back.

“Zariel knows we're coming.” Your voice breaks. “She has an army guarding the forge.”

Gale’s features freeze in shock, the anticipation of pain. Your withdrawal is a blow. To hurt him so soon after hope - it is unbearable. But you must protect him. You cannot take the risk.

"We might not make it in. Or out. I don't want you to…I can't let you…”

He searches your face. You push out the words - a guttering plea, woefully inadequate.

“I might not make it back, Gale.”

There is a twisting in his face, a faltering as he considers you. Then his eyes widen, blazing with sudden understanding. He huffs, a gentle half-laugh, brimming with affection. It throws you, and when he speaks, his tenderness reminds you of all those nights when you lay beside him, wanting for nothing.

“Your caution is warranted. But believe me, I know enough about divination to promise you that our future is one worth looking forward to.”

You stare at him. Divination? Has he sought out your future, while he yearned for your return? Can it be that he has seen it, the two of you living as one, the answer to every prayer you feared to offer up to Tyr? Your breath hitches.

“A crackling hearth. Two cosy armchairs beside it. A bottle of wine to be poured. And your battleworn boots, discarded at long last by the door. That is the life we have waiting for us. Believe in it, and it will come.”

You can almost see it. The fine veins of his forearm flickering as he turns a page. His moist lips tingling on your fingers as they trail through his beard. Beads of sweat like pearls, settling into the nook of his clavicle, shadowed in the firelight.

Desire takes you like a flood. You can no longer resist the tide of his resolve, the smouldering embrace of his certainty. All of your questions, all of your doubts, dissolve like mist as he strides towards you.

His closeness is a spell. You are enthralled by the whisper of his hair against your temple, the caress of wine on his breath. The bold curve of his nose ghosts over yours, luring you closer. All at once, you are dizzy, falling into him. He draws back, teasing and playful, and when he laughs, you grab hold of him and crush your lips on his.

And then, all you can feel and smell and taste is him.

*****

He is stooped over his desk at the front of the lecture hall. Framed by intricate oak walls and animated portraits of Blackstaff legends, the fervent undulations of his cursive on the chalk board behind him, his beauty takes your breath away. His hair is longer now, lighter, adorned with gleaming clusters of white-grey. He is leaner, sharper at the edges, but somehow more solid. More true.

Squinting into a mass of scrolls, he is in a world of his own, muttering and gesturing to himself, a mixture of irritation, confusion, determination. Even from the back of the room, you can make out the wrinkle of his thinking line, that most endearing of expressions. You chuckle.

He barely glances up at the sound. He calls out with a practised weariness, a sternness that you have never heard before but instantly relish.

“If you're here for the lecture on the nature and use of simulacrums, you are disgracefully, appallingly late–”

He jerks his head, his gaze finally lifting towards you. When his eyes meet yours, he lets out a gasp that lurches through his shaking frame. And then he is sprinting, leaping through the rows of chairs, hurtling into you like a flaming comet.

Your bodies weave together, clutching, seeking, finding. His hot tears, his juddering breaths, the frenetic beating of his heart, echoing and melting into yours.

“You're back.” He cups your face, pressing his forehead to yours. “You came back.”

You lean into his touch, ravenous for more. All this time, believing you could not love him, doubting he could feel the same - now, all you want is to fill yourself with him. The musk of soap and bookdust, the taste of coffee and salt, the heat of his thrumming muscles flush against yours. You are dissolving into a flurry of kisses, each one more eager than the last, sealing your promise against his tear-streaked skin. You do not hold back. You will never hold back again.

“I love you, Gale,” you pant. “I've loved you since the day we met. I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you, and I'd wait a thousand more.”

The awe and wonder in his eyes reflects your own. He is quivering, letting out tiny sighs of jubilation. As his fingers dance up your chest, your neck, the knots of your braids, you tremble under his touch, grinning at the certainty that you will never again go without it.

“Where's Karlach?” he murmurs into your hair, as you run your nose over the stubble on his jawline, savouring the rough and smooth of him.

“She's headed for Baldur’s Gate to find Wyll. She’s promised to visit us as soon as they can.” You draw back. “That is, if you want me to stay here, with you.”

He huffs, amused, incredulous. His fingers find yours. Time stands still as he raises your hand to his lips. When he plants a kiss along the scarred ridge of your knuckles, it has the passion and devotion of an oath.

“I want you to marry me,” he breathes.

You look at him for a long time. You will never tire of the sight. Yours is a love that will last a lifetime, a love greater than any legend or saga, stronger than any fairytale. This man, this miracle, forever yours, just as you are forever his. You have no doubts about it now.

Joy burns within you, a fire in your soul that will never fade.

You laugh, and you answer with a kiss.

*********

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holy-puckslibrary · 8 months

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━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.”

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something.

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.”

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face.

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second.

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips.

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat.

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?”

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside.

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.”

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?”

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.”

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.”

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?”

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth.

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.”

“Why? Because you already are?”

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose.

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor.

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs.

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother.

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why.

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance.

“Who died and made you king?”

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.”

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.”

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved.

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.”

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out.

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.”

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas.

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.”

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend.

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth.

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely.

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?”

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass.

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite.

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.”

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.”

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood.

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back.

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.”

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.”

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.”

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten.

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump.

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another.

At least this one’s easy on the eyes.

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b0ng05 · 7 months

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Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader:

Injured

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Word Count: 1937

Summary: Sam broke her foot at the gym, and her loving girlfriend is there to dote on her

!MDI 18+! SMUT

Also, Not Proofread💅

Master list/ Request list

I hold in a laugh as I walk into Sam and I’s apartment, on the couch sat Sam with her casted foot propped up on a pillow on the coffee table. She wore an annoyed yet pouting look, her bottom lip jutted out a bit and her brows furrowed in frustration of her situation. Her arms crossed, making her muscles bulk out a bit more.

“Hey honey, how are you?” I ask, trying to stifle a small giggle at her expression.

I make my way over to the couch to sit next to her, kissing her cheek softly.

“About as good as I can be after dropping a weight on my foot.” Sam grumbles as she stares at the tv, which was playing an episode of Survivor.

“You should’ve been more careful,” I say, cringing after I see the glare she gave me.

“I am careful…” Sam mumbles, wrapping her arm around my shoulder before slyly flicking my arm with the same hand.

“How bad did you break your foot?” I ask, curling up to her side.

“An acute metatarsal fracture. Doctor said it might take weeks or months to heal, all I know is I want this damn cast off.” Sam remarked, her hand softly rubbing over the spot she flicked.

“How did you even drop a weight on your foot?” I ask, stroking her hair back out of her face.

“I was trying to swap weights on the benchpress, it just slipped out of my hands I guess,” She mumbles, a bit embarrassed.

“It’s alright, just means I get more attention cause you can barely workout now,” I tease with a playful smile as I lean up to kiss her jaw.

“I see how it is, you enjoy my pain, huh?” Sam jokes with a squinting stare.

“Kiss me and find out?” I joke with a teasing smirk.

“And how exactly would that help me-” Before Sam can finish her sentence, I steal a small kiss, teasingly biting her lip as I pull away before looking at her with a mischievous grin.

“That did actually help, maybe a few more,” Sam teases with a playful smirk, tapping her lips with her pointer finger.

I giggle and lean up again, our lips locking in a soft, slow, sweet, and loving kiss. My hand moves to run through her long dark hair gently as hers move to softly rub my waist with her thumbs.

