#anyway this was beautiful you need to read it

[buck-star]

bucky eating you out while steve eats your ass! that lil shit is such a closeted freak. bucky is too, just not as closeted LOL

loves to tease steve about how much he likes eating your ass until one day he’s like “keep talking shit” and eats bucky’s ass and bucky is just on cloud 9 😛

Better than thought

Bucky loves to tease Steve about his way to pleasure you, even though it’s better than he thought.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 3.890 Words

Warnings/Tags: established relationship, petnames [bay doll, princess, King grumpy, Majesty Sunshine], possessive, grumpy, poly relationship, smut [oral (fem!/male!rec), oral pussy/ass, fingering, handjob, squirting, cum, humping, praises]

Authors Note: Thanks for the request. Waking up and reading such a filthy thing is… needs a day filled with writing because this thought didn’t want to leave my mind, so here. Divider made by me.

Events: Stucky Bingo [SB6010 | B3 | Writing Format: Second Person | @stuckybingo], Sweet Spicy Bingo: Beginnings Bingo [Row Three-Three | First Orgasm | @sweetspicybingo]

Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist

The sun is painting your bedroom in a beautiful yellow-orange when the sun goes up. You're snuggled with your face into Bucky's chest, while Steve has his strong arms wrapped around your waist to keep your back pressed against his chest.

Bucky turns slowly; after a while, the sun on his face is too bright to keep sleeping, plus both of your two super soldiers love to stay up earlier. Or wake up early to watch you sleeping like creeps - or puppies in love. You're not sure which fits better, because they are cute, but it's also weird and funny to know that they watch you while you're sleeping.

"Mornin'," Steve grumbles, pulling you even closer against his chest. Bucky chuckles, a low rumble leaves his chest, and he turns on his side to place an arm over your waist, his fingertips tracing Steve's stomach slightly. "Gonna come run and go to the gym with me?"

Bucky shakes his head, bringing his face to your shoulder and hiding it. He can be such a grumpy face in the morning, and it can be pretty funny when he's all grumpy and doesn't talk. Bucky's mostly growling, but even though you don't get many words out of the man in the mornings, you and Steve love it.

"So, you want to be grumpy and pull her into your grumpiness with you?" Steve jokes and Bucky growls once again. This time it's muffled with his face buried in the crook of your neck. Steve can't help the low chuckles slipping past his lips. He's bringing his hand to Bucky's head, stroking a few of his strands behind his hair. "Sleepy head and grumpy face working together, huh?"

"Mhm," Bucky hums, his tone sounding more happy this time. Steve keeps stroking his fingers along Bucky's cheekbone a while longer, his ocean blue eyes lingering on the both of you.

"You know, your lovely muscles - the ones you adore so much, especially when you can make them bulge in front of her—they need some training too," Steve keeps teasing the brunette. Bucky ignores him, pressing his face further into your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

"Loves them anyway," Bucky mumbles, and Steve's eyes widen. He barely gets a word out of his boyfriend's mouth when he just woke up. Steve chuckles, nodding; he pulls his hand slowly away and turns around to get out of the bed. "'N you too, majesty sunshine."

"Really, King grumpy?" Steve laughs at the nickname. Both of them got these nicknames after you noticed their different ways of behavior after waking up. Steve is - no matter how bad or cold the weather is - a sunshine. And Bucky is - no matter how sunny or warm it is - a grumpy face in the mornings. So, you called them by that name, and somehow they love it so much to tease one another that they keep the nicknames.

Steve gets out of the bed, chuckling still. Bucky pulls you even closer, tangling your legs with his while he sighs softly in your neck. His grip around your waist tightens, and he kisses the soft skin of your neck.

"Mine... all mine," he grumbles. Steve dresses himself, a soft smile spread on his lips. A few minutes later he leaves the room, ready for his run and his training afterwards. Both of them know that you sleep at least one or two hours more, but Bucky refuses to leave the bed and get cold himself or get the bed cold so you would freeze.

Bucky keeps mumbling something between praises and possessive words. When you slowly wake up after a while, he pulls you even closer, nuzzling your cheek. You're practically pressed into him, arms and legs tangled together, and you giggle softly when you feel his stubble against your soft skin.

"Possessive baby?" You mumble, and Bucky nods, agreeing to your question. He is always possessive when it comes to you or Steve. And he's gladly your baby when you want it, when it makes you giggle even more. "Big baby, aren't you? Did you throw Stevie out of the bed?"

Bucky nods, smirking slightly. "Mhm, he's sleeping on the ground now," he grumbles, earning another giggle from you. "You should giggle more often; it's cute."

"It makes the grumpy's heart melt?" You tease, and Bucky grumbles but nods once more. Of course, your giggles make everyone's heart melt, just like Steve's and Bucky's wouldn't dare to deny that because he knows it's true. No matter how grumpy he is, you're always making him happy.

"Mhm, yeah. Now, come closer," he grumbles, and you raise one of your eyebrows. Bucky chuckles low in his throat, turning the two of you until he's on top of you. "Yeah, we can be closer; don't try to tell me we can't. I can lie on top of you, and then you have me on top, on your left and on your right."

You laugh as best as you can with his weight on top of you. But he's right, his arms caging you in on both sides, and he's on top of you. Bucky hums happily, leaning his head down on your shoulder, kissing the soft skin softly.

"My baby doll. All mine," he mumbles against you. "Say it, baby doll, pleaseeeeee?"

You sigh and nod. "I'm all yours, grumpy baby."

Bucky lifts his head, grinning at you. After a moment you narrow your eyes. Your boyfriend usually eats breakfast before you get up, but today he's still in bed, cuddled up with you.

"Aren't you hungry?" You ask, a bit confused. Bucky shakes his head a bit before his grin widens and his eyes darken slightly. "But you haven-" You gasp when he pulls the blanket away and slides down, hovering with his head over your lower stomach. "Do we have a 'King grumpy is possessive' day?"

"Mhm, mine. Gonna have my breakfast now; let Stevie hear what he misses when he makes his workout instead of cuddling and eating with us," Bucky mumbles. His hands snake down your sides, curling around the waistband of your panties to pull them down. With a low growl, he decides to rip them off your body, too impatient and too lazy to move.

"Bucky!" You whine when you see the scattered fabric of your panties. Bucky grins, pushing your legs wider apart before he lowers his head and inhales deeply. A moan escapes your lips, his breath warm and teasing at your wet folds.

"Mhm, so pretty, all wet and ready for me, baby doll," he whispers, kissing your folds. His tongue licks a fat strap from your leaking entrance to your clit, circling the bundle of nerves a bit.

You moan, arching your back. Your hands gripping the sheets tightly while Bucky uses his talented tongue to get more of these sweet noises out of you. His hands rubbing up and down your thighs, steadying you a bit when he delivers such pleasure. Your hips rolling against his face, and Bucky chuckles when he keeps kissing your clit.

Bucky teases you when he pulls his head back slightly. Your hands shooting into his hair, gripping his brown strands tightly to pull him closer to your pussy.

A low hum escapes your boyfriend's lips when he dives his tongue through your wet folds once more. His strong hands gripping your thighs tightly to keep them spread wide. "Tasting so good, baby doll."

Your back arches, and you grip his hair tightly, trying to bring his skilled mouth even closer - if that's even possible. Bucky groans, kissing your clit when you tug at his hair. His eyes finding yours, his mouth never leaving your most sensitive parts.

"Need me to take a break, baby doll?" He asks, his voice rough. Bucky's usual blue eyes darkened, lust written all over his features. His plump lips finding their way to your clit, kissing and sucking softly at the soft bundle of nerves.

"N-No, please," you whine, arching your back. Your legs are trembling, and Bucky grins before he buries his face between your thighs once again. Whines and moans leave your lips, your head thrown back into the pillow while you pull Bucky even closer against your throbbing cunt.

"Can't get enough of me eating you out, can you, baby doll?" Bucky whispers, blowing a bit of cool air against your neglected entrance. You whimper, thrusting your hips against him to get more friction.

"She can't get enough of me eating her ass either," another rough voice comes from the door of the room. You turn your head; your eyes widen when you see your other boyfriend standing in the doorframe. His short hair is perfectly styled, and you really want to run your fingers through it to ruin the perfection.

Your eyes move lower over his chest and abs, still glistening in sweat from his workout. He's completely undressed, like always after his workouts; Steve always puts his sweaty clothes in the wash. You wonder why his hair is so perfect, maybe because of all the sweat. However, it's perfect, and the light of the room makes his body glistening softly. Saliva almost drools out of the corner of your mouth when your eyes settle on his hard cock.

Steve is shamelessly stroking the thick length in his calloused hand. He grins at you, noticing where you're looking at. His tip is leaking pre-cum, and you lick your lips instinctively. "That's what you need? My cock down your throat while Bucky eats your pussy? Or do you prefer getting your ass eaten out?

A whine creeps up your throat when Steve laughs, his eyes settling on Bucky, who still eats you like you're the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. He hums, playing with your clit until you almost scream from the pleasure that's rushing through your body. Though, it's still not quiet enough to throw you over the edge.

"Say please," Steve commands. The moment you try to open your mouth to ask him nicely to give you his cock, Bucky thrusts two of his thick fingers into you. You moan loudly, your body tenses, and your legs tremble around your boyfriend while you come.

Bucky smirks, thrusting his fingers against your spongy spot, causing you to squirt over his hand. "There she is, such a good girl, baby doll. Now let's see if Stevie can make you cum better eating your ass than I did, huh?"

Steve chuckles, shaking his head but walking closer to your - accepting Bucky's challenge. Since the brunette is always making jokes and teasing Steve about his obsession with your ass, he now has the perfect chance to show Bucky that he can make you come just as hard as Bucky when he plays with your cunt. Bucky kisses your thighs a few times, causing you to whimper while you slowly come down from your orgasm.

Both of your boyfriends change places. Steve grabs your hips, turning you around. Your arms and legs feel too weak to hold you up, so you let yourself fall flat down on your belly. Both men start laughing, admiring your sweet, fucked-out form.

"Princess, I need you on your hands and knees," Steve mumbles softly, letting one of his hands run up and down your back when his other grabs your hips to help you get up slightly. You growl, as much as you want this, as much as you want to take a break before he brings you to another orgasm.

The three of you know that you can take more than one orgasm, but you also know that Steve is just as skilled as Bucky, even when he eats your ass instead of your pussy.

"Good girl," Steve praises when you bring your knees underneath you and lift your ass into the air. Your face still pressed into the pillow underneath, and you sigh softly when he kisses from your neck down to your ass. "Mhm, good girl, such a good girl for us."

Steve kneels down on the ground behind you, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. His hands move to your ass, squeezing and rubbing your cheeks softly. Bucky undresses himself, his ocean blue eyes on you, a wide grin on his face.

"Yeah, let's see if our ass obsession is making you cum better than I can, shall we?" Bucky chuckles, walking around the bed to kneel down on it and crawl close to you. Steve shakes his head, raising an eyebrow before he leans closer to kiss the soft flesh of your ass cheeks.

You moan, looking up at Bucky, who grips you underneath your arms to pull you up. You pout, placing your hands underneath you to hold you up. Bucky's crotch is the same height as your face, the tip of his dick red and leaking.

He wraps his hand around his thick shaft, bringing the tip to your lips. Bucky sneaks his pre-cum all over your lips, letting you lick it away before he slowly pushes in. You immediately swirl your tongue around his cock, taking him slowly down your throat. Bucky groans, throwing his head back while he thrusts in and out of you. One of his hands is tangled in your hair to keep you in place while he rubs the other over your neck and shoulders. Something he always does when both of your men use your hole for your and their own pleasure.

Meanwhile, Steve keeps kissing you, helping you to relax a bit more after the first orgasm you had. "Ready to get your ass eaten like never before, princess?"

You moan around Bucky's thick shaft. Steve often made you come like that before, but somehow his voice has that mischievousness and holding a promise that he will make you come like he has never done before. You wiggle your ass, humming low in your throat.

Steve chuckles, his tongue licking a fat strap from your cunt to your puckered hole. Your back immediately arches, and you whine around Bucky's dick. His rips rutting against your face, his balls coated in your saliva and smearing it all over your chin.

"Mhm," Steve groans, trying to push his tongue inside of you. His hands spread out your ass cheeks, and he kept pressing against your tightest hole. He slowly breaks through the muscles, grinning against your skin when he works the tip of his tongue in and out of you.

One of his big hands snakes around your waist to your clit. You shriek, trying to crawl away from the pleasure he delivers. But Bucky and Steve hold you in place, Bucky's cock down your throat and his hands on your shoulders, while Steve keeps one on your waist and one still playing with your clit.

"S-Stevie..." you whine, arching your back. He chuckles, two of his fingers thrust into your cunt. You almost scream around Bucky's cock; they both know you too well to give you a chance to control your body or orgasm.

Your legs give out, and you almost fall forward into the pillow, but your men's strength keeps you in position. Your cum is squirting out of you, your body shaking, and tears roll down your cheeks from the pleasure. Steve doesn't let go of you until your orgasm has faded, and you pull off Bucky's cock to roll on your back.

You're breathing heavily, and you whimper slightly when Steve gets closer, kissing you softly. He lets you taste yourself, growling into your mouth before he pulls away softly. "Good girl, you did so good for us. Now, who made you come better?"

With a roll of your eyes and a chuckle, you point at both of your boyfriends. While Steve looks satisfied with your answer that him eating your ass is as good as Bucky eating your pussy, your brunette boyfriend frowns.

"You can't really mean that eating ass makes you feel so good, can you?" Bucky asks, tilting his head slightly. Steve laughs, pushing up; he holds his hand out for Bucky to take, and he does. With narrowed eyes and slight uncertainty on his face, he lets Steve guide him to where you were kneeling on the bed for them.

"Let's find out, shall we?" Steve pushes Bucky with his chest first on the bed. Bucky's legs are still on the ground, while his ass is directed to Steve. "Princess, do me the favor and sit down on Bucky's back; he needs something to strap him down, or else our big boy squirms too much."

Bucky growls, trying to push up, but with a still fucked-out expression and a smirk on your lips, you crawl closer and sit down on Bucky's back. Your wetness rubbing over his back, and he moans at the feeling of your cum all over his skin.

"Fuck, Stevie, she's so wet," Bucky groans. Steve chuckles low in his throat, kneeling down again before he kisses Bucky's ass cheeks, his tongue licking over his puckered hole, and Bucky immediately hisses. He grips the sheets underneath him tightly, cursing under his breath.

"Feels good, huh?" Steve laughs, probing at Bucky's hole. The blond man growls when he feels the tightness of his boyfriend. "Your ass is even tighter than hers."

Bucky rolls his eyes, earning a slap on his ass. Steve doesn't even have to look at Bucky to know what he just did. He brings one of his hands to the brunette cock, stroking it slowly while he keeps probing at the tight ring of muscles.

After a moment he finally breaks through the tightness. His fingers tighten around the other man's cock, while you start humping on Bucky's back, making him whine and squirm slightly. "Fuck, Stevie, please."

Steve grins against Bucky's skin, keeping his pace slow but tightening the grip around Bucky's cock with every stroke a bit more. After a moment he lifts his head, peppering soft kisses over the soft skin of Bucky's ass.

"Look at our girl, getting off while you get your ass eaten, Buck," Steve laughs. He lowers his head again, pushing his tongue inside of Bucky once more. Steve speeds up, making Bucky whine even more. His grip on the sheets almost rips them apart while he tries to arch his back with you still on top of him.

"Fuckkkk, please, Steve, fuck, fuck." Bucky moans, feeling the coil in his stomach tighten further. Steve laughs, speeding the movements of his hand around Bucky's cock up, loving that he's right - ass eating is giving a lot more pleasure than Bucky wanted to believe or admit.

"Mhm, Stevie, making him," you hum, bringing your fingers to your clit to rub it in harsh circles. You're determined to come with Bucky, and from the noises he makes, you know he's close, needing just a few more strokes before his orgasm crashes over him.

"You should see our girl, Buck. Touching herself, wanting to come so bad with you. She's not as fucked out as we thought after two orgasms," Steve says, between licks over Bucky's puckered hole. Bucky's hole clenches, his whole body tensing when the coil in his stomach snaps and his cum coats Steve's hand and the floor.

Steve slows down, watching you while you come once again. Bucky and you are panting, sweat coating both of your bodies while you both ride out your orgasms. The blond leans down once again to Bucky's puckered hole, pushing his tongue inside of him again to force more of the white liquid out of the brunette.

"Fuck... this-" Bucky groans, around, keeping you on top of him. You're not sure how he managed, but you don't really care. Bucky pulls you down on his chest, kissing you softly. "Get why you love your ass eaten so much. Got off while Steve made me cum, naughty girl."

You giggle, ready to snuggle into your boyfriend's, but Bucky lays you down next to him, his lips lingering on your forehead for a moment longer before he looks at Steve.

"Let's find out how fast we can make you cum," Bucky mutters with a grin. Steve shakes his head, lifting his hands, knowing what Bucky's tactic is to make him cum as fast as possible while still giving him all the pleasure he wants.

Bucky gets off the bed, his legs still wobbly, but he reaches out to pull Steve closer, going down on his knees in front of him. Bucky leans his head back, smirking, his blue eyes locked with Steve's.

"I want you to take what you need, Steve," he growls low in his throat, bringing one of his hands to the other man's cock. Steve moans, throwing his head back. His hands find their way into Bucky's brown locks, pulling him closer to his cock.

Instead of taking Steve's cock in his mouth, he lowers himself further, licking and sucking softly at the blond's balls. Steve whimpers, a sound he only makes when one of you plays with his balls - something you discovered by accident when you wanted to tease him, just to find out he loves when you play with them.