“So how exactly did you get to the hospital, and then back home…?” I inquire after our lips part.

“... I had to call Tara. It was a harrowing process.” Sam states, slightly cringing at the memory of her with her arm wrapped around Tara’s shoulder as Tara tried to help her walk in and out of the buildings. The total process took them hours due to Tara being significantly shorter than Sam.

“Could’ve been worse,” I try to reassure with an amused smile.

“How? Tara almost fell over trying to help me, 4 times,” Sam scoffs trying to stifle a laugh at her own comment.

“She did her best.” I say trying to hold a straight face as a grin itches the corner of my lips.

“That she did.” Sam grins with a chuckle as she leans over to kiss my cheek.

“I love you.” I say, with a smile as I kiss her cheek in return.

“I love you too. Now, since I’m kind of working with one foot, can you get me water?” Sam asks with a cheesy but charming grin.

“You’re lucky you have a cute face.” I tease as I stand up to grab her water, only for her to lightly slap my butt once I’m up.

“And you have a cute butt,” Sam teases back with a mischievous grin.

“Oh hush,” I laugh as I walk to the kitchen to go fill up a water bottle for Sam.

Once I come back and hand her the water bottle, she takes a sip and puts it on the end table next to her before pulling me back into her arms.

"So how was Tara?” I ask with a smile as I snuggle up to her.

“She was kinda busy cracking jokes about me breaking my foot, for me to have asked her,” Sam grins at the thought of her sister, despite the fact the girl started playing Big Foot by Nicki Minaj when Sam got in her car to go to the hospital, and the fact that Tara played it just to mischievously look at Sam and sing, “The bitch fell off, I said “Get up on your good foot!”

“Sounds about right,” I let out a small giggle as I poke the tip of her nose.

“Y’know usually people dote on the injured, but you and Tara are relentless, I bet you guys would hit someone with glasses on.” Sam playfully glares at me, before poking my nose back.

“Maybe I would, my hands are rated E for everyone,” I joke.

“Knew it,” Sam laughs before leaning down to kiss me.

I kiss back, our lips meeting in a sweet kiss. I could feel my heart swell and butterflies fluttering my stomach. Her soft lips parting as her tongue grazes my lip, I give her access. Our tongues meet in passionate dance. Sam’s hands move to my waist as mine move around the back of her neck, my nails delicately trailing up and down the back of her neck, causing a small but noticeable shiver to run up Sam’s spine. She leans in more, pulling me closer as we kiss.

As we make out, Sam moves her feet off of the coffee table, gently trying to lay me back on the couch, but as she goes to crawl on top of me I hear a small thump, she pulls back out of the kiss quickly. She bites down hard on her fist, stilling for a moment in pain.

“Sam? You okay, baby?” I ask worriedly as I caress her arm softly.

“I just smacked my foot so hard on the armrest.” Sam groans as she moves to cradle her casted foot, her face scrunched in pain and annoyance.

“Oh you poor baby,” I say trying to hold back a small giggle as I cradle her head against my chest and kiss her forehead.

“Don’t mock me in my time of need,” Sam jokes as she pokes my side making me giggle.

“Oh and what type of need is that?” I tease as I move to lift Sam’s legs onto the couch, making her look at me with a blush.

“Oh shut up,” Sam says with a blush.

I giggle and move to lay between Sam’s legs, being extra cautious of her casted foot. I caress her cheek before kissing her again, igniting our heated makeout session once more. I move to kiss down her jaw, down to her neck. I kiss her neck, my tongue softly running over her pulse point before sucking down on it, forming a dark hickey. Sam’s hands move, one threading through my hair bringing me closer, the other resting on my butt with a teasing grip.

I sit up, my hands grasping the hem of her shirt and gently tugging it off of her before leaning back down to start kissing along her collarbone, trailing my tongue along it delicately, causing Sam to let out a soft almost inaudible whimper. She holds me tighter as I kiss down to her chest, tugging her black sports bra over her head before I begin to give attention to her breasts. My hand teasing and rolling over the nub on one of her breasts, my mouth occupying the other, as Sam breathing begins to pick up. Her eyes fluttering shut as she relishes in the pleasure emitted from the action.

“Baby~” Sam moans softly, her hand resting in my hair.

I smirk as I begin to kiss down her stomach, my hand moving to softly rub her hip as I kiss just above her waistband of her sweatpants. My other hand moves to untie the strings of her pants before tugging the soft plush down her legs, being cautious of her injury. I smirk at the sight before me, her panties were slightly soaked with her wetness. I pull them off, not wasting any time. I lay back between her legs, pressing kisses to her inner thighs as I watch her grow more flustered, Sam was normally in control in our more intimate moments, so this made her feel extra vulnerable. I lift her legs over my shoulders gently before I lean in and lick up her wet slit slowly, watching her mouth open in pleasure as a shaky breath leaves her plump lips. I moan against her wet cunt, making her moan a bit louder, her hands tangling in my hair to pull me closer to where she needs me.

“Fuck, babe~” Sam whines as she bites her bottom lip.

I swirl my tongue around her clit, my eyes gazing up at her as I watch her face contort in pleasure. I thrust my tongue inside of her, my thumb moving to rub her clit to match the pace of my tongue which was teasing her with a slow pace.

“Faster~” Sam bites her lip as her head leans back onto the couch.

I add a bit of haste to my actions. My other hand moves to hold down her waist as her hips begin to buck and grind against my mouth. Her moans echo out as I continue to eat her out. I move back to suck her clit as my finger moves to tease at her entrance, her wetness so prominent that it slipped in with ease.

“Please, I’m getting close,” Sam mumbles through strung out moans.

She moans louder, her chest heaving as her pleasure starts to build up. Her hand grips the edge of the couch, the other tugging my hair as she gets closer. I slip in another finger, going a bit faster as I feel her pulsing around my fingers. I let her grind her hips against my mouth as she chases her high. She cums around my fingers with a loud moan of my name. I let her ride out her high until her thighs twitch from sensitivity. I carefully take her legs off of my shoulders as I lick her juices off of my fingers. Sam stiffles a moan at the sight as she pulls me down for a kiss.

The kiss is soft and loving, her hands caressing my cheeks delicately. As we pull away, I lean my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.

“I love you, Sammy,” I whisper softly with a smile.

“I love you too,” She replies after she catches her breath, looking at me with utmost love.

I smile and peck her lips before getting up to go get a rag to clean her up and to go get her different panties, considering the soaked state of her ones on the floor. When I return, she’s attempting to hobble off of the couch to come find me, unsurprisingly without her crutches.

“Sam!” I scold as I rush over to help her sit back down.

“Am I not allowed to get up now?” Sam playfully sighs as she sits down, not resisting it.

“Not without your crutches,” I smile, kissing her cheek.

I clean her up with the rag, and then help her back into her panties and sweatpants.

“Now this is what I call properly doting on the injured,” Sam teases, with a cheeky smirk before pulling me back into her arms as I giggle.

#sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader #samantha carpenter x reader #sam carpenter smut

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gothicminxx · 8 months

Text

Satosugu x afab! Reader

Word count: 5.2K

CW: Angst with comfort, mentions of blood, major character death, polyamory, mentions of established relationship with Gojo, pet names (angel, pretty girl, my girl, sweet girl, etc.), instead of Y/N Name will be used instead, all around sad af

Part 2 here

Summary: Has a connection to the movie JJK 0, similar but not quite.

I think of Satosugu and I sob.

Hope you enjoy!

Twilight arrived over the horizon, painting the sky of soft purples mixed with pink and blue. Mountain tops capped off with sheets of white that sparkled underneath the setting sun. Silence loomed overhead with the subtle sounds of a breeze, the air crisp with a harsh bite. The grass is glacial from the previous snowfall a few hours ago.

But the world was covered in darkness as the giant hand that pertained to Satoru lay flatly over your eyes, sitting in between his legs on a rock. A habit that he had formed in recent years to mollify the bitter head of anxiety that crippled your body. When the thoughts began to race and the hammering of your heart refused to disperse from your side, Satoru placed his hand over your eyes. The rasp of his voice tickled your ear as he requested you focus, following his deep breaths, and hushed praises for succeeding. When the dark silence consumed the crevices of your brain it pacified the cavernous void that Suguru left behind. The reason for every apprehensive thought that consumed the confinements of your brain. A gaping hole resided in the depths of your pumping heart, one he had overfilled before-- a spilling pool of red wine: warm, gentle, and welcoming, the essence of pertaining to two lovers.

Satoru shared the absence of light with you simply by covering your eyes. He wore blindfolds to protect his six eyes, to keep the core of his energy balanced so as to not fatigue himself, he experienced the bliss of darkness daily listening to the calmness of his breath, the steadiness of his heart, and the sounds of his surroundings. It was peaceful when things seemed to spiral out of control, tensions at an all time high giving Satoru that moment to ease his mind. It was the only thing he could think to do to alleviate the strain of life that gnawed at you constantly like a tender cut of meat.

The coolness of this year's harsh winter stung your cheeks, penetrating at the surface to numb your whole face. You placed your hands on top of Satoru’s, holding it in place to increase the darkness, focusing on the environment you found yourself in. Snow that the wind carried tickled your skin, dampening it slightly as the flakes melted. The comfort of your puffy jacket and beanie kept you toasty to endure the frozen conditions, but in this very moment the cold brought you solace as you embraced the blackness. You could feel the warmth of Satoru’s chest radiate into your back like a warm blanket, the breeze that blew on the side of your face howled softly, swooshing of powdered snowflakes followed. The plateau you and Satoru sat in was desolate of noise, it calmed the erratic beat of your heart and soothed the harrowing thoughts in your mind.

Since Suguru’s impetuous departure from the both of you things had been difficult, words left unsaid with various questions that had gone unanswered. An empty spot on the bed that used to belong to him had now turned cold and desperately clung onto his scent, you and Satoru had found yourselves leaving that space open, as if he’d ever walk through the front door again and reclaim the life he once had. His hoodies still hung up in the closet, his toothbrush still had a spot in the holder, boxes of his favorite tea littered the cabinet-- you preferred coffee, and Satoru liked soda. Suguru’s things were left untouched in your home, things he left behind, and things you and Satoru held onto tightly; protecting the last bit of residue on those items.

Satoru snaked his free arm around, pressing his palm flatly against your abdomen, fingertips caressing the polyester fabric of the puffer jacket that adorned your frame. He gently removed his hand from your eyes as he felt you relax in his hold, leaning forward to rest his chin against your shoulder. The world had come back into your view, the sky had become a darker shade of blue accompanied by a few stars that twinkled. The sun had fully hid behind the snowy mountain range taking away the last bit of warmth it had offered in the winter months. Satoru had insisted on taking you far from the city today despite the ice on the roads, the sunken bags underneath your eyes had prompted worry that he could not ignore. You were the only thing keeping him sane since Suguru had left, Satoru had grown petrified of losing you too. He could sense the ugly cloud of melancholy looming over your head, the way you slouched at the kitchen table-- barely touching the food on your plate, a frown etched on your lips, and tears left to dry on your cheeks. The way you stared at Suguru’s spot in bed wearing one of his hoodies, the yearning and agony you felt all too evident to him that he had to get you away from home for a few hours.

He had always been better at tucking away his emotions so as to not worry you. But Satoru felt the same agony, the cavernous hole in his heart that felt as though a knife had stabbed through and ripped a chunk out. The bile that burned the back of his throat and left a bitter taste that it didn’t matter how many times he brushed his teeth; it remained. That each time he smelled Jasmine or cedar wood he immediately burst into tears, teeth piercing his bottom lip as he tried to mollify the dreary emotions that raked his body. Oftentimes he found himself wearing Suguru’s clothes, wrapping his arms around his own body and pretending as though it was Suguru comforting him. Satoru grieved the relationship that once was, in silence, wanting to be strong for you, the most precious thing in his life. You needed Satoru more than anything in moments where you barely found the strength to get out of bed. When anxiety consumed you like the last meal on earth, he had to be strong for you.

Placing a kiss to your cold cheek Satoru hummed, “You calm now, angel?” He held you tighter in his embrace, shutting his eyes to engrave every curve of your body, the warmth you provided as you sat in between his legs, and your scent. The trepidation he felt of losing you too was one that made him lose his appetite.

Leaning your head back on his shoulder, your eyes followed the depth of the night sky, each star glimmering like a diamond. With the darkness the cold in the plateau stung your face, your nose runny and icy to the touch, but you could only focus on Satoru’s arms, “Yes, shutting out the world always seems to help,” A small smile reached your lips, “Thank you.”

Intertwining your gloved hands together he brought the back to his lips placing a kiss there making your heart flutter. Since Suguru deserted his lovers, through the agony and stabbing wound in one's heart, you still had Satoru. The six eyes refused to leave your side even for a moment, clinging onto you as a sort of life support.

The anguish was evident in his cerulean eyes, deep purple bags had found their home under his eyes, hidden under a blindfold so as to not worry his students— to worry you. Even if a part of his heart clung onto the memory of Suguru, the rest was yours. Glowing sun of warmth that caressed his cheek, holding him tightly to always feel the ardor of your heart. Lulling the anxiety he felt with lingering kisses, fingers tangled in snowy white tuffs, and the sound of your sweet voice covered in honey— speaking saccharine words.

Even if he tried to hide from you, keeping his emotions tucked away in a metal safe— you knew, of course you saw right through him. Having the privilege of meeting Satoru Gojo years ago meant understanding every single emotion he felt. A strong intuition to sense when something was off, he never truly spoke about it, only on the rare occasion of dawn drawing near, his eyes half lidded, and voice coaxed of sleep that he spoke— tired of the torment of a racing mind. You would hold him tightly in your arms, resting your chin on his hair as he sobbed into your chest, allowing his emotions to ripple like a waterfall. He was yours, you wanted to be there as much as he was there for you.

His giant hand cupped your cheek, leading your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, slow, and filled with love, Satoru’s tongue was warm as it found yours, eager to taste more of you to have more of you— he couldn’t get enough. He held you tight, pressing against your abdomen as it bunched up the polyester fabric in between his fingers. His thumb caressing your cheekbone, kissing you was a piece of heaven; Satoru’s sanctuary. The way his lips connected to yours reminded him that you were perfect for him in every sense of the way. That you were still here with him.

Satoru pulled away, resting his forehead against yours to catch his breath. His eyes remained closed but a goofy smile was ever present, his heart thudding loudly he truly believed you could hear it, light pink dusted his pale skin, “My girl. Mine.” He murmured, attaching his lips to yours once more.