"There you go, Steve," Bucky chuckles, taking them slowly into his mouth. You watch your boyfriend, smirking at the pleasurable expression on Steve's face. Bucky keeps stroking the other man's cock, slowly, to keep the focus of Steve on Bucky's mouth around his balls.

"B-Buck..." Steve moans, his hips rutting and his cock twitching already. More pre-cum leaks down his tip, and Bucky grins. He keeps looking up, his eyes on Steve's face. When the blond-haired man looks down, he comes. The sight of Bucky - on his knees, mouth full of Steve's balls, while he strokes the thick shaft of the other man - is too much for Steve to hold back his orgasm. The cum shooting onto Bucky's face and in his brown locks.

"Mhm," Bucky hums, leaning back and licking the tip of Steve's cock clean. A whimper leaves the other man's lips, his cock feeling too sensitive. Bucky uses his fingers to clean his face a bit, sucking the cum off his fingers. "Tasting good, Stevie."

"This shouldn't be so hot; it makes me wet again," you pout. Bucky turns toward you, a grin playing around his lips.

"It doesn't need me to suck Steve's balls to make you wet after you came three times where you squirted two times for us," Bucky laughs, earning a growl from you. "But yes, let's help you with your wetness; your poor puss is all neglected."

"Bucky!" You laugh, getting off the bed to walk into the bathroom. Steve and Bucky's gazes follow you. Steve's still panting but slowly calming down, his body still glistening with sweat.

"Those orgasms are better than any workouts," he mutters, chuckling softly. Bucky gets up, pulling Steve into a soft kiss, before they both follow you into the bathroom. "She's not planning to take a shower without us, is she?"

Bucky shakes his head, grinning widely. "She wouldn't dare to take a shower without us, unless she's in need of a good spanking with a few more orgasms afterward." Steve chuckles, nodding before they both follow you into the bathroom to take a shower with you.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @blackhawkfanatic @peachy-satan00 @casa-boiardi @kandis-mom @armystay89 @blackhawkfanatic @queen-honeybee-stories [tag yourself]

[captain-huggy-bear]

A Little Misunderstanding

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lil' angsty at points, but ends sweet, lots of mutual pining and two idiots not realising the other is also in love with the other, meddling mothers (for the best this time)

Summary: Your parents assume that Quinn, the man you mention over the phone all the time, is in fact your boyfriend. He's very much not, but Quinn thinks its funny to pretend he is...until it gets a little too real and maybe some truths are told and feelings are aired.

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested fake dating to lovers with Quinn, I had this idea which is a little different from the usual fake dating so I hope its okay and you still like it 😊

Tried to keep it ambiguous as to where the reader originated from so that us UK girlies can relate as well as anyone else not from Vancouver and/or Canada.

Reminder I typically use UK spellings because I'm English so...don't come at me if you wish I spelt it the US away. If I have to read US spellings all the time, you can handle the odd UK spelling

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"When does your flight get in?" You balance your phone between your shoulder and ear, picking up a stray sock that had fallen out of your laundry basket as you attempt to tidy your apartment.

"7am your time, sweetheart, remember?" Your mother's voice rings clear down the line, familiar and warm. It's been a while since you saw either of your parents. You having moved all the way to Vancouver, more miles than you could count from your birthplace and hometown around two years ago. You were excited to have them finally able to come out and stay with you for a week, they'd never been to see you, and it had been a while since you'd been able to see your parents, not having time to fly to see them. While you were glad for the move to Vancouver, living in a completely different place away from your family wasn't always the easiest thing in the world. You so often felt like you were having to fend for yourself without much of a support network. Luckily you'd made some good friends in the time you'd been in Van.

"Quinn offered to come with me to pick you and dad up, we'll be there waiting for you so don't worry about getting an Uber." You dropped Quinn's name casually because that's what it was, he was just another part of your existence. Your friend, who admittedly you had a small crush on, but just your friend nonetheless. Just because you thought he was beautiful and wanted to kiss him didn't mean you were allowed to kiss him or that he'd even want to kiss you. He was a friend who happened to be a man and you both happened to be single. This had not changed for two years and wasn't likely to any time soon.

"Oh, Quinn'll be there?" Your mother's voice was suddenly more upbeat, excited. She'd been eager to meet Quinn for months now, you're not sure why she finally took an interest in one of your friends but you can't help but be glad. Quinn had become a massive part of your life, a support network you very much needed when you'd first come to a strange new place all by yourself. He was part of the fabric of your life now, and you knew he'd charm your parents without even thinking about it. It shouldn't matter to you that your parents like your friend, its not like Quinn was your boyfriend, but it did matter to you. You wanted them to like him as much as you did because you wanted him around for the foreseeable future.

"Yeah, I mentioned you were coming to visit the other day and his car is bigger than mine, so he offered to come along, he has to get up early most days anyway so he's not too bothered by it." It helped that Quinn had a couple of days off, but still you were thankful. He could have spent his rare enough free time doing something much more enjoyable than helping you pick your parents up from the airport.

"Your father and I look forward to meeting him, we've heard so much about him, darling!"

There's something about your mother's tone that makes you stop for a second suddenly feeling a little awkward about the whole thing. Maybe it's just how eager she is or maybe it's something else, but there's a little red flag waving in the back of your mind with some small print on that you just can't quite read yet.

"Right...um, look I'll see you tomorrow morning then? I gotta get everything ready for you guys."

"Of course, of course! We love you!"

"Love you too, mum."

"You're sure you don't mind?" You look over at Quinn from the passenger seat, the two of you look exhausted, big bags under your eyes and even bigger hoodies to hide in because a 5am wake up to get to the airport in time was just a little much for both of you. This early in the morning it's still dark and the streetlights do something to Quinn's face that makes him even more handsome than usual, even as he looks like he might fall back asleep at any minute. It doesn't help that his scruff has grown out or that his hair is in those perfect waves he always seems to get even when he's just taken his bucket off.

"I wouldn't have offered if I did, besides the amount of time we spend together isn't it about time I met your parents? You've met mine." He smiles over at you, cheeky, the sort of Quinn most people didn't see. It's silly that it makes your cheeks feel warm, he's just your friend. You shouldn't be flustered by him.

"Your parents are at as many of your games as possible, of course I've met them."

"So are you. Sue me for wanting to meet the parents of one of my best friends."

"I'm your best friend?" You lean your head back on the headrest, tilting slightly to grin at him all silly. Quinn can see it from the corner of his eye and as much as it's ridiculous, that little grin makes you even more beautiful than normal.

"One of." He rolls his eyes at you, partly because of your silliness and partly rolling his eyes at himself. You're his friend. He shouldn't feel this way about you, men can have female friends...he just can't seem to have you as a female friend without wanting to kiss you at any given opportunity. It's becoming difficult, even more so in the early morning when the low light level puts your face in stark contrast and your hoodie, one of his, makes you look so cozy and sweet.

"That's just your way of avoiding admitting how much you love me and need me in your life."

Quinn's cheeks flush bright red, so bright that even the low light can't hide it nor hide the way he bites back a smile at you, eyes fixed on the road and the last few miles to the airport.

"...Shut up."

The silence that fills the car is comfortable, the sort that comes about from spending so much time together. You have friends that aren't Quinn, of course you do, but Quinn had been your first friend in Vancouver. He'd shown you around and made time for you in his incredibly busy schedule. You were often the first person he saw when he came off a roadie and the last person to see him before he left for one. There were nights when you stayed round Quinn's after a game or vice versa. You spent so much time together that you simply coexisted, being around Quinn was as easy as breathing. You rarely argued or disagreed and when you did it was always resolved properly. You simply worked. There wasn't ever much to think about with Quinn. You could just...shut off.

"Thank you, though...seriously." You take a moment, thinking how to word your next few thoughts, your warning as the signs for the airport come into full view, "Just, my mum seems really eager to meet you so...just brace yourself."

"Eager?"

"You know when your parents are excited to meet a new partner?" You think back to the few times you'd introduced a boyfriend to your mum, the excitement that she exuded...it was starting to concern you that she was that excited to just meet your friend. Because that's all Quinn was. Your friend. Not your boyfriend. Your friend, you remind yourself, even as he looks so good smiling over at you with his beard. He'd let it grow out just enough that he looked rugged and mature.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she's that sort of excited which is really weird...she normally doesn't' care that much about my friends. Just, sorry, if she's really weird about it?" It's awkward enough talking about, you and Quinn have always stayed firmly platonic, you didn't talk about the fact that people assumed you were dating or even the concept of it. Talking about it felt...it felt like you were opening the curtains up, letting him see in a little too far.

"You didn't tell her we were married or something, did you?"

"Quinn! Shut up!" He laughs so loud that you can't actually be that mad at him, not when he's grinning at you like that, not when he's been so stressed as of late about the performance of his team. Even if it's at your expense.

"What? Just checking! For all I know you could have told her we got married in Vegas during one of my games or something?"

"If I'm telling my mum I'm married to you, it'll be because I'm actually married to you, you idiot." You roll your eyes at him, arms crossing over your chest as you turn to look out the window.

"Oh, so you do want to marry me?" He's joking, but he's not...he's thought about it. There's not a day that Quinn hasn't thought about what it would be like to be yours and you be his, not since he met you...and then promptly managed to land himself so far into the friendzone that he was scared to crawl his way out lest he leave you behind in the process.

"...I hate you."

"No you don't." His voice is singsong in intonation and sweet and he's right because you love him and it hurts...god, it hurts how much you love someone you can't have. Someone you see every day, someone who is so deeply ingrained in your life that removing him would be like carving a hole into your own chest.

You just sit and glare at him, even as a heavy sort of sadness hits, as he pulls up into one of the parking bays for collecting passengers.

It's okay that he's just your friend, you remind yourself as you get out of the car. It's okay because he's the best friend you could ask for, he's here at 6.45 am in the morning to collect your parents from the airport, not because he was asked or because he had to, but because he wanted to. You can live with loving him in silence, so long as you always have him around.

"I think they're over this way, probably, near gate 1?" You're just getting your bearings, trying to figure out roughly where your parents will come out at after they find their things from baggage claim when you hear it.

"My baby!" The squeal of a middle aged woman who hasn't seen her daughter in far too long pierces the air. You barely have time to brace yourself for impact before your mother is wrapping you up in a gigantic hug and pressing as many kisses to your face as possible, you know without a doubt her signature mauve lipstick is smudged all across your skin.

Your father stands behind her, rolling his eyes in amusement but the smile he gives you is no less warm, "Hey there, princess."

"Hi, mum, hi, dad," You pull yourself free from your mother just long enough to get a long awaited hug from your father, big and warm and so familiar that you almost feel like crying. How long has it been since you last hugged your dad? Half a year? Nine months? Longer? You sometimes don't realise how much you miss something until you get it back.

When you turn back around your mother is already pulling Quinn into a hug that he accepts, if a tad awkwardly, his hands patting her on the back like he's not quite sure how hugs work.

She has his face in her hands before you can intervene, overly familiar and friendly as she grins up at him like he's made her day just by existing. "You must be Quinn, Y/N's boyfriend..."

"Oh, he's n-" You're pretty sure your eyes bug out of your head, startled by the suggestion because at no point in the last few years of living in Vancouver had you ever called Quinn your boyfriend. Ever.

You're cut off by Quinn who's grinning at you wickedly over the top of your mother's head like he's just been giving the greatest Christmas present he could ever ask for and in that moment you know...you know that he is going to make your life very difficult with this tiny piece of information.

"Yeah, hi, nice to meet, the boyfriend, that's me." God, he wishes it was true. There's nothing more he wants in that moment than to be able to say to your mom that you are 100% his girlfriend, but he can't...he can, however, enjoy the roleplaying while it lasts. He can't really stop himself, not when you look so aghast at your mother calling him your boyfriend, not when he can use this to tease you for at least the next 30 years. He grew up with 2 brothers, sue him for taking advantage of the situation.

"Quinn!"

"What? Am I not allowed to call myself your boyfriend anymore?" He sidles up to you, slipping out from your mother's grip to pull you into his side. His arm rests naturally over your shoulder, yours finding his waist, and it is natural...because you've done this a million times before. The kiss he presses to your hair is new though, different and as much as your mum clearly believes the ruse, you can see your father just looks amused. Something tells you he knows this is all an act, but he finds it enjoyable to watch. Typical. No support from him when you need it most. Dads.

"Oh, she's just grouchy in the mornings, has been ever since she was a baby!" Your mother looks at the two of you with such pride that you're certain her heart actually might break when she finds out Quinn isn't actually your boyfriend. You've never seen her look so happy with your choice in a man before and you're certain she won't be able to cope when you have to inevitably tell her that it was either a) a lie or b) that Quinn just wasn't the guy for you (another lie just to make your life more complicated).

"Mum!"

"Oh don't worry, I know just how grouchy my baby can be in the mornings." This time he presses a kiss to your cheek and when he does, you hiss lowly in his ear, 'I'm going to kill you.' and Quinn can't help but laugh at you, biting his lip at how much fun he's having riling you up.

"Here let me take your bags, Mrs Y/L/N," Quinn's bending down before your mother can even begin to protest, her carry on backpack being slung over his shoulder and pulling up the handle of her suitcase to wheel it behind him.

"Oh, you don't have to, Quinn!"

"I insist." He knows he's making it harder on you, can see the look you give him because he's just going to make your mother fall in love with him. But, even as he enjoys riling you up, he was also raised right and he's not letting your mother carry her own bags.

Your mother hangs back with you while your father and Quinn start walking ahead with the suitcases. She slips her arm through yours walking with you to keep up, as she does so she does a very bad attempt at whispering. The sort of whispering that means you know Quinn can hear every word and is probably enjoying it immensely.

"He's such a gentleman..."

"Yeah, a real gentleman." You mutter sarcastically, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall in a silent laugh that he's no doubt doing his best to swallow down.

"Don't be grumpy, he's just being sweet on you. You should be glad for such a loving boyfriend..." Your mother scolds you before raising her voice back to normal, Quinn and your father slowing down slightly to help keep the four of you together, "So, Quinn, my daughter tells me you're a hockey player?"

"Yeah, you talk about me, baby?" Quinn's grin is wide, and you can't help the warmth that fills your entire face because you can't actually deny it. You talk about Quinn all the time, he's your best friend and whenever your mother phones, you inevitably talk about him. Whether it was a game of his you went to or a coffee place you'd visited together or gala he'd invited you to. Maybe, you talked about him too much? Maybe, it was obvious in the way you talked about him that you loved him? Maybe that's why your mother had made such a large assumption about your relationship status. Maybe this was your fault, why wouldn't she assume you were dating?

"She talks about you all the time. Quinn this, Quinn that...did you know that Quinn did this today and broke this record?"

"Mum..." You groan out, looking to your dad for help but all he does is shrug his shoulders at you, amusement bright in his eyes. Even if he could do something you know he wouldn't because he's clearly enjoying your torture.

Quinn can't help it, the tables seem to reverse. You're embarrassed still, but now he is too, bright red in the face, ears flushed the colour of a fire engine and a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. All because you talk about him to your parents...you talk about him when he's not around...he feels like a twelve year old, giddy because his crush smiled at him for the first time.

"I play for the NHL."

"Vancouver Canucks, wasn't it?" Your mother asks as the four of you step out into the cold Canadian air, her attention making Quinn squirm and you smile, enjoying the discomfort being swapped around for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm the captain of the team." He smiles at your mother awkwardly as he opens the boot of the car and starts to pile in the suitcases, organising them in just the right way that they fit without hassle.

Your father chimes in as he lifts his own suitcase into the back, Quinn helping him shove it back further, "That's impressive, I used to play field hockey myself, never got out of the amateur league but got a few bruises in my time. You had an injury recently right?"

You still remember phoning your mum to talk about it, at first worried and then over time growing more and more frustrated with how sullen Quinn was being. He'd grown restless from not being able to play hockey and you'd been his distraction, a distraction that had grown fed up with his moping no matter how much you loved him.

"I've had a few this year, most recently my hand." He raises his braced hand, the brace a point of annoyance to him at this point in time. He was itching to be done with it, but put up with it because it meant he could still play hockey at the moment.

"Oh, you shouldn't have been carrying my bag then, Quinn!" Your mother fusses over him, flapping about as if she might have a miracle cure for his hand injury.

"Honestly, it's fine! It looks worse than it is, I promise. I wouldn't get away with it otherwise, this one would kill me." He nods his head at you as he closes the boot, opening one of the backdoors for your mother to slide inside.

"Damn right I'd kill you, I cannot take more days of you moping that you can't play hockey and that you're bored despite my amazing company."

"You know I enjoyed spending time with you, sweetheart...but..."

"But, you can't live without hockey, yeah, I know..."

He follows you round to the passenger side door, opening it for you like a gentleman and letting you slide inside. You find yourself enjoying the attention even as you catch your mother's eye in the rear view mirror, a little smirk reaching her lips as she watches Quinn buckle you in. Something he does from time to time when he's feeling particularly sweet...because he was a good friend.

"So, Quinn, how did you meet our daughter? I'm not sure she ever mentioned it?"

The entire ride home is filled with your mother peppering Quinn with questions, encouraging him to talk more and more about your 'relationship'. Everything from when you first met to the first date you went on (which Quinn told her was the first time he took you ice skating, you were under the impression that that was a friendly family skate event and most certainly not a date).

The conversation lulls while you set your parents up in your spare bedroom, helping them settle themselves and showing them around your apartment. They hadn't ever seen it in person and they spent half the time cooing over your choices, the photos of family and friends on the wall, the ones of you and Quinn, as well as your mother checking your fridge and telling you to buy more vegetables.

It's as you're sitting down to a breakfast of pre-bought croissants and pain au chocolat that your mother restarts her question. This time even more invasive than the first.