It was moments like these that you truly cherished, engraving his every word into your brain like a chanted prayer. Satoru was here to stay, he could not imagine parting from you; it wasn’t possible.

Together you grieved Suguru, the fallen angel that had big aspirations of changing the world for the better. Ideals that you could not see eye to eye on, the raven haired man swore up and down it was a world for his lovers. Even if it seemed selfish at the time he would burn down the entire world for you and Satoru. If it had meant taking the life of the innocent— the weak, for those he loved, he’d do it over and over again. But the question had always remained: Would either of you do the same?

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The sun blazed down on the asphalt in a persistent manner, the heat waves radiated off of the dark pavement that burned the soles of shoes. Summer was unforgiving this year, humid and sickly that shade did little to provide an escape. The metal bleachers burned to the touch from constant heat smacking against them, the grass seemed as the only comforting place to sit underneath a Japanese cedar tree. Strands of green sticking to your thighs that you regretted wearing a skirt, almost.

First grade Jujutsu students practiced their combat skill in the enormous field, sweat dripping down their faces after an hour of intense training. The new student Yuta Okkotsu showed promise— improving his cursed energy little by little. Satoru had taken a liking to him, a powerful curse that followed him around— killing those that harmed him without a second glance. Your husband had a soft spot for teenagers that had a tough life, a man that could come off as arrogant had a huge heart. A few weeks ago Satoru had come to you, announcing he would be pleading Yuta’s case to avoid an execution even if it meant losing his job. You could never argue with him, standing next to him as you petitioned for the young boy as well.

Training had gone as any other day, students complaining about the heat but refusing to go inside— each competitive. Satoru stood with Yaga on the far end of the field coaching Maki and Yuta, while you and Shoko sat under a tree watching over Toge and Panda. The smell of tobacco wafted into your nostrils as Shoko lit up another cigarette, stating it would help with her irritation as she wiped sweat from her brow. Your fingers found the roots of grass to slowly pick at it, a distraction from the unbearable heat that made your body feel as if it would combust into flames.

Leaning back on your elbows you sighed loudly, throwing your head back further into the shade to look at the intricate leaves— hiding from the wretched sun. “How much longer are we going to torture the students in this goddamn heat?” Shoko groaned beside you.

“‘Dunno, until one of us drives Yaga up the wall with our complaining.” You chuckled, “Knowing Satoru I’d say soon.”

Due to Satoru being born in the winter season the six eyes preferred the cold and icy snow over the blistering heat. He thrived at the first snowfall, dragging you out of the warmth of your cozy bed to admire the sheet of white. His long legs would race to the backyard without the proper clothing to handle the freezing temperatures, slender fingers grabbing a handful of snow to feel the cool softness on his flesh. He’d spend a few hours outside admiring it with childlike wonder, you would oftentimes fight him to come inside as if he were a husky— stubborn and flourishing in the snow. It wouldn’t surprise you if your husband was currently throwing a fit about the sweltering heat to Yaga.

Booming voices ricocheted from the trees in the field, snapping you out of your thoughts. Shoko’s ears perched giving you a confused glance as she licked her finger to put out her cigarette, “What could that be?” She wondered.

Together you stood, requesting Toge and Panda to follow along in case it happened to be something serious. Sweat decorated your brow as the impending heat found you, raising the temperature within the confinements of your body. In the distance a large bird bigger than a human flapped its wings, the radiant golden color catching in the sun, throwing its head back to emit a loud squawk from its enormous beak. Bodies of students surrounded the creature, tuffs of milky white hair came into view as his tall lanky figure pushed past bodies. From where you walked you could see the tension in his shoulders, jaw clenched, and fists white-- something was wrong.

The length of your legs began to take lager hurried strides, loud pounding rang in your ears from the erratic beating of your heart. Heads turned as you drew closer, wandering eyes with a look of confusion stared back at you, “Satoru, long time no see!” A silky voice called, sweet like honey, a soft melody to listen to. A voice that closed up your throat, heart dropping to the depths of your stomach, eyes stinging with ocean water because it had been so long since you had heard it. The voice that comforted you when a tough day crossed your path, made you laugh until you cried, talked you through it in moments of ecstasy, and spoke sweet nothings to you.

As you pushed your way into the circle Satoru stood taut, a white blindfold covered his cerulean eyes, expression hard to read but his tight jaw spoke for him. You followed his gaze, time had frozen still as long raven hair met your eyes, glistening in the light of the sun. A smile adorned his features as he greeted Satoru with an arm around Yuta’s shoulder, he had yet to notice you. It had been nearly a decade since you had seen the familiar face, had him in close radius. “Suguru?” Your voice barely above a whisper, cracking pathetically towards the end.

His attention drifted towards you, “Name, it’s been a while.” The smile he wore faded the moment brown eyes truly caught a glimpse of you, the sight nearly broke his heart. You looked on the verge of tears, the yearning to run into his arms was evident as your hand blindly reached out-- but you held back, taking a hold of Satoru’s sleeve too paralyzed to move. The white haired man placed a protective arm on your waist as if to challenge Suguru to take a step further to either of you. But in truth Satoru would break down if given the opportunity, trying his best to remain strong, to come off as intimidating to the man that ripped his heart open; you both knew this.

“Step away from those kids right now, Suguru.” Satoru’s voice held a stern edge, the man in front of him was the only one that could affect the usual confident demeanor he had.

Suguru held back a smirk as he slowly removed his arm from Yuta, “ I heard the first years were quite special, it seems you still have an eye for talent, Satoru.”

Your gaze was fixed on the raven haired man, it felt like a sick joke, one that your mind deemed fit as a punishment for past mistakes you had once made. He looked different than before, his hair was much longer, reaching his waist. The purple eye bags and look of misery that had become a part of him almost a decade ago had disappeared, his skin practically glowing, he looked happier-- cockier than the man you once knew. You wanted to be as calm as Satoru, to appear stoic and un-bothered but the air felt heavy, the lump in your throat had formed so thick that it was nearly impossible to swallow back. For a decade you still found yourself grieving his sudden departure, the closure he had refused to give you and Satoru, leaving nothing behind but memories and a freezing empty spot in bed. “What are you doing here?” You asked, voice hostile yet the sense of longing was still there.

He tore his gaze from Satoru avoiding your watery eyes over to his entourage, “I came to declare war,” Suguru put it simply, “Five days from now I’ll be in Kyoto, I hope to see you all there.”

“A war?” Shoko scoffed, “Your ideals truly have gone to your head.”

“I’m simply creating a better world.” Suguru’s words left a bitter taste in your mouth, like rusty metal that had sat out in the sun long forgotten for an extended period of time. He no longer sounded like himself, his voice remained velvety and yet, the disconnect of the man he used to be was immense. It had brought you back to the time you were once a student, noticing his distant demeanor with hazy eyes that he looked unrecognizable. He closed in on himself, shutting you and Satoru out. Most nights had been spent sleeping on the couch or too wired as he stayed up an entire night frantically scribbling gibberish in his journal-- ideas to cleanse the world of the weak. He refused the assistance of the comforting arms of his lovers, rejecting their words of reassurance. Suguru had lost a drastic amount of weight, the churning of his stomach accompanied by a burning in his throat that kept him away from consuming food. He had become a shell of himself until one day his radio silence became permanent; leaving his lovers to fend for themselves without another word.

Only for him to return months later in the crowded square of downtown Tokyo claiming that it was all for his lovers. The world he was creating was the perfect one for those he cared about, asking to accompany him in the journey of discovering it together, only to be met by your tears and Satoru’s anger. It was the irreparable end of a relationship.

Biting your bottom lip harshly, you could taste the tang of metallic blood on your tongue, holding Satoru’s sleeve tighter, only for the milky haired man to search for your hand to intertwine your fingers-- squeezing it tightly, he could feel your agony, resentment, and pining. Focusing on his features, you wanted to burn them into your memory, hold them close to your heart because you would be damned if you forgot his face, “I think it’s time for you to go, Suguru.” You muttered, digging your nails into the palm of your hand imprinting crescent moons in the flesh; fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as you urged the man that still owned half of your heart to go.

Silence loomed overhead as Suguru processed the words that escaped your lips; soft that he almost missed them, how desperately he wanted to ignore them to take you and Satoru in his arms and make things better. The version of him you had known before was gone, that man was no longer a part of who he truly was, the weak and strong simply could not co-exist. Why couldn’t either of you understand that for his own selfish reasons, this was all for you? He turned on his heel, sauntering over to the enormous bird, only turning his head enough to catch a glimpse of the two people he adored the most, “I’ll see you in Kyoto. Until next time.” With that the creature expanded its wings, descending in the air with the man that still held onto your hearts.

Satoru watched as the massive bird disappeared into nothingness, the stitches in his heart that had once existed ripped open-- crimson blood gushing out, the ache unbearable. Holding your smaller hand tightly he began to walk toward the direction of his classroom, a small sob escaped your lips before you tried your best to hide it but he had heard it. The tall man stopped, only to see your pretty face covered in fat tears with quivering lips as you tried to fight off dramatic sobs. “Oh, my sweet girl.” Satoru cooed, bending down to envelope you in his arms. His large hand cupped the back of your head, stroking your hair as he held you tightly. He buried his nose in your hair, a small tear falling from his own eye but he was quick to wipe it.

“I- I miss him,‘Toru,” You choked out,“So much.”

“Me too, angel, me too.”

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Dark gray clouds covered the sky, leaving Kyoto in complete darkness. The sounds of war engulfed the city with crumbling buildings, destroyed vehicles, and thick clouds of smoke from small fires that had started. The perfect distraction Suguru had created to get to Yuta, it hadn’t registered in your minds that it had been his plan to get everyone away from the vicinity of Jujutsu High School.

You stood in a medical building to assist in healing those injured alongside Shoko, gifted the same ability of reversed curse technique with the upper hand of bringing those back from the dead on rare occasions. A skill you had spent most of your life trying to achieve, it had only been possible with the help of Tengen and Satoru. The consequences of cheating death had yet to show themselves to you, bringing back countless from watery graves— a draining task that consumed most of your cursed energy for a few days, it wasn’t used often.

Crouching over a severely injured fourth grade student the grand glass door of the building opened, as footsteps scrambled to deliver another injured student you felt the familiar cursed energy of your husband. “I have to go back to Jujutsu High, he set this whole thing up. Suguru is after Yuta.” He stated, gritting his teeth.

“I’m coming with you.” The urgency in your voice was hard to miss.

Satoru could only shake his head, holding his hand up to stop you from coming any closer to him, “No, it’s too dangerous, Name. Stay here and treat the wounded.”

He was always overprotective of you, your safety had always been the six eyes priority only growing ten fold the moment Suguru abandoned the both of you. You understood, but at the same time you weren’t weak, classified as a special grade two weeks after attending school. Training day in and day out when it came to combat, craving to be as perfect as Satoru and Suguru— the two strongest sorcerers. “I don’t care! I’m going with you and that’s final.” You had always been stubborn, constantly standing your ground and refusing any form of rejection when it came to proving yourself. It was a trait Satoru adored about you, but oftentimes it drove him crazy with worry, he knew you were strong but you were the last person he had besides Megumi.

Determination painted your features, clenching your fists at your side to show Satoru you weren’t going to give up. He couldn’t argue with his beautiful wife, especially with the way you looked at him as if you would follow him to the ends of the Earth. “So stubborn.” He huffed, taking your hand before teleporting the both of you to Jujutsu High.

It was silent the moment you arrived on campus grounds the smell of burnt wood wafted in the air as you walked hand in hand. A knot formed in your gut as if it were signaling you that something had gone terribly wrong, it made you tighten your hold on Satoru’s hand. The silence was deafening as the residue of a previous battle remained in the air and grubble of buildings.

Turning the corner of vacant buildings, you could see a figure in the distance covered in crimson liquid, missing a limb, long raven hair a disheveled mess as his signature bun had come undone, “You guys are late as usual.” Suguru weakly chuckled, clutching his side.

“The students in Kyoto were under your control?” Satoru asked, though he held no confusion, you both knew the answer.

Suguru leaned back on a cement wall letting out a ragged breath, “Yes, they all were.”

Letting go of Satoru’s hand you couldn’t care less about the things Suguru had done, the misery he caused when he disappeared, or even those he hurt. Your vision became blurry with tears as you took in his condition, bloodied and bruised as he struggled to maintain a steady breath. You could not bear to listen to much more, this time you had allowed yourself to run to Suguru as you had longed since seeing him on school grounds five days ago. Not giving Satoru a moment to think as he watches your figure bolt for the raven haired man.

Kneeling in front of him your arms wrapped around his neck bringing his body close to yours, without hesitation he wrapped his arm around your waist burying his bloodied face in your neck. The smell of jasmine and cedarwood welcomed you, the scent that had always belonged to him, the one that caused a sob to escape your lips. “You idiot.” You cried into his hair, clutching him tightly, afraid to let go and discover that he was a figment of your imagination.

You were warm, skin silky soft— he had forgotten how good it felt to have you in his arms, if he was being honest with himself he had forgotten your scent, how sweet and delicate it was. “There’s my sweet girl.” Suguru croaked, after a decade of pushing away the hurt he caused himself for leaving, was finally flooding out. Trembling as he hugged you tightly, burning your scent, curves, and hair into his memory. A treasure he’d lock up and guard with his entire being.

“I can fix it, let me fix it… let me heal you.” You begged, cupping his cheeks, blood staining your hands.

“Name, you can’t.” Satoru whispered, tilting his head down.

“What?! No, I'm going to fix h-“

Before you could finish your sentence Suguru took your hand, placing a kiss to the back of it, “It’s for the best, angel.”

You shook your head frantically, sobbing loudly as you looked between Satoru and Suguru, begging to not allow it to end this way. Burying your face in Suguru’s neck, closing your eyes as if to wish to wake up from this nightmare. To wake in your huge bed with them on either side of you, each wrapped around you as they slept soundly. The harsh cold breeze flowing in through your window as it snowed outside, dreading the moment Satoru woke up because he’d drag the two of you outside. Wanting a life back that once was, when Suguru was content with the things he had, when the two of you were enough for him, just one more time.

Suguru grabbed your hand, swaying your two bodies together. Noticing the rays of sunshine bouncing off of a rather large diamond on your finger nearly blinding him, he took a moment to admire it, chuckling bitterly as a wave of jealousy flooded over him. “My love’s got married.” Suguru could only blame himself for abandoning you both, envious he wouldn’t be able to share the Gojo last name with the both of you. A part of him was truly happy for you two, moving on after his selfish act. It wouldn’t have been fair to request either of you to remain stagnant.