"So Quinn, when did you know?"

"Mm? Know what?" Your best friend looks at your mother with furrowed brows, taking a sip of his orange juice and almost choking on it when she proceeds to clarify her question.

"When you loved my daughter."

There's a long beat of silence where your eyes stay fixated on your plate, watching your own hands intently as you spread Nutella inside your croissant, far too focused on that to be anything casual or calm. You're certain you're going to be sick because he doesn't love you but you love him and your poor mother is so oblivious and this...this is going too far, it feels like it's gone too far.

"Expected answer or honest answer?"

"Honest answer."

"The second week I knew her." Your head snaps up with a start only to find Quinn looking directly at you, green eyes crinkling softly at the corners. "She heard that I had been hurt on the ice the night before and she stormed round my apartment with a bunch of food, medicine and a blanket. Spent the whole day looking after me and making me watch 90s movies I hadn't watched growing up. No one outside my family had ever done that for me before...it made me realise that if I wasn't already in love, I would be pretty quick." You almost believe him, the way he looks at you, the way he speaks so softly. Almost.

You look down at your plate, tears welling in your eyes because you know he doesn't mean it. He's spinning a yarn for your mother and it hurts that he would go that far when you both know this is all some ruse he's decided to pull. You swallow hard and take a bite of your croissant, refusing to look at him for the rest of breakfast.

You won't meet his eyes until he goes to leave after breakfast, your parents hanging back so you can say goodbye to your 'boyfriend'.

"Mind if I come over after dinner? We could watch a movie with your parents?"

"Quinn..." You go to challenge him on his behaviour today, but the words won't come out.

"What?"

"Nothing...uh, sure, after dinner?"

"After dinner, baby."

You want to tell him off as he says it, as he presses a kiss to your cheek so your parents can see because you aren't his baby and he's hurting you. He's hurting you without realising it because you so desperately want to be his baby. But, you don't. You just watch him walk away down the corridor of your apartment building and out of sight before getting ready to show your parents around Vancouver for the day.

You try to put the whole thing out of your mind throughout the day, showing your parents the sights of Vancouver, including the arena...but it's hard when they keep bringing Quinn back up and asking about your feelings. They probe you for half the day and it's emotionally exhausting balancing the truth with the half-truth, even more so knowing that they're going to be just as disappointed as you are when they realise your relationship with Quinn is just a sham, a charade, a fake.

Eventually they seem to grow bored of talking about the topic, however, and dinner goes relatively smoothly, you taking them to a nice restaurant Quinn had shown you back in your first couple of months in Vancouver. Even that feels bittersweet though, filled with memories of the two of you dining together. You can't help but feel like the whole issue needs addressing as you get them back home and pop a film on ready for Quinn's arrival.

When he arrives he continues the act as if it isn't one, greeting you at the door with a kiss to the cheek and pulling you down onto the loveseat opposite your parents, curling one arm around your shoulders and urging you to lay against him, your cheek pressed into his chest. In some ways it's familiar, not an act, because you cuddle for movies all time, completely platonically of course, but both of you are touchy feely and it's always been part of your dynamic. In others though? The way he talks to you, the pet names, kisses to your hair, that is all new, all a way to show your parents he's the 'doting boyfriend', even though he's not your boyfriend at all.

Your parents lap it up, every now and then you catch them smiling at each other and then over to the two of you and you can't help but feel heavy with it. With this feeling of unrequited affection. You love Quinn, you've known that for a while now, but it was easy to be around him because you didn't need to address it. You could love him in silence and from afar...you had never considered how hard it would become when what you wanted most was being dangled in front of you like a carrot on a string.

Quinn has a similar dilemma going on in his own head. He's always known he loved you more than a friend, even when you barely knew each other...had he been braver he would have asked for your number for a date that first day, not so that he could show you around a new city as a 'friend'. But, he'd been a coward and since then he'd continued to be. He enjoyed every ounce of affection he got from you, every hug, every cuddle, ever time you held his arm at an event, all while feeling like that had to be enough...now he's had more? He's not sure it'll ever be enough, he's greedy for you. Greedy for your affection, your attention, greedy in the way he wants to keep kissing you, keeping calling you sweet names and greedy for the way you grow bashful. Greedy for more than just being your friend...he's given himself a taste of what life could be like and now he can't forget it.

It's halfway through the movie, your legs slung over Quinn's lap and his fingers carding through the ends of your hair when your parents stand with a groan from the other couch.

"Princess?" You lift your head to look at your father, who's stretching out his back after sitting for so long.

"Yeah, dad?"

"Your mother and I are getting a little tired...we're going to go to bed, if that's alright with you two?"

"Of course, don't let us keep you up." Quinn confirms your own thoughts as well, telling your parents it's not problem at all. It's all so...so domestic.

Your dad presses a kiss to the top of your head, as does your mother, before yourself and Quinn wish them goodnight. You wait until you see the door to the spare room start to close, not waiting for it to do so fully, before turning to Quinn. You pull out of his arms, the missing warmth of you an immediate loss to him, but it has him sitting up straight and taking you seriously.

Your face is sullen, sad, eyebrows pinched, mouth turned down into a frown and he's alarmed to see that your eyes are glassy like you might cry.

"Why on earth would you let my parents think we're dating? Why would you tell my mother you're in love with me?" You're certain you're going to cry, angry, frustrated and sad all in one. Lovesick because it hurts to hear him tell your mother he was in love with you when you know he's not.

"Why not?" He frowns at you, hands reaching out but you keep just out of reach as if touching him is the last thing you want. You've never shied away from Quinn's touch and he recoils, breathing a little heavier out of anxious worry that he's upset you, that he's fucked this up. Maybe you've been uncomfortable with his touch all day? Has he been making you uncomfortable all day? Is he one of those guys?

"Because we're not dating and you're not in love with me, Quinn. My mother is certain we're going to get married and I'll stop being an old spinster! You're getting her hopes up." The unspoken words lay heavy on your tongue, 'you're getting my hopes up', you want to say.

"Who said I didn't love you? Who said I didn't want to marry you?" The look he gives you isn't the cheeky one he's had all day, it's not joking or silly, it's dead serious. He scoots closer to you, but doesn't reach out for you this time. But, Quinn can't help but want to be close to you, to be drawn into your orbit, into your gravity.

"Quinn..."

"What?"

"You're being mean..." Your voice is filled with tears, wet, pathetic sounding and you choke back a sob as a tear falls down your cheek because he's being so mean...he can't dangle that in front of you, everything you've ever wanted, not when he doesn't actually mean it.

He realises in that moment that you don't believe him. You believe he's spent the entire morning and evening telling lies, saying that he loves you when he doesn't, that you're that important to him when you aren't. You believe he's being mean because you don't believe him, that the tears are because you think he's holding this thing, this idea out in front of you, only to snatch it away.

"Look, I said a lot today...but none of it was a lie." He can't help himself this time, hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away that pesky tear that shouldn't have been there in the first place. It's the way you lean into his touch that brings him a sense of confidence, of relief, you wouldn't do that if you didn't want him touching you.

"I know our first date wasn't a date, just a stupid family skate I was too scared to ask you out to as more than just a friend. I wish it had been a date and I wish I had been brave enough from the start to tell you I didn't just want to be your friend."

"Quinn..."

"And I was telling the truth...when your mother asked me when I fell in love with you." He tugs you closer, until your legs are back over his lap and your practically sitting on top of him, arms wrapping around your lower back and pulling you closer. The way he stares up at you is nothing short of reverent.

"Q..."

"The second week we knew each other you came to look after me when no one else did...and I knew...I knew that I was going to love you and that I was stupid for not asking you out in the first place...but I was...I was too scared to say anything. I didn't want to lose my new friend...I thought..." He hesitates, tongue coming out to nervously brush against his bottom lip, capturing your attention like a magpie with a shiny button.

"You thought?" You're whispering, quiet as if to speak any louder might scare him, might disrupt this little bubble you've found yourself in.

"I thought having a tiny bit of you...any bit, was better than having none of you at all." Quinn confesses, shifting you on his lap as your legs fall either side of his hips until you're so close your noses brush.

"Is it?"

"It was...for a bit..." It's self-deprecating, sardonic, like he finds himself ridiculous, foolish.

"And now?"

"And now I've had a taste of what it's like to love you, to be able to kiss you and hold you...call you mine...and now I'm greedy and it's not enough...Baby, it'll never be enough."

"You...you love me?" It's like even after all of this, everything he's said, every tender touch, you still don't quite believe him. It's hard to believe that everything you've ever wanted is sat in the palm of your hand just waiting for you to capture it, to take it. That your feelings, the ones you believed were unrequited for two years, were actually returned all along.

"I love you...and...um, if...if you'll have me, maybe I could be your real boyfriend this time?" His face is bright red, so warm to the touch when you're fingers reach out to trace his cheeks that you're surprised he doesn't combust.

"I'd like that...I...I love you too,"

"So...I'm your boyfriend?" He says it like he doesn't quite believe it, the beauty mark on his cheek moving as he grins up at you giddy like a little kid getting his first bag of sweets.

"You're my boyfriend." You press a kiss to that beauty mark without overthinking it...because you can now, because now it's not a lie when you tell your parents he's your boyfriend, because now you're allowed to kiss him and hold him and tell him how much you love him.

"Fuck...that sounds good."

He can't help but just stare up at you from where you're straddling his lap. The healthy glow to your skin, the soft smile directed down at him, the way you seem to curl into him like you're not close enough even now. God, you're beautiful and you're his...you're finally his and he's yours and...and he can't comprehend that the thing he wanted to happen for so long has finally happened. What had he been scared of all this time? He could have been with you for two years, instead he'd squandered it out of fear...

"Quinn?" Your voice is soft, melodic, so so sweet that almost closes his eyes at the sound.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Kiss me?" You whisper as if it's shameful to ask, as if you've asked for something more sordid than a simple kiss...your first kiss together at that.

"Anything for my girl."

He's gentle in the way he cups your neck and jaw with one large hand, thumb pressing just below your jaw bone as he pulls you in. There's nothing rushed about the way Quinn presses your lips together, the smooth glide of his bottom lip against your top. Even the way his tongue brushes against your lip until you open up for him is slow, steady, adoring. You can't help the way you sigh into him, fingers gliding through dark chocolate strands, eyes closing shut with the sense of home, sense of relief that you find in him.

The two of you lose yourselves in each other, slow kisses, wandering hands, nothing too extreme, but a new found intimacy that you're finally allowed to indulge in before you curl back up together to watch the remainder of the movie. Watch being a loose term for what you're really doing.

"Did you know?" Your father turns his eyes away from the scene outside the spare bedroom, the way you're curled up in Quinn's arms like you were always supposed to be there. Neither of you realising that the spare bedroom door had never fully closed, both your parents eavesdropping like Samwise Gamgee.

"That they weren't actually together, dear?" Your mother looks sly and devious as she looks over at her husband. The face of the woman he loves, but also fears in equal measure.

"Yes."

"Of course I knew...but I figured they could both use a shove in the right direction, I mean, look at them?" Your parents both turn to watch the two of you, the way you curl up together on the couch is the epitome of young love. There's no real watching of a movie happening, instead Quinn's fingers are rubbing circles into your shoulder, while you look up at him lovingly from where you're curled against his chest. Every now and then he dips his head down to press a kiss against your forehead, and each time you giggle, face pressing briefly into his neck. The giddy feeling of a new, fresh love, making film watching the least of your interests.

"They just needed a little push." Both your parents smile at each other even as your father playfully scolds his wife, "You're a meddlesome woman."

"And you love me for it."

"Yes, yes I do."

Perhaps it took a bit of meddling, a fake misunderstanding, but that would be their little secret...at least for now. Your mother was rather looking forward to seeing you squirm in the future as you reveal the truth, that you hadn't actually been dating Quinn as long as you said. Yes, she certainly was happy to help, but she also was still your mother and lying to your mother was certainly not the done thing. A little squirming was good for you sometimes, but first, she'd let you enjoy the fresh bloom of love...and she'd go easy on you.

[niccolites]

green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter four

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw dubcon and period typical violence. read on ao3 here

There is a large exhale of wind as night turns into morning. You roll around in unfamiliar sheets, plotting how to escape when you are next given the opportunity.

Johnny’s father had been a saving grace. Although he accepted that you and Johnny were already wed, he had wanted it officialised at a wedding for everyone to see before he could allow you and Johnny to stay in the same bedroom together. You were granted to stay in Johnny’s chamber while Johnny would take one of the many guest rooms. With how you are woken up, you imagine that it hadn’t made much of a difference, your innocence already compromised anyway.

You were used to the wake up from Ian, the pinch of his fingers on your cheek as he was already half telling you what needed done - feed the chickens, brush down the horses, check on the stock at the back of the cupboards. You wake up, half hopeful, cheek already smarting as if in preparation of him. Johnny blinks down at you, half-lidded. Beautiful but terrible.

“I’ll be back soon, angel,” he murmurs into the tilt of your neck, leaving a slick kiss there that has you shuddering. You swallow down the urge to snap at him to get off of you, letting him do as he wishes for the moment. Your compliance earns you a hand down your side, Johnny huffing as he rounds his palm over your hip.

He lifts his head, suddenly, gazes at you for a moment. You blink up at him, the image of docility, which has him squinting. You stay still, let him cup your jaw in the broad of his hand. His hair is mussed up from sleep, fluffy and loose in the morning. His beard is only slightly thicker than it had been when you had first met, a little darker.

His pupils dilate then pinch, taking in the expressions of your face. “Ah willnae be gone long,” he says, serious in a way that sends a different kind of shake through you. A warning. You nod as best you can, your chin digging into his palm. He squints for another moment. His thumb digs into the soft give beneath the bolt of your jaw. Just before you can crack under his hard stare, it dissipates and he dips his head to steal another kiss from you. “Wait fer me,” he bids you, and leaves.

You watch from the window, as he takes his horse from Mrs Duncan’s nephew - the stablemaster. You sit at the window, holding your chin like a phantom ache that Johnny has left behind. You can see his head, no bigger than your nail, tilt back as if seeking you out in the window. You doubt he can see you but he stares for a moment, hand near his clavicle as if in prayer before he bows his head and Cerberus starts to move.

You sit and wait, watching as he starts the journey towards the small village just outside of the Keep. He gets smaller and smaller, barely a dot in your vision and then not even that.

You jump up and stride over to Johnny’s desk. The clothes that you had left yesterday are folded neatly on the ornate chair. You had managed to salvage your stays from your dress before it had been spirited away by Mrs Duncan at some point while you were away from Johnny’s room. Your new dress is a softer cotton, a light blue skirt and a thick, dark woolen shawl that you tie around your clavicle. The bag filled with what little things you had managed to bring with you sits in the chair, ready to be picked up and returned to where they belong.

You do your stays up slowly, knotting the string up your chest. Johnny has barely been gone for part of an hour. Although you would be on foot, you didn’t want to chance him spotting you while you were still so near to the Keep.

In the dark of Johnny’s room, the smell of him buried in his sheets even though Mrs Duncan had replaced them, you had planned. If Johnny was less eager, maybe you could have waited for a better opportunity to attempt to run away, but you had felt time slip from endless into mere hours, minutes. 

You don’t know where the closest priest is, likely in that small village just outside the Keep, but Johnny hadn’t seemed certain. His father had been discussing how the vicar may have been summoned to another village to perform burial rites just the other week, and so may still be making that slow journey back.

It is a risk, stealing away and going towards the village, with the chance that the first stable you approached, Johnny would appear. But, it was one that you would have to take. It would be too noticeable if you were to take one of the horses at the Keep’s stable, and you didn’t know how long the journey home would take on foot.

You tidy the bed, as if smoothing away any evidence that you had ever been there in the first place. You half-expect someone to catch you in the corridor, stop you and ask where you’re going. The few maids that pass you may give you a second glance but they keep quiet, scurrying like mice to wherever they need to go.

You exit out into the foreground, feel the sun beat down on your face, familiar, like an old friend. Long days out in the field, tilling until blisters form on your palms. Your skin itches with the sudden craving for it, and you set out, nose like a bloodhound. You don’t belong here, trapped in a room with Johnny and soft dresses. You need dirt under your hands, you didn’t realise until it was taken from you.

You cross the open ground of the Keep, people milling around as they go about their day. You reach the stone entrance, hesitate for half a moment before stepping from gravel into grass. Muscles tense as you wait for something to happen, for someone to stop you. The cacophony of noise behind you doesn’t suddenly stop, no one seems to take much notice.

You take another step then another, wanting to run, to get as much distance between you and the Keep as possible. You know you shouldn’t, though. You’re still in view of the Keep, and you don’t know if anyone is watching you too closely, but if they are, that may send them chasing after you. Better to walk, worst case you can always say that you were looking for Johnny, lovesick in the preparation of your nuptials, barely able to stand a morning away from him.

You imagine that Johnny will move on swiftly. Maybe rage when he first finds you gone, if you were trying to flatter yourself. However, another maiden would be in distress, and Johnny would swoop in and the story would repeat itself. You had half a mind to ask if you were the first woman that Johnny had brought home in such a manner, but had decided to leave it be. If you weren’t, you were likely to be replaced soon in any case.

It feels good to stretch your legs, stretching out your back as you go. You reckon that Ian will have something to say about your newfound laziness, a harsh wake-up required to get back to the realities of farm living.

You try to keep your mind occupied, but you drift back to thoughts of Johnny. You can vividly feel the press of his nose into your temple. His hands on your skin, rough and skirting, always shifting against you, as if trying to touch all of you at once. The dark hair across his chest, the thick press of muscle against his skin. You imagine another woman in his room, letting him kiss her the same way that he had with you. There is a bitter taste in the back of your throat but you ignore it. Only you can taste it after all.