“In October two years ago.” Satoru smiled sadly, twiddling with the diamond band on his ring finger. Proud to call you his wife, to be the one to take care of you and cherish moments spent together. It hurt that Suguru couldn’t be a part of it.

“I can fix you… then… then we can try to mend everything. Sugu please.” You choked.

But the decision had been made for you, the conclusion that Suguru was on death’s doorstep had become destiny in the moment. Your pleas and cries went unanswered even if it pained both of the men to cause such agony for you. In the end Suguru no longer had the ability to change, too stuck in his ideals to let them go. “I still love you.” You weeped.

Suguru’s heart sank at your words, even after the crimes he had commited and the torture he had put you through your emotions remained in tact, “I love you too.” The raven haired man kisses your temple, “and I love you, ‘Toru.”

A few tears had finally escaped his cerulean eyes, “I love you too… I’m sorry.”

A flash of purple came into your peripheral vision, the ringing in your ears was painful. Time had slowed as Suguru’s muscular body fell limp in your arms, the look of horror on your face was one that Satoru would remember forever. A loud scream erupted from your lungs that it felt as though they’d rip open at the seams, oxygen became impossible to inhale as you wailed out to the sky clutching his lifeless body in your arms. “No! No, ‘Toru… no. Suguru please,” The only thing you could muster was to beg and wail, preparing to use the entirety of your cursed energy to bring back your dead lover.

But Satoru pulled you away before you could do anything, holding your flailing body in his arms as he howled alongside you. He would hold onto this guilt for the rest of his life, ripping Suguru away from your lives as he meant nothing when he was everything would tear him to shreds. Suguru had perished by his own hands, he felt like a monster. All he could do was throw you over his shoulder and listen to the heart wrenching wails that left you as he dragged you away from Suguru.

He’d never forgive himself.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

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ellewritesalright · 3 months

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Second Best - Part 4

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Masterlist --- Part 3

A/N: Buckle up folks, things are about to get wild.

Synopsis: When you were a child, the Lantsov king and queen arranged for their second son to marry you, a rich Ravkan noble family's only daughter. After many years, after all the destruction of the war, and after Nikolai was crowned king, Nikolai breaks off the engagement. But the complications of your past and your strict parents make it a nightmare to find a new fiance, so Nikolai promises to help you, yet he slowly realizes the mistake he's made.

Warnings: Angst! (fluff too) Strict and low-key abusive parents, self-image issues because of said parents, arguing/angry shouting, mentions of illness and death, kinda confusing and purposefully ambiguous details that will be important later in the story (bear with me please [we have almost reached this part of the story]), pls lmk if I've missed anything else.

Word count: 4000

..........

"And this is the lower deck," Nikolai said, motioning around the wooden cabin of the Kingfisher. He was giving you a tour before he left for another trip across Ravka tomorrow.

You grazed your hand along one of the hammocks. "How does one sleep while airborne?"

"I'm not sure. I never sleep while we're flying." He stood beside you, patting the canvas fabric and making it sway. "These are more for the crew."

You nodded, looking around some more.

"There's not much else to the Kingfisher. It's mostly utility, since flights don't take much longer than a few hours usually."

"How does it fly in the rain?" You inquired, eyeing the grates overhead, the blue sky poking through the gaps.

He smiled. "Not perfectly, but we make do."

"Why does that sound like it's a more harrowing experience than you're letting on?"

"Oh, hush," he laughed, "it's perfectly safe."

You walked back up the steep steps to the upper deck.

"Thank you for the tour," you said as you stopped near the boarding ramp.

"Anytime." He leaned against the railing. "I'm just sorry I'll be missing your birthday soiree."

You rolled your eyes. "You mean the parade of unsuitable suitors?"

"That's the one," he smiled, giving your upper arm a short pat. "Cheer up. It's not every day a lady turns twenty-one."

You scratched at your collar for a moment, then clasped your hands together in front of you. "She's going to be insufferable."

He instantly knew you were talking about your mother. "No more than usual."

You gave him a look.

"I'm just saying… maybe she'll be distracted with the hosting."

"She can multitask my misery, don't you worry."

Nikolai sighed, eyes empathetic.

"You'll have to have a doubly good time in East Ravka, to make up for the suffering I'll be enduring," you told him. "I command it."

"You're commanding the king now?" He smirked.

You gave him another look, and he laughed, his hand touching your upper arm again.

"Yes, ma'am."

……….

The house hadn't been this packed since you were a small child. The last time you remembered the Antonovs hosting as extravagant an event as this, you were young enough to be sneaking peeks from the servants' halls. But now, you were in it. Men were twisting you about in the ballroom, eyeing you up from the great hall, whispering in your ear in the dining room.

The man on your arm at present was General Halinsky. He was leading you through a rather stiff waltz. You moved with him, his one hand tightly clasping yours, the other a strict presence on your back. You had to wonder if it was because of the last you'd spoken to him; calling him less accomplished and worse at his military job than King Nikolai. He stared at you without hunger or lust, which was more than you could say for some of the other men your mother invited. But there was a hardness and annoyance to his eyes whenever they narrowed on you. He probably thought you were merely a petulant girl.

When the waltz ended, Halinsky didn't let go of your hand.

"Another dance?" He asked, putting on a charming smile that did not match his viper eyes.

"I'm feeling a bit parched, I could use a drink first," you excused yourself, offering him a polite shake of your head.

"Let me fetch you something," he said, leading you over to a table. He had you sit, then he left.

You kept your back straight despite how you wished to collapse into this chair. Saints, you were exhausted. It seemed like every man was staring at you, all lured in by your mother and her promises of your intention to marry. They all stared, and you were fearful to meet any of their eyes, else they might take it as a sign and approach you. So you kept your eyes on your gloves. The elbow-length white satin covered your little scar. It was the only evidence of the life you used to have.

Your mind went to Nikolai, as it often did. You hoped he was having a pleasant enough trip to East Ravka. He'd flown there, which you still couldn't quite believe; watching him lift off with his crew and a few of his political advisors was a marvel that left you more than a little slack-jawed. You'd have to ask to study the blueprints of the ship once he got back.

He'd sent a letter yesterday, not a singular mention of potential suitors in his swooping cursive. It was more about his journey, another apology for missing your birthday, and a promise of a surprise when he returned.

You smiled to yourself as you pondered the surprise. Perhaps shells from the eastern shore, or a new tool set? You hadn't a clue, and that thrilled you.

A throat cleared in front of you, and you looked up, seeing your mother clutching the forearm of a too-eager middle aged man wearing too much cologne. She introduced him as some northern count, then forced you into a dance with him.

So then you were stifling down sneezes as he had his arm around your waist and his odor overwhelming you. After four excruciating minutes of this, the song ended and you excused yourself as quickly as you could. You noticed Lord Alexei near the left wall of the ballroom, and you started towards his friendly face. It would be nice to speak to someone normal.

But before you were even two paces away from the dance floor, General Halinsky was beside you, a glass of golden bubbly in each hand.

"There you are, my lady," he said, a hint of impatience under his words.

You offered him a smile as you took a glass. "Thank you."

He sipped his glass and looked across the ballroom. "All these people, all here for you."

"It's a good birthday," you said with a convincing chuckle. Your polka-dot scar itched beneath your glove.

"You've many friends, it seems."

"It certainly does seem like that," you nodded drolly.

"You don't think so?"

"I think my mother invited a great number of guests. I'll confess, I don't know everyone here."