Within the hour you have crossed the open grounds and are on the cusp of the village. It had been bustling when you had originally passed through, crowds of people at the market, selling and buying from stalls. Now, everything is still, a gust of wind blowing between cottages and whistling in a way that has the hair on the back of your neck rising.

The warmth of the sun seems trapped on the rooftops, unable to reach you on the ground. You hesitate, grass under your feet turning to dirt that has been packed in after being walked over so many times. There could be another village that you could visit, that you could beg a horse from, or even just directions and walk. But, you barely know the area, and another village could be a day away, and you could be heading in the completely wrong direction.

You shuffle, uncertain, and turn to look back at Dundardy Keep. Easily a mile away now, but you imagine that you can see the shadows of people in all of the windows. Watching you, keeping an eye in Johnny’s absence. You think you can see a figure, near the entrance of the Keep, and you wonder if you are being followed after all.

There’s nothing to be done for it. You step into the village, and make your way forward.

The loose fabric on a stall shifts against the wooden plank of its counter, wriggling like a hand in your direction. You stand in what seems to be the centre of the village, a loose circle, surrounded with abandoned stalls and a few cottages before they span down different paths into more homes.

You can hear the faintest sound, a murmur in one of the cottages. The lively scene that had welcomed Johnny is long gone, everyone gone into hiding. Nothing had been said about the village last night. Just that the local vicar may be in another village. Contrasted with the liveliness of the Keep, you think that you may have stepped onto another country, one with an absence of residents.

You head down one of the paths, a few minutes later, emerging onto the other side of the village. There is a stable here, with a few horses, and the sight of them nosing at some hay, as normal as can be, fills you with a sense of relief. Here is reality, as welcome as a bowl of warm soup.

You stretch your hand to one of the mares, and she lets you pet down her nose, nickering at you softly. You worry your lip looking over your shoulder. The village is in hiding, no one is around to help you out. If you cannot get directions, at least it would be less exhausting to be heading in the wrong direction if you found this out on the saddle.

It feels wrong to steal, especially in the shadow of a Laird. Your own village were tenants, but Ian had always dealt with the rent, always spoken with the men who were sent out to collect. This close by to the Keep, you imagine the crime is tenfold, and the punishment even steeper.

You feel owed this, though. Dragged out here by Johnny, you feel that you deserve to help yourself out. Besides, once you were back in your home, you could return, ride one of your own horses and guide this one home. Johnny would likely be back in the Keep in that distant future, another bride on his arm. Hopefully, this one would be a bit more excited by the prospect.

You unclip the latch of the stable door, the horses huffing as you step inside. There are saddles hitched to the back wooden wall and you consider taking one as well before you deny yourself. It is one thing to steal a horse (borrow, you remind yourself), but it is another to just help yourself while you’re at it.

You do take some reins. You had ridden bareback on a horse before, but you hadn’t without reins, and you didn’t want to find out just now if you had the gift for it. You come back over to the mare who butts her head into your chest, affectionate in a way that has you giggling before you hush yourself.

You secure the reins in place before you toss them over the length of her neck, about to turn to guide her out of the stall when you feel the heat of a body behind you.

“Helping yourself out, eh?” A voice hisses, then there are hands on your upper arms, digging into the flesh. You don’t recognise it, and that makes your blood cool before it heats again, hot panic that almost spooks the horses when the man drags you out and you kick out, frightened.

You are tossed into the ground, a familiar experience that has you gasping. If the voice wasn’t Scottish, you might think that the last few days hadn’t happened and you were back on your farm.

You attempt to scramble backwards but the man is too quick. You are grabbed by your hair and dragged upwards. The man starts walking and you have no choice but to keep your pace with him, a hand on his wrist that is in your hair, as if to lessen the pain stinging your scalp. He’s muttering to himself, calling you a dirty thief, how you will seek penance. With the vicar seemingly gone, you wonder what that penance will look like.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, and regret it when he yanks on your hair to shut you up.

“Shut yer thievin’ mouth,” the man hisses at you. He’s much older than you, balding and worn looking. You think of those Englishmen who had treated you like a plaything. Only that third man had looked at you with true hate, the way that this man does. It cows you, forces you to lower your eye as best as you can.

You are brought back through those empty paths that you had walked down, and brought to the chapel near the side of town, where your captor kicks the door in and throws you inside before slamming the doors shut again. It’s quiet here, here is where the sunlight had been trapped, filtering in through the weak windows and caught in the pews.

You rub at your scalp, gingerly, and get yourself up, looking up the aisle to look at the pulpit at the end. This is likely where the Sunday sermon is read.

Ian was always more religious than you were. He always recited his sermons before bed, whereas you had only ever believed in God when you thought He may smite you.

You sit on the pew next to you and look over that confessional booth. Johnny may be a sinner, but he clearly believed if the reason he hadn’t fully taken your innocence was any type of evidence. You wonder if he had ever been in that confessional booth. Wonder if there was enough time in the world for him to confess his wrong doing to you. Or maybe it was all overshadowed by his saviourism.

You are bought with Englishmen blood. You worry your hands in your lap, wringing your fingers together. Wonder if Johnny will be back in time to watch his father’s people take your hand for thieving.

The doors swing open again after a few minutes, and you expect to see the man who brought you here, and he is at the front. He also seems to have brought the entire village with him, streams of unfamiliar faces all peering through the doorway to glare at you.

Half-hysterical, you wonder if they really are going to take your hand after all.

//

An hour later, they still have not taken your hand, but you wonder if they may do even worse than that. This is no longer a chapel, no longer a church. This is a courtroom, an impromptu hanging of the witch. You had thought that your crime was attempting to steal a horse, but instead it was disrupting their peace. One of the village’s sons had died, and everyone had been in mourning, waiting for the vicar to come back to read the burial rites again, just as he was doing for another village.

You don’t dare say a word, let them discuss your crime amongst themselves. You don’t even know how the boy had died, if it had been an accident, or an illness. You know that you have done wrong in attempting to take on their horses, even as justified as you had felt at the time. Out of some kind of penance, you decide to let them do as they wish, and then hopefully you can continue your plan of escape. Ian will welcome you back, one-handed or not.

The weeping mother casts a hateful look at you, as if you had been the reason her son had died in the first place. You squirm beneath her gaze, hot shame curdling in your stomach like an old friend. You had been brought to the front of the congregation, stood in front of the pulpit. A sad mimic of a Sunday sermon, in which you are preached to instead.

It’s a mob, even as they play sensible. Listing your crimes, but you hear the creep of mania in everyone’s mutterings. A child is dead, and no one is to blame. These people want someone to rip apart, and you have given them half a reason. You can hear them starting to talk themselves into a hanging, perhaps even throwing you down the local river.

“There’s nothing to be done for thieves,” the man who caught you demands, addressing the room. “Take a hand, and they’ll steal with the other!” He throws his arms out in gesture to you, damning you.

There’s a murmur of agreement, every casting you a distrustful look as if you could be stealing again as they speak. You try to stand as meekly as you can, but it seems to make things worse, if possible.

Everyone is speaking over each other, demanding justice, but you don’t think they even know for what. The doors open but barely anyone notices, and in walks Mrs Duncan’s nephew. He takes in the sight of the crowd and catches sight of you. You wonder if maybe he will speak in your defence, if he’ll tell anyone that Johnny will be expecting you back in his room in the keep, and if you aren’t there, but rather dangling from a rope, then he may be more than a little upset.

He says nothing, but gives you a long look before he stays in the doorway, foot holding it open. Shoulder against the frame as he watches the room. No one gives him a second glance, too caught up in their own rabble.

You stand there, and let them yell at each other, deciding your fate. Only stirring when you are grabbed again, and spun around. You are facing the pulpit the wrong way now, back to the crowd. You only have a moment to wonder what it is that they are planning to do, before your hands are braced on the box, and someone must rear their hand back and the strike of a whip slices down your back.

Even through the wool covering and the fabric of your dress and shift, it is a sharp sting that slices into your skin. You shriek, try to dart away, or turn around, but there are hands on your wrists, holding you to the stand and the whip cracks against your back again.

You feel each leather tongue of it lick its sting on your back, quickly following with an agony that settles into the muscle and has you arching as if to get away from it. You think about the man in your village, how his back had been carved into, flesh ripped open as they did this on his bare back. You cannot even imagine, even as a lesser version happens to you. An extra step of pain, like a new colour that hasn’t been invented yet.

You can hear them chanting for someone to rip open the back of your dress, they want to see the whip slice down into the bone. They want blood, want it to cleanse you. The heat of a body  at your side, fingers digging into the back of your dress as if to make this reality. The rip of fabric, the cheer of the crowd as the untouched skin of your back is exposed, ready for the kill.

Everything is stopped with a bellow at the door. You know it’s Johnny, and relief sags in your knees before a different type of fear takes its place. “What the fuck is goin’ on here?” Johnny shouts, and he must be shoving people out of the way if the scuffle you hear is any indication.

The hands on your wrists are gone. You turn around to catch sight of Johnny, cracking his fist across the face of the man with the whip. The two men who had been holding you in place seem to be trying to get past as they see what their future has in store. You see them back away, stumbling into a pew and freezing as they watch Johnny rear his hand back again.

You blink tears out of your eyes and watch as most of the village floods out of the chapel, some staying and watching in horror. Johnny has the man who whipped you flat on his back, Johnny’s fist crushing into the delicate skin of his face over and over again, until there is nothing recognizable about him.

The sound of sobbing jolts you back to yourself, as you realise it is not your own. “Johnny - Johnny stop it!” You shout, falling forward and catching Johnny’s hand as he rears back to swing again. He shakes you off, forcing you back and into a pew which shrieks as it scrapes against stone. That sound seems to shake Johnny somewhat out of it, and he puffs, trying to catch his breath.

“Get him out of here,” he growls, forcing himself up and leaving the man on the ground. The man gurgles a little from what may be his mouth, blood frothing a little. You can’t look away from it, horrified. The justice for those Englishmen had been death and there had been something kind in that. This man doesn’t seem able to breathe, his nose crushed and flattened.

A couple of villagers scoop him up and cart him out, scuffling as they try to move as quickly as they can. The chapel is quiet besides the sound of breathing when the door finally swings shut at last.

Johnny stares at you, face still. You expect him to start on you next, maybe grab you and shake you around some. It’s frightening, how he just watches you, a faint twitch in his eye. The terrible urge to apologise sits in your throat but you swallow it down. You feel like you have been caught doing something wrong, even though you were just trying to get home.

“Vicar Jamie,” Johnny finally says, voice raw. His white shirt is stained in blood again, shifting down his chest and exposing the hair that grows there. You remember the bath from yesterday and flush, turning your head to who he is speaking to in order to distract your mind. A small, stout man, very haggard looking but dressed in Catholic finery stands near the doorway.

“Johnny, my boy, let us reconvene on this tomorrow, perhaps, give us some time to clean ourselves up,” the vicar tries to interject, but Johnny turns on him with such a veracity that has him shrinking.

“Now,” is all Johnny snaps out, mouth pulled back in a snarl that shows all of his teeth. His right hand drips red, a warning in itself.

The vicar nods, fumbles with his hands for a moment before he makes his way to the front of the chapel, neatly arcing around the smear of blood next to Johnny’s feet.

Johnny’s gaze returns to you, hot on your face. You hold your dress up on your chest, feel the cold air hit your back that has you shivering. His gaze holds no pity for you, and after a moment you glare right back at him.

The vicar shifts the stand that you had been shackled to, to the side and takes its place, avoiding your eye. Mrs Duncan’s nephew, who had stood at the door, takes a seat in the askew pew, face still as he watches you. A witness you realise, and a kick like a startled hare almost sends you tearing down the aisle.

Johnny’s hand on your upper arm catches you before you can seriously begin to run, yanks you into place.

A moment taken out of a play. You and Johnny, side by side. Your back exposed out of your ripped dress, a scared vicar who won’t look you in the face and a witness to your humiliation. Blood, cooling on the stone a step behind you, coating Johnny’s hands and his clothes.

You lean too far out of Johnny’s hold and you feel the tightening of his fist and you return to your place.

It's a sad affair, the vicar stumbling over his words as he binds the two of you together. Johnny is a barely controlled rage next to you, you can feel the shake of his fingers on your arm, squeezing and letting go, over and over. You don’t even have the official binding ceremony, the fabric that should tie your wrists together, the prick of blood. The vicar pauses as if to consider this, but quickly skirts past this as well. Likely, too much blood for a wedding ceremony already.

The vicar has barely finished before Johnny is snapping at him to get out. It’s a quick escape, a puff of air in your ear as he darts past you, Mrs Duncan’s nephew following shortly behind. The door snaps shut, fate sealed.

“What are you doing here?” Johnny asks, hot air huffing out of his mouth into your face.

You keep quiet, silenced in the face of his true anger. Before you had argued, snapped at Johnny, here is the first instance of genuine fear you have felt because of him. The anger he has that led to the murder of men who had hurt you, perhaps pointed at yourself for the first time. You wonder if he’s going to wrap his hands around your throat, squeeze like he seems to want to. There is a strange sensation of vulnerability, knowing your back is exposed even though it is hidden from Johnny’s view.

His hands come up and you flinch, missing the growl of frustration that comes out of him as they settle on your shoulders and wrestle you forward into your chest. “Why did they do this to you?” he asks, palms against your collarbone. The wrest of control, firmly in his hands.

You can’t look him in the eye, settle your eye-line on his clavicle again. The smooth skin, hidden in the dip of his throat. The itch from that horse ride - a lifetime ago - reawakens and you lift your hand, curl your finger in there. Feel the vibration as he grunts, feel the dip of his harsh swallow. Your name calls your attention. You look up, his eyes are dark, mad, even. You give into his tyranny. “I was trying to take a horse,” you admit. His nostrils flare, anger cracking across his face and you just barely stop yourself from flinching back from it. “I’m sorry,” you add, pathetic. Escape plan ruined before it even really started, you have nothing left to be prideful about.

He shudders, lowering his head to yours, the gulf of space now swallowed up with his proximity. You let out a meek sound when his forehead hits against yours, like he wants the bone to touch. “An’ Ah was out, findin’ us a priest to marry us, and you were tryin’ tae sneak out while m’back was turned,” he hisses out, hands clenching on your collarbone again, muscle and bone grinding against each other. You blink up at him, resigned to your fate. You felt the bite of teeth days ago, and had spent all of this time trying to hide from it. But, the stench of blood sticks and you must now reckon with it.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Feel all of it, the drag of emotions as they sweep through. The mare out in the stables had been a lifeline and when you were dragged away, you felt it like the loss of Ian all over again. Leaving him behind had been one thing, but every attempt to get back has been a lesson in humility since.

You are a human, in the wraps of terror left by a god. Swallowing a cry that lingers in the back of your throat like a sickness, you hesitantly tilt your head back and nudge your nose against Johnny’s. He freezes, hands going still. A breath, shared between the two of you. Here is that smack of flesh after the fall, a day late, but now it registers. It was likely even before he woke you up with his mouth on the back of your neck. A lion lying with its mouth open, you were halfway down his gullet before you even noticed where you were.

Your husband now, you think, half-crazed, before you inhale his breath and press your mouth hesitantly to his. It’s clumsy, you only half know what you’re doing but he presses forward with a hunger that almost has you reeling back again. Johnny is a man to be offered an inch and takes a mile, his hands on the back of your head, pressing you closer to him even as he leans in.

You only half know how to kiss him, but you barely get a chance to learn before he is pressing your mouth open with his. Barely a moment to gasp in a breath before his tongue is against yours, slick and invasive.

You stumble back, still holding your dress up with your hands before you stumble into a pew. He pulls back for a moment and you barely manage his name before he’s picking you up and thudding down to his knees, dragging you down with him.

The cold stone sends a wave of cold through you that has you keening away from it and into the warmth of Johnny’s chest. He lets go of your head and it thuds against the ground, his arms worming around your back, skating past the ripped open seams of your dress and onto the bare skin of your back. He moans, deep and wanton into the curve of your chin, gives you a quick nip there before he drops his head into the crook of your neck.

“I’ve been so patient, wanted it tae be right between us, angel, didnae want to ruin us,” he groans, hands greedy on the bare skin of your back. “But, it’s alright now, I’ve done it right, jus’ let me -”

He barely seems able to finish a thought, tugging your dress down, dragging your torn slip and underskirts with it. He barely manages, as unwilling as he is to get off of you as he does it, so they end up pooled around your waist, nipples pebbling in the cold. He coos down at your chest, pinching one of your nipples meanly until you hiccup.

“Johnny, can’t we go back to the Keep, I won’t run again, I swear,” you start, feeling overwhelmed tears start to prick in your eyes. You don’t want it to be like this, on the cold floor of an unfamiliar parish. You aren’t sure of the technicalities of what comes next, your father hadn’t been forthcoming when he was alive, and your brother refused to say, always deeming it unladylike to ask. You knew it was something frightening, and heard some of the women describe their husbands as beasts during the act. You know how the animals look as they do it, saw the rutting of a stallion in a mare once, how she had shrieked as she was mounted.

“You were the one tae drag yerself out here,” Johnny points out, half-muttering to himself. He gnaws on your collarbone before he gives you a sucking kiss there. “Ye’ve made yer bed, sweetheart.”

He shifts himself up onto his knees and lifts your ankles up, yanks your skirts and dress down, tossing them over his shoulder with barely a glance. You’ve been bare in front of him before, not even a day ago, but this feels different. He looms over you, eyes dark as they seem to take in every inch of you. The stone beneath your back is cold, leaving gooseflesh all over you as it steals your heat.

He splits your legs across his lap and you jump, hand trying to reach down to cover the apex of your thighs but he catches your wrists in one of his hands, transfixed with his gaze between your legs. “There she is, oh angel, she’s so beautiful,” he murmurs, a thumb reaching down to pull the seam of you further apart, something that has you squirming in shame. “Knew ye would have such a sweet cunt, so pretty.”

“Don’t look down there, it’s unseemly,” you protest, voice weak. Your thighs clench with the need to close but you only end up squeezing your knees on his waist.

“All mine,” he continues to mutter, thumb coming up to round over the top of your sex, a feeling like a curling heat in your stomach starting up. It has you jumping, hare kicking out its legs before a hand soothes over its ears, pins them down. Your reaction seems to gratify him, has him rubbing his thumb until it’s almost mean, eyes hot on you for even the smallest reaction. You start to whine, deep in your chest, the feeling just on this side of just too much.

“Johnny, Johnny, please,” you sob, barely understanding what it is that you are pleading for. 

He lets up, petting down to your entrance which you can feel flutter at the press of his fingers. He pushes and you feel his finger push into you, a whine coming out of you like a wounded animal. He pants, not even blinking as he watches it, barely pausing before he’s pushing in a second finger, which almost has you bucking him off. He shushes you, half distracted by the sight of your cunt swallowing his fingers and leaving them shining. “So good, angel, so good,” he mutters. You hate that the praise has you trying to swallow down any of your complaints.

He lets go of your wrists and they lie, useless across your belly. Still watching his fingers move in you, his other hand tugs over the sash his kilt has made over his chest, yanking on it until it unravels and it is also tossed to the side. Lifting your knee to press a clumsy kiss to the side of it, he lets it drop again and pulls his hand away from your sex with a mournful noise and pulls off his white shirt.

Now that both of you are naked, Johnny seems to get quicker, breath coming fast. He quickly hitches your legs further up his waist and drags you closer to him. Stone scrapes at your back and you hiss, which he barely acknowledges with a quick kiss to the underside of your breast.

He drags his hand up your slit and gathers the slick that has gathered there, and slides that over his cock, moaning with his mouth hanging open as he looks at you beneath him. “Been dreaming o’ this, bonnie. Knew it was you, was always you,” he murmurs, smoothing his other hand over the curve of your hip, as if memorising the shape of you by hand. “Nothing wrong wae it now, jus’ the two o’ us, always, always.”

He braces one of his hands just over your shoulder, the other to guide his cock to your sex and notches it against your hole. It looks monstrous, now that you can bring yourself to properly look at it. Nothing like the faint sight of it you had seen in the Bible once, the mushroom head is red as Johnny pulls back skin to expose it. He intends to push it inside you, just as he did his fingers, but the head of it looks to thick to manage it.

“Johnny, it’s not going to fit,” you start to say, but that just makes Johnny groan and shush you, giving you a squeeze on the hip.

“Of course it will, angel, ye were made fer me,” he tells you, and you can see the pull of muscle in his bicep as he starts to push.

For a moment, you think that you’re right, it’s not going to. But, then, you can see the give of muscle, the parting of flesh and see yourself swallow the head as a tremor runs through you. A strange, foreign feeling. It feels half-invasive, as he pushes into you, the rest of you transfixed by the furrow of his brow as he watches the parting of your flesh around him.

“Oh, oh fuck, angel, oh shit,” he curses, continuing the slow guide into you until you feel it stop, as if you cannot take anymore. 

“Johnny,” you sob, looking back down to see only half of him is inside of you. “Johnny, take it out, I can’t -”

“The best cunt ever, the prettiest girl, fer me, all fer me, oh angel,” he rambles, eyes rolling back into his head as he shifts his hips. Pulls out of you just enough to push back in. You whimper with it, as he tries to grind even more of himself into you.

It's not working, leaving you sniffling beneath him until he grunts in frustration and brings his thumb to your clit and starts to work you in little circles.

His other hand hoists your thigh further up his waist, and he catches sight of your teary expression. Forces what must be an attempt at a soothing smile but all you can see is the clench of his jaw, the sharp edge of his teeth. You wonder if he likes the look of the pinch of your brow, the part of your mouth as you start to loosen up just a little. Even the few tears that drip down your temples. His hand on your hip smears blood into your skin, but you barely notice, trying to catch your breath.

“There we go, c’mon jus’ relax, honey, make it good, there we are,” he coaxes you, a tendon throbbing in his throat. His thumb on your sex makes everything a little slicker and more of him disappears into you, until he finally bottoms out, his thighs pressed flush against the back of yours.

A whine escapes you, painful and high and you cling to Johnny’s chest, coarse hair scratching at your palms. “Johnny,” you start again, unable to look down at yourself again, see the ugly stretch of yourself around Johnny. Everything throbs, you can feel him in your lungs, buried deep and irrevocable now.

Johnny is out of it, both his hands brace over your shoulders now, a tremble in his broad shoulders. You can see the white of his eyes, unreachable, as he groans long and drawn out. “The tightest cunt, knew ye would be so sweet fer me, dreamt of this, of you,” he rambles, pulling his hips back just enough to snap them back into you.

“I can't,” you stammer, but he just shakes his head roughly at you, beyond words. Braces himself on his knees and starts to grind against you. Pulls himself out and then pushes back in. It's a strange sort of pleasure. The stretch of flesh smarting a little before the clumsy rhythm starts to warm you up. Sweat slicks your back until the stone beneath you is warm with the fever spreading through you.

Johnny seems to come back to himself for a moment, thumb dropping back down to the peak of your sex, roughly rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. The pinnacle of the male body, all dark hair and rippling muscles, all bearing down on you. You can see the tense of muscle triangulating at his abdomen, flexing with each thrust into you.

He quickly seems to forget about you, hand dropping away in favour of sliding around to the small of your back and hitching you up. Your hands scramble for purchase, clinging to his forearms as both his hands keep only your shoulders against the ground.

“Johnny, no, don’t,” you protest, mouth opening on a shaky breath out as his thrust into you feels dirtier like this. You catch sight of the altar, the smooth wood built by holy men at their parish. Blasphemous, to consummate like this in here, Johnny makes it filthy, something that you imagine must be wrong even as you start to twitch your hips towards his thrusts, wanting it.

Your protests just make Johnny groan, your hips still propped up on his thighs, but he bends his torso down to press against yours. His head against your clavicle, you can feel the sweat building on his forehead smear against your skin. “Yeah, Ah’m a dirty man, aren’t I, sweetheart?” he asks you, biting at the side of your breast before broadly licking at your nipple, both of you whining together when that makes you clench around him.

Everything is slick, you can hear a wet sound as he works between your thighs and you want to cringe, ashamed even as you barely understand. You can hardly think, a fever in you that is spreading, but Johnny is burning even hotter. You slide your hands up to his biceps and cling to the hard muscle there as he thrusts into you.

Breathy sounds are punched out of you, punctuated with each collision of Johnny forcing himself deeper into you. It's lewd, the smack of flesh, but you feel hazy, dreamlike. Johnny continues rambling above you, his mouth working, the scratch of his beard across the soft skin between your breasts, but you can barely hear him.

There is a rising heat within you, and it spreads like disease through you, muddying your thoughts until you tilt your head back. Dig your temple into stone as if to try and grind your mind back into your body.

You’re wrestled back into yourself, Johnny refusing to let you look anywhere else. You understand why those women described their husbands as animals. Johnny is a huffing beast above you, slavering over you he gives and takes, over and over until you are senseless.

He stills, groans deep in his chest, his forehead resting on your chest, and you feel the twitch and sudden heat of him spending himself inside of you. The fever stills and festers in you, leaving you feeling itchy. Johnny snaps his hips a few more times, then drags it out, lazy as his mouth drools into your skin. Stills inside you, but you feel high-strung, still too tense.

Your hands twitch, fingernails catching against taut skin. Johnny huffs, amused but breathless. “I’ve got you, m’girl, so greedy, eh?”

You have half a mind to protest, he's the one who’s swallowed you whole, not the other way around. But your mouth opens and nothing but a choked whine spills out when his hand drops down to your sex again and works you over.

Still buried so deep, every flex is different like this, Johnny groaning his agreement into your sweaty skin. “Johnny, Johnny, please - !” You beg, legs kicking out as your vision gets blurry, and suddenly your back bows, a sob bursting out. A fresh slick of liquid around Johnny, and he thrusts lightly, half-soft now, whining at the overstimulation of it.

He keeps going until you start to squirm too much, almost launching yourself across the floor and he stops, laughing into the curve of your breast, still half whining to himself. He smooths his hand up your thigh and to the curve of your backside. You can feel the wetness of his fingers, but you feel too dazed to be too embarrassed of it.

“Knew ye’d be so good,” Johnny murmurs, squeezing at your backside. You hum, bone deep exhaustion dragging you down. You lift a hand up and drag it into his hair. He melts, his weight digging you further into the floor.

You become aware of the sopping wet beneath your thighs, wincing as you shift your hips and feel wetness slide down and join the sweat that you have left on the stone. Sweat cools in the divot of your throat, the small of your back, sticking between you and Johnny. The length of his body pressed against you, hard muscle against the soft give of your skin. He seems to like it, a hand squeezing at the give of your arse, the other smoothing over whatever flesh you have left to give him.

“We should get up,” you murmur, your chin on the crown of his head. He huffs like a lazy dog, but after a moment where you think he isn’t going to get up at all, he finally starts to shift with a sigh.

Johnny reaches between your thighs and pulls himself out of you, you wince at the stretch, watch with morbid interest at the white shine left behind, caught in the hair that covers the base of his cock. Johnny is equally as enthralled with what he’s made of your cunt and it’s only when your thighs squeeze shut that he shakes his head and stands. He gives you a firm pat on the backside before he hoists you up, a mean laugh at your squeak. “C’mon, up we go, lassie,” he says, teasing and light. He seems fond now, still a little more harsh than you want him to be, but he nudges his head against yours again, a mimic of how you were as you were joined. “Nothin’ between us, now, ehh?” he adds, blue eyes digging into yours.

His nose nudges against yours, your skin buzzes with the remnants of his touch. There is no stone left unturned, everything split apart under Johnny’s hands. Ripe fruit, ripped open and left to rot.

“Nothing,” you echo, and he smiles like the sun. There is man’s blood on his right hand and you can smell the metal of it when he cups your face and brings his mouth back to yours. A clash of teeth as you bite back even as you are swallowed up.

“Let’s go home,” Johnny murmurs, pulling back with a slick noise as your lips separate. You don’t think you know where that is, but you let him gather your skirts back up to half cover you before he gives you his kilt and fastens it around you. Damning, to wear the red of the Mactavish clan. The final nail in this coffin, solidifying who you are now.

Cerberus is outside, pawing at the ground and snapping his teeth at any of the villagers who get too close. Before you are ushered onto the saddle and away, you catch sight of the mare you had been about to escape on. Your bag of your belongings from home sits abandoned in a heap next to the stable. Your spare cloak, your spare shift. The last remnants of home.

It is all swallowed up as Johnny stands in front of you. You let him hoist you up and you curl into him as he slots into place behind you. The world is caught around the edge of Johnny’s shoulder, filtered through into your vision.

Cerberus starts a slow canter back to the Keep, and you dig your forehead into Johnny’s collarbone. Every step takes you further from your land. Johnny’s hand on the curve of your tummy, his chin on the crown of your head. There is a bottomless feeling in your stomach, but Johnny smooths his hand over your belly and catches it in the palm of his hand.

[witherby]

I love your Littlest Wayne AU! I've binge read pretty much everything twice by now. Poor Bruce.

I keep thinking of when Littlest Wayne learned to walk. Like, Imagine Damian or Jason had to leave for something and got up, and LW was like we aren't done here and stumbles to their feet. Then the whole Batfam watches as LW walk up and hugs their leg so they can't escape. Or Bruce can get a rare W and they were following him.

We rag on Bruce so much in the Littlest Wayne au I feel like he actually deserves this win.

You're in the day room turned play room. You're crawling around so fast. You're zippin and zoomin. You're drive-by chomping on Bruce's ankles. It's a beautiful day.

Bruce is making a game of it. Kind of. By god he is so tired of teeth marks in his ankles. Anyway he walks a couple feet away to another part of the room. He waits. You come zoomin. You attack!!!!!

He walks another couple feet away to another part of the room. He waits. You come zoomin. You attack!!!!

He walks another couple feet, and then keeps walking because you're not done!!!!! Here comes Flittermouse with the baby teeth!!!!!!! It's time to chow the fuck down!!!!!!!!!!

Baby you are getting tired. Your dad needs to accept his fate already, and your teeth hurt. You need his good good flesh to gnaw on.

You huff and babble at him, making grabby hands. Bruce smiles and shakes his head. You make grabby hands harder. He refuses!!!! Betrayal!!!!

Rage overcomes you. You release a war cry that sounds like an excited baby squealing, which it's not. But don't get it twisted, your dad should be cowering in his slippers right now, not pulling out his phone to snap pictures of you.

Enough!! If Daddy gets to use his stupid long legs to walk away, you get to use yours to chase him! The time of rug burn on your hands and knees is coming to and end! You will strike fear into his heart as you launch yourself at him!!!!

Bruce coos and takes a video of you clumsily pulling yourself to your feet on the edge of the small, coloring table.

"Is it happening? Are you gonna try to walk? Look at you go!"

You release another happy squeal war cry and launch yourself at your foe. One step! Two steps! Another one step because you don't know your numbers yet!!! Perhaps another two step if you're feeling froggy!!!!! GET THOSE ANKLES READY DAD!!!!!

Gravity, your greatest enemy, topples your conquest four and a half steps in. You plop to the floor and Bruce makes a sympathetic "uh oh!" from across the room. It's time to employ your last-ditch strategy and throw your cards down.

You make the motion for Uppies and start crying. Bruce sweeps you into his arms and you imMEDIATELY BITE HIS WRIST HAHAHAHAA!!!!!! The foolish fool!!!! That was the oldest trick in the book!!! You'd know that if you knew how to read, but still!!!! Victory!!!!!!!!

[elliesglock]

thoughts on tn's game:

-so that's what you call putting belt to ass btw!

-omg our offensive and defensive depth. i literally cheer.

-paige, sarah, and surprisingly kc masterclass. she just pulled that one out idek what i witnessed tn

-but getting kc to be more aggressive offensively is gonna be so huge for us. like she's a shooter and we know this getting her to be more confident and playing like this every night. so much potential

-like can we get azzi more touches? having the ball in ur hands and not passing it to azzi fudd is the work of the devil. not passing as much to azzi also puts a lot of strain on p as well bc obv she's gonna have 2-3 defenders on her when she shoots so maybe not passing it to her only would help a lot?? azzi has many defenders on her as well when she shoots they're both offensive powerhouses but! having both of them on the court at the same time is obviously going to create some mismatches for our opponents defense because obviously you can't contain BOTH azzi and paige.

-anyways what im trying to say is we need to have a better basketball iq, read, and know who to give it to in each possession.

-yall we are so lucky sarah committed to uconn. i thank god everyday. her being so unstoppable just makes our front court as beautiful as it was today

-ALSO JANA STEPPING IT UP? she moved me today ngl. she wasn't playing a whole bunch but im glad to see her getting some confidence and learning how not to foul.

-ice not moving me i fear. but she's not starting so ill hush. i love my girl tho, even when she's on one sometimes

-azzi dropped 30 in my mind so idec. but i think we don't appreciate her abilities on defense enough. she locks people up, picks their pockets, causes turnovers. my most beautiful complete and all around basketball player 💕

-i'm proud of paige. yall know me. im really seeing so many glimpses of her aggressiveness and it's making me so giddy. the best thing about her is that when she's hot offensively one night, it sets the tone for everyone around her. they weren't lying when they said she makes people around her better. also glimpses of hopkins p with those passes. i fell to my knees.

-wanna brag on mo and kk for a second. i love how they're organized on the bench. having them off the bench pretty soon is always gonna be a help for us. mo's ability from each side of the court is so mature and it's so put together for her only being a freshie. she is a little aggressive and can be a foul trouble risk but that's easy to fix. i love the way she's able to facilitate and set easy layups for our bigs. she impresses me every game. MY GIRL KK!!!!!! she's been showing out honey. she knows what her job is coming off the bench. how fast she is and how she gets to rim is so important to us. i'm glad she had to play a lot last year i think it made her so much better. another great facilitator and defensive player. like to see her shoot more three's but she'll get there. but eeeyup i love my team.

-overall, very proud of everyone today. they showed out and showed everyone they can be national champions. and we can if we play this smooth and together, my team will go so far 🙏

[liekjevenderheurn]

We don't shift to another reality after entering the void (unless intended for reality shifting ofc)

This is my personal belief, I am open for discussion in the comment section and in my dms, but stay respectful pls🥺

Now let me explain my reason for thinking this.

Now unless these void posts are all fake successes, I think going to the void does not necessarily bring you to a new reality since I have been following people on here and after some time, some of them said they reached the void (how can I read this if they are in a different reality?).

Besides this, I think that the void is the ultimate source of everything. Therefore it is also the source between all realities and you can just manifest things for your current one. YOU ARE THE BOSS. You get to decide everything, including in which reality what happens.

(These were my main points incase you do not have time to read the whole thing)

Like in one of my other posts, I have experienced people manifesting for me or even that I would text them. That this worked for them on me honestly blowed my mind, but there was also this account that I followed with this post. Now I saw she asked for this, someone gave her the sigil, the manifestation worked and we were still in the same reality for me to see that it worked.