He looked at you, studying your face. "Girls like you don't have to know."

You blinked at him. "What does that mean, General?"

He tilted his chin at you as he noticed the sharp undertone of your words. His snake-like stare made you look just as closely at him, studying his cold eyes.

"You're soft," he said, not in an accusatory or insulting tone, just as an observation.

"Excuse me?"

"Soft. Unprepared for life. Like a baby bird in a nest."

"I'm no child, General."

"It's not an insult that you're young and inexperienced. It just means you need someone to guide you in life."

"And you think you're that someone," you remarked, trying and failing to hide the bite in your voice.

"I think you've a large estate that could use assistance. Once your parents pass on, you'll need all the help you can get."

"Forgive me if I am wrong, but my parents are barely ten years your senior, General. I should rather think I need a husband with less years."

He sucked a breath of either annoyance or amusement through his teeth. "That's not what your mother and father think."

"They don't decide who I marry, General. You'd do well to remember that." You cast a glare at him, then you glanced across the room at Lord Alexei. "If you'll excuse me, I have other guests."

You walked away, abandoning Halinsky and your glass with him.

"I sure hope that scowl isn't for me," Alexei chuckled softly as you approached him.

You hadn't realized you were still frowning, but you wiped it away, making your face pleasant again.

"Sorry. I'm afraid I'm nearing that point of a birthday where things aren't fun anymore," you sighed. As if your birthday celebration was fun to begin with.

"Too much birthday, as we call it in my house," Alexei nodded. "My Ana has always been prone to crying on her birthdays or on holidays. She gets so excited and then when one thing does not match that excitement it comes crashing down on her."

You gave a sympathetic chuckle. "Poor girl."

"She is learning to better manage her expectations," he smiled softly. He looked at you for a moment, then said, "I hope you won't find it too forward… but I was wondering about you and my cousin, King Nikolai."

You blinked at him. "Whatever for?"

"Well, it seems to me that you two are quite close. And I plainly remember a time when you two were betrothed."

You managed a smile. "We are no longer betrothed. The king is just a good friend."

"I see," he nodded, but his eyes had something else to say.

"You don't believe me?" You tilted your chin up at him slightly.

He raised his hands. "I believe you. I simply wanted to know if I'd be wasting my time with you, considering how my cousin so clearly likes you."

You scoffed in amusement. "He is a friend of mine. Besides, he has been helping me find suitors."

"And how is his success rate?"

You pursed your lips.

"A-ha." Alexei smirked beneath his mustache. "He's a poor matchmaker."

"He's done his best."

"You'd be married by now if he was truly trying his best."

"Lord Alexei, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this conversation," you said with a polite detachedness.

"Very well. I know when to quit." He glanced around the ballroom, at the swathes of men and their black suits. Then he murmured, "Too bad the rest of these men don't know they've been beaten."

With that, Lord Alexei bowed his head and moved on.

The evening remained a long and tiring event, but now as you faked smiles and acted charming, you also had to hide the hive of thoughts buzzing in your head. When the night finally ended and the last guests had been sent home, your mother made you speak to her.

"You were surprisingly well-behaved tonight," she remarked with a dry stare at you.

You nodded. "Thank you."

She wiped at your cheek, seeing some form of imperfection. "You look tired."

"I am tired."

"Then go to sleep," she said, leaning back in her chair.

"I wasn't aware I was allowed to," you said, standing up again.

"There's that tongue of yours," she rolled her eyes. She seemed too tipsy to be completely angry with you. She snapped her fingers at your father. "Darling, come see this one to bed."

"Sure, dear."

Lord Antonov sighed and offered you his arm. He walked out into the main hall, bringing you towards the staircase. "Where's your precious king tonight?"

You wanted to protest that he wasn't only your king, but you sighed and swallowed the remark.

"East Ravka. Novokribirsk, I believe."

Your father sighed again and patted your arm as you walked. "I recieved several offers for you tonight."

"Oh?" You said, your voice almost clipped.

"Lord Feng, that Kerch Banker Mr Van Sessen, General Halinsky, Viscount Ulrich…" Your father stopped outside your bedroom. "Which do you like best?"

"Most of those men haven't spoken more than a few words to me, how could I know?" You shrugged.

"Then who spoke the most?"

You stifled a groan. "Halinsky."

"General Halinsky," your father pursed his lips, appraising him. He patted your arm again. "Very well. Goodnight, daughter. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," you nodded softly.

You watched him leave for a moment before you went inside your room. You shut the door and stripped off your long gloves, your big gown coming off too. Your heels ached nearly as badly as your head as Lord Alexei's words hummed like a swarm in your ears, the hive of questions, counterarguments, and wonderings still awake.

You collapsed in bed, trying to fall asleep, but you weren't immune to the revelation about Nikolai that Alexei made. You tossed and turned, every movement a question, an exasperated game of "he loves me, he loves me not." It was difficult to say if Nikolai had been giving his full efforts in seeking a match for you. But Alexei was certain in his words–Nikolai would have found you a husband by now if he wanted to--and you had no reason to doubt Alexei.

……….

A few days after your birthday, a letter arrived, addressed from Novokribirsk. Nikolai would be home Saturday afternoon, and he was hoping to come over for tea. You wrote back that he would be welcome, but that you expected to visit the Palace very soon and see his design plans of his flying ship.

You did not mention your anxiety after your birthday celebration, how his cousin had sent you into a tailspin of questions and high hopes. Nothing was worse than raised expectations, so you were trying to muscle them down and stop them before they destroyed your life and friendship completely.

Even so, Nikolai had a small bag with him when he arrived for tea on Saturday afternoon. He set the bag down beside the sofa as you brought him into the library. A belated birthday gift, you figured. He stood by the window for a moment as you walked across the room again. You felt bold enough to shut the door, leaving the two of you alone. You poured tea for Nikolai, preparing it with as much milk as could fit before overflowing.

You felt as if this was a moment you should remember. The blue rim of the teacups, the way he stood with his back to you as he looked out at the gardens, the near-shake of your hands, the glint in Nikolai's eyes as he slowly turned and approached the seating area. Then again, you tried not to build up this moment in your mind; Nikolai was your friend, and he would go on as your friend. That was all.

"I'm terribly sorry to have missed your birthday. I heard it was quite the event," Nikolai said as he sat a respectable distance beside you on the sofa.

"Yes. There were more bachelors and bubbly than anyone could have stomached. My mother went all out."

He raised a brow as he raised his teacup. "And I presume you danced with every last one of them."

"Just about." You rolled your eyes a bit. "One of the bachelors was the ancient Duke Shapovalov."

"The Duke Shapovalov who's wheeled around by nurses?"

"The very same."

"Saints, your mother is creative. He's got to be as old as Ravka."

You chuckled, and Nikolai seemed to lean closer to you.

"I'm sorry you were left to fend for yourself," he said softly.

"It's alright, I'm used to it."

"All the same, I have a surprise that might make up for my absence." He grinned at you, a sly glint in his hazel irises. “Close your eyes.”

You were wary, but you did as he said. The loss of your sight drew your attention to the fact that you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. What was he going to do? You heard him move, and there was a quick rustle of his bag, then he moved again. You could hear him take a breath.

"Hold out your hands"

Again, you followed his instructions, extending your hands. Something soft was set in your palms, balancing a little lopsidedly.

"You can open your eyes now," Nikolai said after a beat.