Some people say when you manifest, you go to another reality in which you already have it. Yet a lot of post I have seen, I saw old post where they did not have it and after they manifested it, they had it. If that reality already had this manifestation, why do I see a post where they stated to not have that manifestation in that same reality. (hope this sense)

I know some people believe we shift every second when we make a choice, but my quantum physics of high school explained it was not really about us humans making different choices but the molecule parts acting randomly (which could create different realities but this is ofc impossible to prove). Besides this, like if I want ice cream I always take the lemon flavor over the chocolate because I like it more, your choices are based on who you are and your past experiences. Choices that you make do not have a 50-50% chance.

Looking at things Ive learned from being in the shifting community, unless you succesfuly permashift, you will go back to what they call your cr (current reality). I believe you go back there because you still have some attachments to it, this is also a reason why I think for the most time you stay in the same reality.

Anyway, it is really difficult to prove anything so take this with a grain of salt, this is just my perspective :P.

PS: this is also a reason why I believe that the void state pact could work and is not limited by shifting

Have a great day❤️

Small update on 23-01-2025:

I made this post after being called thoughtless again for my pact idea. Now I wanted to show people my perspective and why I thought the shifting realities is not the thing that happens when you manifest (actually, I really just wanted to prove that I am not unbelievably stupid and thoughtless hahaha). I have my reasons which I am trying to explain in my posts and it is alright if you still hold on to your belief, but there is no need to attack anyone for having another one.

Now besides the comment section, a few of my friends dm'ed me with some new perspectives which I thought were beautiful:

This was based on research on beliefs in the older days.

There are many spiritualists on youtube who talk about this, everything and everyone being one.

This was based on Neville Goddard and other Neville Goddard succcess stories.

A lot of you have seen also the posts of where the creator does believe in shifting your reality. There are many different opinions on reality which are hard to prove, yet a lot of them are valid. Again, I'm just sharing my perspective, you get to decide what you believe:)

[hannamoon143]

You drew stars around my scars ✮⋆˙

Life is hard. Some people don't know how to cope with that. Some people just try to feel mentally better by causing physical pain instead. How ironical, isn't it? Oh but bless you, that lee felix is in your life. Because this man never misses a thing.⋆｡°✩

Genre:Angst,Hurt/comfort

Warnings:Sh,a bit childhood trauma, Depression, Crying, mentions of food,mentions of bad eating habits

Lee felix x fem.Reader

Words: 3,9k

a/n: hey everyone<33 To write this fic brought me some comfort too, and it's healing me a bit more everytime i can use my own experiences,emotions and thoughts to write something that comforts others too, and relate to y/n a lot. And i know i'm not the only one, so i hope this can bring everyone that reads it a bit comfort. And pls always remember what of a beautiful person you are. Hurting yourself is never ever the only solution. If you need someone to talk, reach out to someone, anyone, also me if you don't have anyone. I'd rather have literally any person cry for hours in my arms, or vent to me in my dm's than have them hurt their own bodies, that always supports them. Everything felix says in that fic is true, and they r my own thoughts about this. I love you all, take care of yourselves.<3

Depression takes a lot from you. It takes your motivation, productivity, the will to socialize, and your happiness. It’s unfair isn’t it? Little, happy children become tired, broken adults.

People always think depression is something where you sit in your bed the whole day and cry. Well that is half true. Yes, there are days like that, but that’s far not everything. The worst are those dull days, when you feel entirely numb, but your life has to go on anyways. No joy in your heart, and no tears in your eyes. Just a big nothing in your mind.

After a while you figure it out though. It’s always those numb episodes, until every emotion you thought didn’t exist the days before, crashes down on you. And it’s overwhelming. Every.single.time.

But what if you’d find something that could ‚help‘ you? Something that brought you pain and relief at the same time? That made you feel alive, in the numb episodes and distracted you from the pain in the days where you broke down? The price was just your beautiful skin, and blood...

A problem was though, once you’d start, it would be very hard to stop again. But why should you anyways? Why should you stop when it was the only thing seemingly bringing you comfort for some short time?

It started off by you, picking at your skin absimendtly whenever you felt anxious, or when you just didn’t pay attention. It felt relieving. It was the burning pain when you scatched on your skin so hard it was slightly bloody, making you feel like your feelings actually mattered. And then that one night. That night everything crashed down on you. Your friends wanted nothing to do with you anymore, the few you had before, cut contact. You couldn’t even be mad at them. Who wouldn’t be annoyed by someone who constantly cancelled plans, and gave off a „depressing, annoying attitude“? Well these were their words. Oh but you saw it coming. All the overthinking in the middle of the night, those worst case scenarios, they had come true.

And your family? You never had a healthy relationship with them. So now, that you were grown up, the contact was almost entirely dead. And yeah, there was your boyfriend felix, but you’d never burden him with your problems. He already had enough on his mind with the world tour and all the new released albums, of the band he was in.

And that was it. No one there that you could reach out to, no one to comfort you, when your heart and mind were breaking into millions of glass splitters. Every person reaches their breaking point someday. And that day was yours. You remembered the night clearly. You were sitting on the bathroom floor, crying out all the emotion you had been holding in for too long. You had no friends anymore. No family. And pretty sure soon no boyfriend too. Nothing to hold onto.

Then you reached out to a drawer. You didn’t really register what you were doing as you took it out. A simple, silver blade. A little cut on your wrist. A line of crimson red blood on your skin.

At first you were terrified. What had you done? Why weren’t you affected by the stinging pain on your wrist, and the blood building in the small cut? Why did it in fact feel good? And then you decided to try it again, just to answer those questions right?

That’s where it started.

You knew you had depression. But going to a therapist? You were scared, probably too lazy, and you could never tell all your problems to a complete stranger. And most of all you didn’t want felix to worry either. He was the only one left, and soon he would surely leave too. He was the sweetest, sunny person on this earth, he deserved someone that matched his energy, and wasn’t so… hard to love.

Every single task felt like a hard, impossible chore. Getting out of your bed felt like doing the unbelievable. Doing the most simple things like showering, or brushing your teeth seemed so far away, that you could only master them on your best days. Some days, you went to work, did everything you had to, with a straight, stoic face. That was until you came home, laid into your bed, and silent tears would build wet spots on your pillow.

But somedays, even crying seemed too overwhelming. All you could do was lay in your dark room, staring at the wall. It was just the darkness and you, and somewhere in your mind, a voice whispering that it would help to cut...

And then there were these rare days, on which you felt almost too overwhelmed. It were those days you came home, and added another scar to the gallery of them on your arms. You questioned your life on these days. Because truly, you didn’t see a reason why you should be here right now. No, you weren’t proud of it. But who was there to stop you? Why should you quit if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now? When it was only the stinging pain who could make you slip out of the monotone haze in your mind, for at least a little bit time.

But it would be stupid to assume felix didn’t notice something was off. Lee felix was a pure person. Someone who could make even the rainiest days shine bright. And he cared about the people he loved more than anything else.

When you started cancelling plans it was already alarming for him. You were someone who never cancelled plans with him. You were usually a happy person, someone who made jokes that were actually funny. Someone who made him laugh with your little quirks, that he noticed over time. Someone who comforted him when he felt bad. And most of all you were the most excited person when you two would meet up. You never missed to tell him how much you loved him, that he was your happy person, and your comfort person.

That was before

Before suddenly everything stopped. He rarely got to see your beautiful face now anymore. You took a long time to respond to his texts, and when you did, they were short, and dry. This didn’t feel like you. Felix knew you. And that wasn’t you. This wasn’t the happy girl he met. And he surely wasn’t planning on letting things go like this forever. Something wasn’t right. And no matter what you said or did, to try and get away from him, and shut everything out, he would stay by your side. He would find out what was wrong and do everything possible in this world to make you feel like yourself again.

It was another day today. Another number on the calendar. You stopped looking at it. It didn’t matter anyways. Those were just numbers on paper, and they would never change anything. So you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling even heavier than usual. Like a zombie you just quickly got dressed, not even registering what you were wearing, and drank a mug of coffee. It would make you feel a bit more awake for at least a few hours. Eating breakfast had become impossible in the last few weeks. You were barely eating anything the whole day, to be honest. Sometimes, you just couldn’t stand up and make yourself something. But most times, you just didn’t feel hungry.

You went your usual way to work. At the bus, you took a short glance at your phone. You used to be on your phone a lot for the silliest things, but now you hated it. You hated the brightness, and that everytime you looked at it you had to interact with others. And the worst was, it remdinded you of what you had lost. The spark you had in your eyes on photos from a long time ago.

Something popped up on the screen

A message from felix. Of course. He messaged you every single day. You couldn’t ignore him, no matter how shitty felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him. So you opened it.

Hey sunshine<3How are you today? I thought of maybe grabbing some takeout and watching a movie together tonight, since i have off early! I’ll even let you pick one of those cheesy romcoms you love so much. Love u^^

You sighed. He was still so sweet, so caring, when he should be really annoyed, right? His girlfriend was a walking zombie, why didn’t he already break up with you?

Hey lix, sorry no time today.

Then you quickly put your phone away. You couldn’t stand thinking of his lips turning into that sad pout, when he’d read your answer. But you couldn’t meet him. You didn’t care how stubborn that was, but you wouldn’t let him see you like this. He would see right through you, and get you to tell him what was wrong.

You stopped making excuses someday. Who even cared? Sooner or later he’d leave, just like your friends. No lame excuses would matter then. Someone like you was unlovable. And that would never change.

As felix read your response he sighed.

That was enough. He wouldn’t let your relationship carry on like that. He wouldn’t let you carry on like that. Something was clearly wrong and he wouldn’t stand so far away and watch you slowly shut down from the entire world. Not anymore. Tonight he would come to your apartment, if you wanted to or not.

You didn’t remember what you did throughout the day. When you tried to recall it, there were only hazy memories, covered in a grey, thick fog. You didn’t even remember how you came home. Everything just happened. Now, you were walking through your apartment door, kicking off your shoes and coat. With a deep sigh, you dragged yourself to the bathroom. You shut the door, immediately sinking down on the floor. You were exhausted. More than that. The past days, or maybe even weeks you had held everything in more than usual. You felt like passing out right then and there, on the cold bathroom tiles. But there was something else. You knew that feeling. When you would have spent too many days in numbness, then at one point, every emotion, everything you thought wasn’t there before, creeps up in your throat from the depths of your soul. You feel the grieve, the sadness, the anger, the guilt, every single emotion crashing down on you at once. And then you can’t stop it anymore.

Tears started to well up in your eyes, and you pulled your knees up for a bit comfort.

These were the moment you hated the most, besides the numbness. Being numb is uneblievably tiring, but when all the feelings, everything comes up at once, that is even worse. You never knew how to deal with your emotions well. When you were a kid you never got the chance to express emotions. Crying was not allowed. If you did, you’d hear „ Stop it, or i’ll give you a reason to cry.“ If you screamed or hit out of anger you’d get punished in some way. Only a polite smile was, what was allowed to show on the outside, what to show to other people. That was probably part of the reason why you’d grown into a person who had these unhealthy, shitty habits, instead of expressing and coping with their emotions well.

You knew you should just let it pass. Endure these feelings. Maybe text someone to try and distract yourself. But somehow, you always went back to drowning out emotions with physical pain. You took the sharp blade from the bathroom drawer, your hands going unbelievable shaky like they always did when you took it out. You only started to cry more. You hated that you did it. You hated that you were a person that couldn’t handle their own feelings like a responsible adult, and had to shut them out with self harming instead. And still you did it again and again. You hated the way your arm looked when you put your sleeve up now. White lines from old cvts. Slightly reddish ones from some that happened some time ago. And those brightred ones. Reminders of not too long ago. They made you so angry. Reminding you of who you were. Of what you were.

So you decided to look away. You just put the blade to your wrist, looking at the blank bathroom wall. It was already so familiar, you knew where it would hurt the most without even looking.

Felix was searching around his apartment for that gray hoodie you wanted to have everytime you saw him wearing it. Maybe it would cheer you a bit up. As he finally found it, he grabbed the brownies he had made for you earlier, and his keys, heading out his apartment, to head to yours instead.

He started his car. It was a short drive so there was not much time for thinking. But there were some thoughts in the back of his head. Wasn’t he overstepping? You clearly didn’t want to see him, maybe you were also just annoyed?

But felix shook those voices off. He knew you. He had known you for years, and this wasn’t you. He had to do this.

And then he was already at your apartment. Slowly he got out of the car, taking the things, and started to walk up the stairs.

Soon he was in front of your door. Should he knock? He knew where your spare key was but he didn’t want to be respectless. So he softly knocked on the door.

„Y/n? It’s me, felix. I know you didn’t want to meet, but… i was worried. Can we talk please, my love?“

He waited for a minute. But there was no answer. Maybe you really weren’t at home? He decided to just try it. To his surprises the door was unlocked. That meant you were home, but also why would you let your door stay unlocked? He sighed, and locked it from the inside. He quietly took off his shoes, and put them on the side. Yours were scattered messily on the floor, and your coat too. Usually you hated when something in your apartment wasn’t organized. Maybe you were in a hurry before. He went into the kitchen, wich was dark, putting the brownies on the counter. „Y/n?“ he softly called out again. Still no answer.

But there, suddenly he heard something. A quiet, mumbling or...crying? His brows furrowed and he tried to follow the sound. There. In the bathroom. It seemed like you didn’t hear him calling you. At first he considered just going back to your kitchen and waiting there for you to come out, but when he heard another deep sob from you, he knew what to do. Whatever was going on right now, he wanted to be by your side. So he took a deep breath and opened the door.

„Y/N, what is g-“ His eyes widened in shock, and your head perked up immediately at the door clicking open, your gaze changing from surprise, to confusion, to somewhat realization and guilt. The sight in front of him horrified him. His beautiful, lovely girlfriend sat on the bathroom floor, her face red and puffy from crying, and a sharp blade in her hand. And your arm… How couldn’t he notice? He just stood there, in the door, staring at you.

You couldn’t read his face. Was he mad…? Of course he’d be mad. You quickly reacted as you got to your senses again. You jumped up, letting the blade fall, and a drop of blood dropping down on your white bathroom tiles.

„Felix…. I can explain, i h-haven’t, it’s not what it looks like o-okay? I’m okay, p-please i know you’re mad but-“

You got cut off. You couldnt’t even say anything more, because suddenly you were wrapped up tightly in your boyfriend’s comforting, warm embrace. You forgot how good a hug from him felt… And when you got a little glance at his face that was it. No anger, no twisted kind of any emotion against you. There was pure sympathy and love. When you also saw a tear rolling down his face, you couldn’t take it anymore. You buried your face in his neck, and let go. You sobbed uncontrollably, your arms and legs trembling so much, to the point your knees gave in, and felix slowly sank to the ground with you. Why did the cvts on your arms suddenly really hurt for the first time? He had you pulled on his lap, rocking you back and forth, stroking your hair gently. „Shhh, it’ll be alright. I’m here now, you are not alone.“

Good thirty minutes later, your sobbing had stopped, and only warm paths of tears remained on your cheeks. Felix lifted your head from his neck a bit, so he could look into your eyes. Though you had just cried your heart out, it was still the most mesmerizing pair of eyes he had seen in his life. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

„Let me treat those, okay?“ He simply said, glancing at your cuts.

He was gentle. He desinfected every single cut, apologizing every time you hissed at the sharp pain. Then he put some healing ointment on your fresh ones, and some at your older ones too. Then, with gentle, calm hands he bandaged your arms. He ended his treament with featherlight kisses on them. Then he got up, helping you up too. He had his hands on your side, his eyes on your face.

„Love…I won’t ever judge you, or get mad at you for anything, i hope you know that okay? I know that this is probably your way to cope with things, and i know that you know it’s not healthy. But it’s okay. Please just promise me, you will come to me instead of doing that, from now on hm? Everytime you want to do it you call me, text me, whatever. I’d rather have you crying in my arms for hours, venting to me for hours, you screaming at me, or do whatever you need to, than have you hurt and bleeding entirely alone on the floor. I’ll come over, and do whatever i need to, to cheer you up alright? And don’t shut me out from your life. I want to be a part again. I miss the way you’d text me when you see something that makes you smile. Or when you send me pics of the cute cats you saw on the sidewalk. Or when you just simply tell me about your day. And most important of all, i’ll stay by your side okay? No matter what. I will do everything to help you recover, and build up your life in a way that makes you happy okay? Let me help you sunshine. You don’t need to do it all alone.No matter how hard it in the past was, I’m here now, and I don’t plan on leaving soon.“

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time you smiled at him. „Okay lixie. Okay. I’ll try.“

Then he softly smiled at you, and guided you to your livingroom, where he made you sit on the couch. He rushed off to the kitchen, and was soon back again with a plate of brownies and his gray hoodie. „It seems like you didn’t eat much lately, you’ve been getting a bit too skinny, love. But don’t worry, now i’m here to feed you with everything you want to eat. You don’t need to move a single finger.“ He mumbled, as he first handed you the hoodie, wich you put on immediately and snuggled into it. It had always been your comfort hoodie, since it was big, fluffy, and always smelled like him a lot. Then he put down the plate in front of you. Felix’ brownies had always been one of your favorite things. They were delicious like no one else’s.Everytime you asked him what he was throwing in there, he always told you that it was his love and care wich he made them with. You believed him, this man made everything better with his sunny personality.

You simply smiled at him, and took one of the brownies, taking a big bite

„That’s my girl.“ He chuckled, ruffling your hair. As you were munching, and he was watching you with a fond smile, he suddenly asked „Do you have a marker somewhere here?“ You looked up, raising a brow. „Yeah, in the drawer over there i guess, why?“ He just stood up, and opened said drawer, taking the marker. He was back by your side in an instant. „Please give me one arm love“ He said, politely like always. You were still pretty confused but how could you say no to that? So you slowly laid your bandaged arm in his hands. He kissed it once and then softly started to draw on it. „What are you doing?“ you asked, mouth full of brownie.

„Those my love, are battle scars. It isn’t beautiful how you got them, but they are a part of you now, and they make you the person you are. They deserve to be called beautiful now too, like every single body part of yours. I love every part of you. And when they are healed, I’ll kiss each and everyone of them, but for now, they deserve to be treated with care. They will only heal properly, if you let them. If you’d always be angry when you’d look at them, they would never really heal. You would never really heal. You need to forgive yourself, and someday you will be able to move on. They show how far you’ve come, that it was very hard, but you never gave up. Battle scars, my love.“

You looked into his eyes. He said all that so sincere, you believed every word. And then as he was done you saw what he did. A lot of little stars, and a pretty moon in the middle were drawn on the bandages. And next to the moon he wrote a little note

„Because i want you to never forget who you are. You are Y/n L/n, a fighter, and the most beautiful woman i know.“

„How did i deserve you lee felix?“ You murmured in awe.

„You deserve the world, and more my love.“

And that really was a turning point. Thanks to felix, your days weren’t dull anymore. He was always there with you, laughing and talking a lot, but he also respected when you wanted some alone time. And when you came to him somedays, crying and telling him that you wanted to do it again, he took you in his arms, wrapped you both into a blanket and rocked you back and forth, until no tears were left anymore, and the world seemed a bit brighter again. Then he mumbled soothing reassurances into your hair, kissing you on the forehead.

And like this, you were willing to try. You were willing to try and recover, and create a life that you loved living, with him in it.

a/n: now a note to: @athenawindwolf because I didn't have the courage to say it that night ( we ignore that i'm writing this while you are texting me,still in that night), i'll be your chan friend, and in the context of this fanfic your felix friend, whenever you need me. I hope yk, I never judge anyone, and i've been through a lot too so rlly i would never ever judge or tell anyone if you tell me smth. We said we r the big sisters of our friends now, so that means we r sisters right? Come to me whenever you need to talk. Now this was for u, and I also have to say i'm thankful someone is sharing one of my interests now<3 Ily di angelo.@athenawindwolf (and i hope i didn't make you cry with this fic)

[cosyvelvetorchid]

You want a little bucktommy oneshot that’ll make you cry?

I was watching the episode of SWAT where Deac gives Annie ‘The Letter’ and it sparked an idea. I’ve only given it a cursory edit so apologies if there’s any mistakes.

Anyway, grab your tissues and enjoy!

🩶

Read on Ao3 or below.

**********

The Letter

Rating: G

W/C: 2,192

Summary:

Buck decides it’s time to give Tommy back his things. He add The Letter to the box he had stashed in his locker in case something happens to him.

It’s not what Tommy expects.

**********

Buck stood outside Tommy’s door with the box in hands. The box of Tommy’s things.

The first month after the breakup he couldn’t touch any of Tommys things, let alone remove them. To remove them would be to remove Tommy from his life and he was not ready to do that.

The second month it hurt too much to see his toothbrush on the bathroom shelf, or his underwear mixed in with Bucks in the drawer. He wasn’t ready to get rid of everything yet but he couldn’t stand the pain radiating through him but the constant reminders of him everyday. So he’d boxed everything up and shoved the box into his closet hoping they he’d forget about it.

The third month he was still in pain but managing. Mostly by either working or baking. Everybody was definitely getting sick of eating his cakes or breads or pies but it wasn’t like he was using drugs or alcohol to—he’d found a healthy outlet. If you don’t count the sugar. Still, when he saw Tommy for the first time since the breakup up at a scene they were both on, it felt like another lightning bolt to his heart.

He stood staring at his former boyfriend; his boots glued to the ground, not being able to remove. Tommy eventually tuned and caught his eye and of all the ways Tommy could have reacted in that moment, he chose the one that broke Bucks heart even more.

He walked away.

Buck cried himself to sleep that night. He hadn’t done that since a month after they broke up. But in the morning when he woke up he decided he’d had enough. Tommy didn’t want him anymore—he’d made that clear. Buck needed to move on and he couldn’t until he’d completely removed Tommy from his life.

He removed the box from his closet and took it to his car, leaving it in the trunk while on shift. When his shift was done he’d take the letter hidden in his locker and add it to the box before dropping it at Tommys house.

The Letter. It was something that first responders did in the event they never made it home. They’d write a letter to a loved one or one’s, and keep it in their locker just in case.

Buck previously had one in his locker from about a year into being a firefighter, addressed to Maddie. But recently, after hearing of the death of somebody at another station he realised he needed to update it now that Maddie was happily married and had a beautiful daughter.

It was then that he’d thought about Tommy and the idea of dying without Tommy knowing how he felt about him wasn’t even a question.

It was supposed to be read in the event of his death but what was the point now? He’d chosen to leave Buck so there was no need for him to keep it. If he was honest he didn’t really know why he was giving the letter to Tommy now—it just somehow felt like the right thing to do.

So, he left the box on Tommys porch—hidden to the side so no passers by could see it—and left.

*****

Tommy arrived back home from a tiring 48 hour shift. He’d spent most of it doing ground work at a large factory fire. God he hated ground work. On top of that he’d seen Evan yesterday and his heart nearly tore itself out of his chest.

He wanted to talk to him. He wanted to beg him for forgiveness. He wanted to scream how sorry he was. But he couldn’t move. It hurt too much. In the end he had to use all of his strength to walk away. Again.

He lugged himself out of his truck and up the steps of his porch. Something caught his eye and he spotted a box at the far end of his porch. He looked up and down the street cautiously but didn’t see anybody hanging around.

He lifted the lid and immediately recognised Evan’s handwriting on an envelope placed on top of a familiar blue hoodie.

Evan had delivered his things back.

Emotion bit at his throat and he struggled to hold it down. He picked up the box and took it inside, dropping it onto the sofa. He picked up the envelope and ran his fingertips over the familiar handwriting, remembering when he’d first seen it and teased Evan about it.

He put the envelope back down and walked over to the cabinet in the corner to pull out a bottle of whiskey. He down the first glass for Dutch courage and poured a second one before sitting back down and once again picking up the envelope.

He was fairly certain what it was—a letter telling him what a piece shit he was for breaking up with Evan. How much of a coward he was and how Evan had regretted ever dating him.

He should probably burn it without reading it but in a pathetic act of self hate he forced himself to open it and began reading.

“Dear Tommy,

Obviously I don’t need to explain what this letter is for and why you’re receiving it. To be honest I’m not really sure what to write so I’m just going to put pen to paper and hope for the best (and hope to you can read my “chicken scratches.”)”

“Oh my god.” He said out loud realising what this letter was. It was The Letter. The one that most first responders had. He’d never written one for Evan—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was scared that writing one would somehow jinx their relationship. The irony was not lost on him, now.

He continued reading.

“I’m writing this a week before our six month anniversary, although I’m not sure that’s a thing you celebrate? We haven’t talked about it. We haven’t talked about a lot I suppose. I don’t know if it’s because we’re caught up in the newness of us or we’re both scared to open up.

For me I am a little scared. I’ve had so many people in my life leave me that I tend to cling on to relationships that aren’t working out of fear they’ll be another person who leaves. But not with you. For the first time in my life I don’t feel like I’m clinging.

Being with you is the easiest it’s ever been with anybody. You fit so perfectly into my heart it’s as though there was already a space in there waiting for you to fill. My whole life I’ve always felt like something was missing and when you kissed me that first time in my kitchen I thought the thing that was missing was my sexuality. But I was wrong. I think the thing that was missing was you.

You’re the most incredible man I have ever met, Tommy. And every day I look at you and I am in awe. How somebody so beautiful could want me is something I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I’m not naive—I know there are things you don’t talk about, things from your past, I see it in your eyes sometimes or when a subject comes up and you quickly change it. I hope that one day you’ll feel safe enough with me to talk about those things.

Hope? I should probably have said “hoped” given that I’m likely dead right about now. Whatever is the right word I want you to know that I have no intentions of going anywhere, no matter what you tell (told?) me.

You flew into my life LITERALLY, and turned it upside down in the best way. You once asked me why I liked you calling me Evan and I think I gave a half hearted response of I just like how you say it. And while that is the truth (seriously it’s hot as hell!) it’s not just that. It’s that for the first time in my life somebody is saying my name without following it up with criticism or derision. You speak it so purely and lovingly. Like it brings you joy. I’ve never had that before.

I’ve never had somebody make me feel so seen or so wanted. You let me yap for hours about stupid things and never make me feel like I’m annoying you. You tease me but always with affection. Even when you’re mad at me you never try to intentionally make me feel bad. You make me feel like being me, being Evan Buckley, is enough.

But we can’t ignore the big dead elephant in the room. I’m dead and you’re reading this almost like a ghost wrote it which thinking about that is actually kind of creepy. Anyway, I better stop writing soon before this ends up stupidly long.

Tommy, I am so insanely in love with you I don’t know what to do with it half the time. Who you are, how you look at me, the beautiful things you say to me, those gorgeous blue eyes and those wrinkles around them that I adore so much. If I could have stayed and lived the rest of my life loving you, just know that I would have done it in a heart beat. You were it for me. Not an infatuation or some shiny knew toy after realising my sexuality.

You were my whole heart and I’m so, so sorry that I couldn’t stay longer on earth to tell you that. But hey, maybe by the time you’ve read this in the future I would have already told you in person how much I love you.

I really have to go now. We’re decorating the station for Halloween this year and I’ve seen a super cool fake corpse at a prop house down the street so I need to pick it up.

I love you so much, Tommy. You made my life infinitely better while I was here and if I made you half as happy as you made me then it was worth it.

Love,

Your Evan.”

Tommy broke down in choked sobs.

*****

Buck was finally drifting off to sleep. He was exhausted. His 12 hour shift and then the emotional weight of getting rid of the last of Tommy from his life had taken its toll.

A knock at the door echoed throughout the loft. Buck sighed in annoyance—he just wanted to sleep. He threw off the covers and padded down the stairs, grabbing some sweatpants on the way and quickly slipping them on before opening the door.

His heart jolted in his chest at the sight of Tommy standing there. His eyes red and raw, and his face puffy. He looked away—he couldn’t bear to see Tommy like this. Or see him at all if he was honest.

“I take it you’re here to drop off my stuff?” He said to the ground. When he didn’t get a response he looked up. That’s when he noticed the letter in Tommys hand.

“Did.. did you-“ Tommy couldn’t get words out. His voice was raw and hoarse and barely there. He took a shaking breath. “You loved me?”

His face gave away how much he couldn’t believe what he’d read. As though it were a ridiculous notion that he could be loved.

Buck wanted to deny it. God, he wanted to tell him no; that he didn’t mean it; that it was past Buck who’d written it and current Buck didn’t feel the same anymore.

But that would be a lie.

The love he had for Tommy hadn’t diminished in the slightest in the last 3 months. He’d wished it had—it would have made getting over him a lot easier. But it hadn’t. Tommy was wrapped around his heart and permanently etched into his bones.

He tried so hard to keep himself together but it was fruitless. The tears fell from his eyes as quick as they’d gathered in his waterline. His whole jaw and chin shook as he spoke.

“I never stopped.”

Tommy let out a loud sob as he threw himself forward wrapping his arms around Evan. His Evan. Buck couldn’t stop the matching sob from leaving his own throat as Tommy peppered his face with kisses in between words.

“I love you.. so much.. I’m sorry.. I’m so… so sorry.. I love you.. I love you.. I love you..”

Finally his lips met Bucks. The kiss was wet with tears and probably snot, too, but neither cared.

They clung to each other and cried. All of the emotion they’d both felt over the last few months pouring out of them raw and unfiltered.

They had a long road ahead of them to get things back on track. A lot of talking, probably some therapy and hard work from Tommy to build Evan’s trust in him back up.

But all of that could wait until tomorrow. Right now all they needed was to hold each other. To remember how safe the other’s arms felt around them.

The future could never be promised, but they will both give everything to try.

[puzzleglum]

THEORY TIME AGAIN!! The other day, I had a realization. About how Hyde could possibly rescue Jekyll, without also getting stuck in the depths of their mind. And, it connects to Hyde’s pounding heart, and Lanyon’s confessions to Hyde. Remember this golden ribbon, around Hyde’s wrist on the Chapter 16 cover? (The same cover where Hyde was depicted in his mindscape outfit. Take note!)

I’ve theorized before that it’s a lifeline. Similar to Ariadne’s golden thread from the Greek myth, this ribbon could be a way for Hyde and Jekyll to escape the labyrinth that is the bottom of their mind. A lifeline that allows them to find their way back up again, to the waking world of existence. A tether to reality, if you will. The mindscape and its rules are a bit tricky, but one thing is for sure: the literal rules of normal reality don’t apply. The whole space is basically a big metaphor for their shared unconscious mind. There’s a kind of dream logic to how it functions.

So why shouldn’t the lifeline be metaphorical, too?

Before, I’d thought that maybe the Mort potion—or some other scientific solution—could be used for this, as the origin of the lifeline. A temporary ‘sleeping death’ that would allow Hyde to reach Jekyll, and get out again when the potion wears off. But now, I think I got a better idea. Something far less literal and dryly mechanistic.

First: remember how the last time Jekyll’s heart was pounding—with lots of prominent sound effects, that is—he passed out on stage? Hyde had been poisoning their mind with despair, wanting to take Jekyll down with him.

(It’s worth mentioning that Lanyon was at Jekyll’s side when he woke up again, too. He never left him alone.) I believe Hyde might be about to pass out, too. But for entirely different reasons than Jekyll did previously. Hyde feels all of his feelings very intensely. The similar BA BUM heartbeat sound effects show us just how much Lanyon’s words, and gentle touches, are affecting him.

To be extra clear on my part: secretly, Hyde HAS always wanted to be loved, even if he’d never openly admit it, even to himself. But deep down, he believed it was impossible anyway. Who in their right mind would love an Evil Monster like him? Lanyon would. Because he can see that Hyde was never just “pure evil.” Hyde is simply…a part of Henry. The Doe-Eyed Sweetheart that Lanyon first fell in love with, before falling in love with the rest of Henry, too. This is exactly what Hyde and Lanyon’s character arcs needed. This moment is a beautiful payoff that was a LONG time coming. But I’m not here to talk about all the things that set this up. Might do that later. But my point is…this is it!

Lanyon’s unconditional love is the lifeline.

Let me elaborate. I think Hyde is about to pass out from the overwhelming feeling of knowing that Lanyon REALLY, TRULY loves him. (Perhaps with a kiss or similar to top it off.) And when he comes to, he’ll be in the mind, with that golden ribbon on his wrist. Ready to hunt for Jekyll and bring him back. The intuitive logic I’m seeing here is something like this: That reciprocated love, and Hyde’s desire to return to reality and be reunited with Lanyon soon, is what provides a metaphorical and emotional tether to the real world. Because that emotion would be SO strong that it would bend the rules of their mindscape, allowing Jekyll and Hyde to come back. In other words…Lanyon is Hyde’s Ariadne. The giver of the golden ribbon to guide him through the labyrinth, and safely return when he needs to. :)

And that’s my theory! Thanks for reading, and leave any thoughts in the replies, if you wish!

(I’d love to know if people think this is plausible, or not! To be honest, I’m not entirely sure of this myself. But since the possibility occurred to me, well…there’s no problem with writing it down, anyway! You never know.)

[muiitoloko]

So bit of a cliche one but any Rickman character discovering that y/n can sing and is completely enamored with her as he watches her. After finding he can’t get her out of his head and wants her so badly now so he confronts her? Personally I imagine the scenario with Obadiah Slope but literally any character of his works imo

Title: To Possess an Angel

Summary: Obadiah Slope will stop at nothing to claim the choir singer who has captured not only his ear but his very soul.

Pairing: Mr. Obadiah Slope × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Obsession.

Author's Notes: I didn’t follow your request to the letter, but I hope you enjoy the story anyway! I must apologize in advance for any inaccuracies—I’m not very familiar with The Barchester Chronicles or the details of the Anglican church, so there might be some mistakes. Thank you for understanding, and I hope it still brings you joy!

Also read on Ao3

The soft murmur of the congregation died away as the prayer concluded, and Obadiah Slope sat stiffly in his pew, his tall, thin frame leaning slightly forward as he glanced toward the choir loft. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and calculating, wandered with disinterest over the assembled singers. The performance of the choir was a routine part of the service, and Slope had never found much to appreciate in it. Music, like most things that did not directly advance his ambitions, held little appeal for him.

But then, a voice rang out, clear and pure, rising above the other singers like a ray of sunlight piercing through heavy clouds. It was almost otherworldly, an angelic sound that seemed to suspend time itself. Slope’s eyes snapped upward, drawn irresistibly to the source of the voice.

There, in the midst of the choir, stood you.

He recognized you immediately—the quiet daughter of devout anglicans, always modestly dressed and unassuming. Slope had exchanged no more than a few perfunctory words with you in all his time at the church. You were polite, reserved, and wholly unremarkable—or so he had thought. But now, watching you sing, the air around you seemed to shimmer with something extraordinary.

Your voice carried the hymn with such grace and emotion that the other choir members seemed to follow you instinctively, their voices blending into the harmony you shaped with ease. The congregation sat in hushed awe, but Slope hardly noticed them. His focus was entirely on you.

If angels truly sang, Slope thought, his hazel eyes widening slightly, then surely it must sound like this.

He had never truly looked at you before, not beyond a cursory glance. Your beauty was quiet, unadorned, and entirely devoid of the artifice he often found among the women of Barchester. Your hair was simply styled, your dress plain but neat. You came from no wealthy or influential family, had no striking feature to catch a man’s eye—until now. As you sang, your face lit with a serene joy that seemed to transform you into something luminous.