As soon as you did you felt your heart leap out of your chest. A grey stuffed bear sat in your hands, its nose round and eyes gentle. It was Viktor, your old friend and most trusted bear. This Viktor’s limbs weren’t worn like your old Viktor’s were from trailing the halls after you, but his arms and legs were just the lengths you remembered. And his fur was slightly darker than the original’s, yet it was just as soft and warm. While he wasn’t an exact copy of your childhood bear, he was damn close, and your eyes pricked with tears as you brought your new Viktor to your chest.

“Do you like him?” Nikolai asked.

You beamed, “He's the best gift I’ve ever received. How did you manage this?”

"Well, I used the drawing you sent me, then I asked the staff at the Antonov estate house about a stuffed bear that you used to carry around. It was difficult to track down anyone who knew of Viktor, but finally one of the cooks remembered."

This difficulty made sense to you, seeing as the Antonovs had gradually replaced most of the staff after the firepox outbreak.

Nikolai chuckled as he continued, “I may or may not have passed along your sketch and his description and to a fabrikator.”

"I don't know what to say, Nikolai, I…" You heaved forward on the sofa and draped your arms around his shoulders, doing the improper thing as you hugged him. If your mother caught you she would scream like she was being murdered but you couldn't be bothered. This was the kindest, most considerate thing anyone had ever done for you. Nikolai wrapped himself around you, squeezing you gently. It was difficult to pull yourself away from him. But when you finally let him go, there were tears in your eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked, hands bracing your arms as he looked at you in concern.

"I'm excellent," you sputtered. "Better than alright. I just…" A grin spread along your lips and you quickly hugged him again. "Thank you."

"I take it I'm forgiven for missing your birthday?" You felt his question burble in his chest as you pressed to it. You sat away from him again.

"You are more than forgiven, Nikolai Lantsov. If we had the power, Viktor and I would declare sainthood for you."

He laughed. "I can see it now: Sankt Nikolai the Dashing and Bold."

"Not quite. I'd name you Sankt Nikolai the Kindhearted."

He smiled softly at you. "I can live with that."

The library door opened and you flitted away from him with dizzying speed. He raised a brow as you sat on an armchair a full coffee table away from him, but you ignored his silent probe, toying with Viktor's ears.

"Your majesty," Lord Antonov greeted with a sigh, balancing a stack of papers under his arm. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long, Lord Antonov. Your daughter and I were just having tea and then I gave her a birthday gift. Perhaps you'd like to see it."

You proudly held up Viktor, matching Nikolai's grin as you peered at the bear.

"You got her a stuffed animal?" Your father peered down his nose at Viktor. He grumbled, "It's a rather peculiar gift for someone her age."

"The bear is a replica of a toy she used to have when she was young, but if you don't remember him, perhaps I haven't done a very good job."

You wanted to say he'd done well, that it was the best gift you'd ever received and you were grateful even if the resemblance wasn't exact, but you were quickly over spoken.

"I remember a scraggly bunch of stitches she used to drag behind her, but we got rid of it and the countless diseases it undoubtedly carried after she recovered from a terrible, terrible illness. The memory is an unpleasant one, your highness, and I am appalled that you would dredge up such a horrid moment in our family's past."

Your stomach turned to lead.

"Father--"

"Quite frankly, I don't see why you've given my daughter a gift at all," he said coldly, eyes lethal as he looked at Nikolai. "She is not your fiance. You two are no longer engaged because you broke the tie between our families. You decided we weren't suitable to marry into your royal line. And despite how incredibly irresponsible your actions were, I forgave them. But I will not tolerate your blithe flirtations with my daughter when you have no intention of marrying her!"

Nikolai stood firm, his mouth pressed in a calm line though you were sure your father's lashing must sting. It was difficult to accept the fact that your father was right, but he had compounded a fear of yours. Knowingly or unknowingly, Nikolai led you on.

"Lord Antonov," began Nikolai. He rubbed at his chest, just over his heart, and for a moment it seemed he didn't know what to say, but he soon composed an apology. "I am truly sorry. I meant no offense--"

"I know what you meant, sending my daughter letters and giving her gifts and false hope. I'm tired of your meddling, boy."

Nikolai's lip twitched and his arms dropped to his sides. "Boy? I am your king, Lord Antonov. Regardless of what you think of me, you will uphold that respect."

"I couldn't respect you if I tried," your father spat. "Now, you'd better leave my house willingly before I have someone escort you out."

Nikolai glanced at you, perhaps wishing you would speak up for him as you had before. But when you folded your arms and looked away he got the message. You were done fighting for him.

He scoffed and shook his head at you, then he stormed from the room. His footsteps could be heard in the main hall, halting for a second to gather his coat, then continuing through the front door. It slammed behind him, the noise bouncing into the library.

You had little time to process the rather one-sided conversation that just played out before you. The realization that you were no better than a fish dragged along on a hook but never reeled in was the only thing you seemed to register. It made you a bit ill to ponder, but you were grateful to your father for pulling back the curtain and confirming your situation with Nikolai. After all, Nikolai had no defenses against it, nothing to say the contrary.

Your father walked to the library door and let it click shut before he whirled around on you.

"You stupid girl!" He hissed. "How blind could you be? Your mother and I share some of the blame for letting this drag out like it did, but honestly, how foolish are you?"

"I'm sorry." You absentmindedly tugged along Viktor's ear. You had clutched him tight the entire time your father aired his grievance with the king. "I was stupid."

"Not as stupid as telling him about this blasted bear! What else did you tell him, girl? Does he know the truth about my real daughter?"

"No, he doesn't know!" You insisted

Your father scoffed and you felt your chest tighten. Your eyes watered as you gave a weak huff.

"I didn't tell him. I promise, I didn’t say a thing,” you whispered. “I only said I had a stuffed animal that was burned after the outbreak."

His glare was as pointed as a needle’s tip. "You'd better not be lying to me, girl. If the truth got out… well, we would both be ruined, wouldn't we, daughter?"

"Yes, father."

He straightened out his jacket. "Leave me now." He pointed at Viktor. "And get that thing out of my sight."

You left without another word. It was a mindless journey to your room, and you wondered why you felt so numb. Five minutes prior you were the happiest you'd been in a long time. You were receiving a thoughtful gift from what you thought was a trusted friend, and now you sat collapsed on the carpet of your room, uncontrollable tears blotting your cheeks.

You should be stronger than this. You'd withstood a tumultuous childhood and lonely youth. You lost your mother to a pair of greedy nobles. You were denied friends and love and always made to feel lesser, like you were a vile sight and poor replacement for what was lost to the Antonovs.

You cried into Viktor's head, your chest aching with the weight of not being good enough–both for your supposed family, and for your once-fiance and former friend, Nikolai.

..........

A/N: Evil ending for this part, am I right? Anyway... Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Taglist:

@xceafh @rhaenyrakryze @thecrowsgambit @nghtwngs @hauntedenthusiasttragedy

@stuffyownswrld @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @angie-likes-to-read @take-me-to-ny

@historianthesecond @kataraluvr @lunamadhatter99 @lareinaa007 @folklorde24

@a-candle-maker @elicheel @charmingpatronus @chaoticswampwitch

@radiantactions @auranightangle @girlofthunder

Nikolai Taglist:

@sweet0pia-uwu @notoakay @naushtheaspiringauthor @marchingicenotes7 @eyeofthestorm

@poseidont @hashcakes

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