Slope’s breath hitched as he watched, transfixed. For the first time in his life, he felt… powerless. It was an unfamiliar sensation for a man so used to manipulating others to suit his needs. The calculated thoughts that usually occupied his mind—how to advance his position, how to gain favor with the bishop—were gone, replaced by something entirely foreign and unsettling. Desire.

It wasn’t a crude lust, though that simmered somewhere beneath the surface, unbidden and undeniable. It was something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of his carefully constructed persona. He wanted to possess the source of that voice, to claim for himself the woman who could bring such beauty into the world.

When the hymn ended, the church fell into a silence so profound it was as though no one dared disturb the lingering echo of your song. Slope remained motionless, his hazel eyes still fixed on you as you bowed your head modestly, retreating into the anonymity of the choir once more.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. How had he never noticed you before? How had such a remarkable gift been hidden from him? His mind raced, thoughts colliding as he struggled to make sense of the emotions surging within him.

As the service drew to a close, Slope found himself lingering in the aisle, his gaze following you as you filed out with the other choir members. He wanted to speak to you, to hear your voice again, but words eluded him. For a man who prided himself on his eloquence, it was a humbling realization.

“Miss,” he finally managed, his baritone voice softer than usual as he stepped toward you.

You paused, turning to face him with a polite but puzzled expression. “Mr. Slope,” you said, your tone even and courteous, though your eyes flicked away, as though hesitant to meet his gaze.

“You…” He hesitated, then plunged ahead, his thin frame towering over you but his demeanor oddly hesitant. “Your voice. It was… exquisite.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you looked down, your hands clasping nervously in front of you. “Thank you, Mr. Slope. I’m glad it pleased you.”

“It did more than that,” he said, his hazel eyes glinting with something intense and unreadable. “It… moved me.”

You glanced up at him then, your modesty warring with curiosity. “I only wished to glorify God,” you murmured.

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “it is you who has left me enchanted.”

The words hung between you, daring and bold, and Slope realized with a start that he meant them. For the first time in years, his ambitions and schemes felt distant, unimportant. All he could think about was you—your voice, your unassuming beauty, and the way you made him feel utterly, completely alive.

As the days passed, Slope tried to focus on Eleanor Bold. It made sense—marrying the wealthy young widow would elevate his position and solidify his influence within the church. She was a key piece in his carefully laid plans, and yet… you lingered in his thoughts like an echo he couldn’t silence.

He scolded himself for that moment of weakness in the church. What was I thinking? he chastised himself, pacing the narrow confines of his bedroom late one evening. The room was dark except for the flickering light of a single candle, casting long, restless shadows on the walls.

You weren’t wealthy. You weren’t connected. You weren’t important.

And yet, Slope couldn’t forget the sound of your voice, how it had filled the church with something transcendent. He recalled the way your hands had rested lightly on the choir rail, the soft curve of your fingers, the subtle gleam of light on your well-groomed nails. He stopped pacing and stared at the ceiling. Nails? he thought, aghast. Good Lord, man. Have you sunk so low as to fixate on a woman’s hands?

But there it was. He couldn’t deny it. Those hands—gentle, expressive, beautiful in their simplicity—had become a torment to him. He clenched his fists, trying to banish the image. Eleanor was the one he needed to think about. Eleanor, with her fortune and her position. Eleanor, who would bring him respectability.

And yet Eleanor did not sing like an angel. Eleanor’s laughter, when she deigned to bestow it, was polite and restrained. She did not have your luminous joy, your quiet strength, your—stop this, Obadiah, he thought fiercely. Eleanor Bold is the key to everything you want. She is the path forward. You are not some lovesick fool.

But as the nights stretched into a lonely parade of sleepless hours, your voice continued to haunt him. When he closed his eyes, he saw the way your lips had moved as you sang, the slight quiver in your throat as you reached for a high note. He felt a hot flush creep over his face as the thought lingered too long. He was ashamed of the carnal stirrings you awakened in him, a man who prided himself on discipline and self-control.

“God help me,” he muttered, pressing his palms to his eyes. He could picture you now, your hands folded in prayer, your head bowed in reverence. The modest slope of your shoulders beneath your plain dress. The way a single strand of hair had slipped free from your coif and rested against your cheek. You were not worldly, not flirtatious, not even aware of the effect you had on him—and that only made it worse.

His thoughts turned darker, more vivid, as he lay alone in his narrow bed. He imagined what it might feel like to stand close enough to you to hear your breath, to brush his fingers against yours as you handed him a hymn book. What would your voice sound like if you whispered his name? Would it tremble? Would it soften into something private and intimate? His hand clenched the sheet as a shameful heat built within him.

No, he told himself again and again, but the battle was becoming harder to fight. You were nothing to him, a distraction, a temptation. And yet you had taken root in his mind like a stubborn weed, entwining yourself around his thoughts until even Eleanor’s considerable fortune seemed dull and lifeless in comparison.

The next Sunday, he avoided looking at the choir loft during the service. He forced himself to focus on his duties, to exchange polite words with Eleanor afterward. But even as he spoke to her, the sound of your voice echoed in his memory, and he found himself glancing toward the door, wondering if you had already slipped away.

That night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he whispered a single plea into the darkness: “Why must you torment me so?”

But the answer never came, and his restless thoughts spiraled deeper into the forbidden territory he could not seem to escape.

His mind wandered treacherously, conjuring images he should not entertain—images of you, your hands grasping at his coat, your nails scratching down his back, leaving marks as you cried out his name.

Slope bolted upright, his breathing shallow, his tall, thin frame trembling with unspent tension. He ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair, slick with sweat. This madness had to end. He could not endure another sleepless night, tormented by desires he could not suppress.

Grabbing his coat, he flung it over his shoulders and stumbled out the door, not even bothering to put on shoes. The cold cobblestones bit into his bare feet, but he barely felt them. His hazel eyes burned with a mix of desperation and determination as he marched through the quiet streets of Barchester, the faint glow of oil lamps guiding his way.

Your house was not far, though each step felt like an eternity. When he finally reached it, he hesitated for the briefest moment before rapping urgently on the door. The sound was sharp and insistent, shattering the stillness of the night.

After a tense pause, the door creaked open, revealing your father’s stern, sleep-rumpled face. He squinted at Slope, taking in the sight of the disheveled clergyman. Slope’s coat was wrinkled, his hair unkempt, and his bare feet painted a picture of a man who had abandoned all pretense of propriety.

“Mr. Slope?” your father said, his voice laced with incredulity. “What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

“I must see [Your Name],” Slope blurted, his baritone voice uncharacteristically raw and trembling. “Please, sir, let me speak to her.”

Your father’s brows knitted into a frown, his expression hardening. “It is highly inappropriate, Mr. Slope. Whatever business you have with my daughter can wait until morning. Go home.”

But Slope stepped forward, his thin frame taut with urgency. “I cannot wait, sir. I… I wish to ask your permission to court her.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, pressing on. “No, more than that. I wish to marry her.”

Your father’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, clearly taken aback. “Marry her?” he echoed, his tone incredulous. “Mr. Slope, you’ve hardly spoken two words to my daughter in all the time you’ve been here. This is absurd!”

“It is not,” Slope insisted, his hazel eyes blazing. “I have seen her, sir. Truly seen her. She is unlike anyone I have ever known—pure, angelic, a beacon of light in this wretched world.” He took a shuddering breath, his thin chest rising and falling as though the weight of his words might crush him. “I am not a man prone to sentiment, but she… she has awakened something in me I cannot deny. I burn for her, sir.”

Your father’s face darkened, his lips thinning into a disapproving line. “Mr. Slope, you are speaking of my daughter, not some object of your infatuation.”

“She is no mere object,” Slope shot back, his voice rising. “She is salvation itself! I would do anything to possess her, to make her mine. I would dedicate every waking moment to her happiness, to ensuring she wants for nothing. I would—” He faltered, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “I would worship her as she deserves.”

Your father shook his head, his disbelief evident. “This is madness. You’ve lost your senses.”

“Perhaps I have,” Slope admitted, his voice trembling with emotion. “But if madness is the price of loving her, then so be it. I will not leave until I have your blessing.”

The two men stood in silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, your father spoke, his voice firm. “You will leave now, Mr. Slope. Return when you are in your right mind, and perhaps we can discuss this further. But tonight, you will not see her.”

“I beg you, sir,” Slope said, his voice breaking as he fell to his knees on the doorstep. “I cannot endure another night without knowing she might one day be mine. Let me prove myself worthy of her. Let me—”

But the door slammed shut, cutting him off mid-plea. Slope knelt there in the cold, his coat slipping from his shoulders, the harsh reality of rejection washing over him. Yet even in his despair, his resolve hardened. He would not give up. Not until you were his, body and soul.

As he stumbled to his feet and turned back toward the darkened streets, a single thought burned in his mind: You will be mine, no matter what it takes.

[haveihitanerve]

Duke thomas headcanons:

When he's angry he starts glowing. Everyone can usally tell because it's so dark in gotham even during the day.

When Duke tells people to close their eyes, they know right away he's about to do something really dangerous with his powers to cause blindness. So you better close your eyes.

Duke vists his parents once a month in the hospital.

Duke figures out a way to do Morse code with his powers.

Duke and train jokes at Bruce. And Bruce just going "Duke no."(if you don't know what that means, Duke when he was young helped Bruce get over amnesia by jumping in front of a subway train.

Someone makes a rude comment about people and Joker veminim victims and Duke who's usally so easy going just snaps. It takes several of his brothers to pull him off that person.

Duke will cause chaos for fun, but he's very good at faking being innocent. Only Bruce is the one who doesn't fall for it.

Duke as a joke puts out an ad for superfriends because he too wants to start a team.

yesss!!!

I love Duke and need more of him, both canon and fanon so i can start adding him in my fics lol, and thats beautiful

the second to last one is a bit different than i usually see lol- usually only bruce is the one who falls for it while the rest of the batkids are enraged- but i love the idea that Bruce knows- only the jokes are much less harmful than the ones the others used to cause, so he plays along to get payback lmaooo

anyway thanks these were great fun to read!

[tokiro07]

Ichi the Witch ch.18 thoughts

[Oh What a Feelin' When We're Fightin' on the Ceilin']

(Topics: character analysis - Desscaras/World Hater, speculation)

Oh yeah, baby, this is what I've been waiting for!!! Now this is a ceiling battle!!!

Where Ichi needed to literally knock himself out just to take out the first wave of World Hater's Lancemen, Desscaras was able to do the exact same thing casually AND with style

Iskandar is an absolutely sick Magik design, both beautiful and terrifyingly nonhuman, and it's clearly not even Desscaras' strongest move! She's playing with World Hater, aiming to humiliate and torture him while she systematically searches out his trial, so there's no way her opener is her best move, especially when you consider it doesn't tie into her title as the Abyssal Witch

I said a while ago that Monegold's summary of Togeice was more tell than show and that it didn't really give a good impression of just how skilled Togeice really was since Nishi didn't provide a frame of reference. This chapter, though, is a very effective case of show-don't-tell, as we get a direct comparison between Desscaras, Ichi, World Hater, and even Togeice

Tipping the Powerscales

Togeice was stated to have 16 acquisitions to her name, which, without an established average, must be assumed to be a pretty high number, certainly above average. It was stated in such a way that it didn't seem like Togeice was a record holder, more like a reasonable deviation or two from the mean

Desscaras, on the other hand, when asked directly how many Magiks she's acquired, simply states "who knows? Lost count." Not only does this mirror World Hater's nonchalant dismissal of how many humans he's killed, but it illustrates both Desscaras' skill and her mentality regarding it

As she says this, we can see twenty-five magic stones floating around her, thirty if we assume the ones on her scabbard didn't join the rest. She has Togeice beat by at least nine, but the implication is that there are more we still aren't seeing

And to Desscaras, this is perfectly natural

She's the best, after all. The world's greatest, most powerful Witch. Why wouldn't she have a ton of acquisitions to her name? For her, acquiring a Magik isn't even a source of pride anymore, it's just another rock to add to the pile

If my read here is correct, then that goes back to what I said back in ch.2: Witches don't respect Magiks as sentient beings. If not for the fact that she needs to do so in order to use a spell, Desscaras doesn't seem the type to remember the name of a defeated foe, at least not with how she's presenting herself here

As I see it, this could lead to two very interesting angles. Either Desscaras represents everything that's wrong with the current Witch system, or...

This is a bluff

Poker Face

As I've stated repeatedly, World Hater is an actively dispassionate individual, going out of their way to hide their expressions and executing their goals without emotional investment. When Desscaras cites that World Hater destroyed her home, World Hater retorts that her emotions are worthless, as they nihilistically view the world as destined to fade into nothingness

This is a hilarious thing for the World Hater to say, since they explicitly include "hatred" in that list of worthless emotions, but again, they've never referred to themselves as World Hater, that's just a name that Mantinel gave them

Anyway, Desscaras' detached ignorance of her own accomplishments perfectly mirrors World Hater's ignorance to their own atrocities, which could either be a way to show how similar the two of them are or an explicit dig at World Hater's attitude meant to evoke a response

If the former, then Desscaras is a negative role model for Ichi, one that he needs to surpass to prove that he is correct for how he values life. If the latter, and Desscaras reveals that she does, in fact, know exactly how many Magiks she's acquired and remembers all of their names, faces, personalities, trials, etc., then we'll know that she's not the strongest Witch just because she has the most acquisitions, but because of the dedication and care she put into every single one

Either way, her taunt in this moment makes her feel every bit as powerful as she's been purported to be and then some

And World Hater definitely feels it too

Time To Get Serious

The fact that World Hater has been pushed far enough to be concerned with how many Magiks Desscaras has acquired is already proof enough that they acknowledge her strength, but even without that, it should be clear that she has the power to back up the threat that she's going to take her time experimenting

After all, she's leagues above Ichi

As Desscaras said, Ichi was able to earn World Hater's direct attention with one spell. If World Hater truly didn't view Ichi as a potential threat, they would have just let him fall into the forest and be trampled by the Lancemen without paying him any heed

Instead, they deliberately lift Ichi back up, with the intention of warping him with their own hands. How else could they be absolutely sure that he's dead?

Again, if Ichi could register as a future threat, then Desscaras must register as an immediate threat. And if that's true, then there's no way that World Hater is going to just let her have her way. No, if she wants their trial, she's gonna have to earn it

However, there is one flaw in Desscaras' premise: she believes that World Hater tried to kill Ichi out of fear, but we know better. We saw World Hater's smile last week: they were excited that someone might be able to figure out their trial, they just had to suppress that feeling to focus on the task at hand

With Desscaras, though? They're not going to be able to afford to be casual about this. World Hater is going to need to put their everything into this fight: both their power and their emotions

This chapter was all about giving Desscaras her shine, the Good News phase, but next chapter? It's World Hater's turn: the Bad News phase

I don't think Desscaras is going to die here, but she's not acquiring the World Hater either. No, World Hater is going to show us just how Big of a Bad they intend to be, and what we're going to have to look forward to down the line

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[snowseasonmademe]

Wash the day away

word count : 2,000+

warnings‼️: smut

pairing : husband aurelien x black fem wife reader

summary : a little something inspired by this dream i had

note: i was getting flashback about that dream for days and i was lowkey mad that it ended before the good stuff happened to i finished it here ;) this was lowkey like a opposite version of make love to me now that im reading it through again. anyway, enjoy and tell me what you think!!!!! (i think im gonna post a new levi fic next btw so i’ll be updating yall about that soon)

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

The sound of the front door clicking shut was a welcome relief after a grueling day. You kicked off your heels with an exaggerated groan, stretching your arms high above your head as the ache in your shoulders protested. From the kitchen, you heard the familiar shuffle of sneakers and the low hum of Aurélien’s voice.

“You’re home late” he called, his French accent laced with a teasing warmth. “Did you finally decide to take over the company today, or was it just a hostage situation?”

You dropped your bag by the entryway, rolling your eyes as you walked toward him. “Funny. You should consider stand-up if this football thing doesn’t work out.”

Aurélien turned, his tall frame leaning casually against the counter as he sipped from a glass of water. His eyes softened when they landed on you, taking in your tired expression and the slump in your shoulders. Without a word, he set the glass down and closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“You look exhausted mon amour” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Tough day?”

You sighed, melting into his embrace. “Tough doesn’t even begin to describe it. I had back-to-back meetings, a mountain of emails, and let’s not even talk about the traffic on the way home.”

“Sounds like you need to relax” he said, his voice low and inviting. “How about we take a shower? Together?”

You tilted your head back to look up at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Is this your way of telling me I smell?”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Of course not. But if you want me to be honest—”

“Aurélien!” you swatted at his chest, laughing despite yourself.

“I’m kidding!” he said, grabbing your hand before you could pull away. “Come on, let me take care of you.”

He led you upstairs to the master bathroom, his hand warm and reassuring in yours. The space was modern and luxurious, with sleek tiles and a rainfall showerhead that always felt like a small slice of heaven. Aurélien turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand before looking over his shoulder at you.

“Hot, like you” he quipped with a wink.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to roast you properly” you shot back, unbuttoning your blouse.

His eyes lingered as you undressed, his gaze appreciative but not overbearing. “Let me help you” he offered, stepping closer to slide the fabric off your shoulders. His fingers brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

You returned the favor, tugging his T-shirt over his head and letting your hands wander over his chest. “You’re too good-looking for your own good, you know that?”

“I could say the same about you” he replied, his voice dropping an octave. “But you already know how beautiful you are.”

By the time you were both stripped bare, the steam from the shower had filled the room, curling around you like a warm embrace. Aurélien stepped in first, holding out a hand to help you over the lip of the tub. The water cascaded over both of you, washing away the grime and stress of the day.

As the water poured over his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help but admire him. His skin glistened, each muscle in his chest and arms defined, and yet his expression was soft, his brown eyes focused on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Come here” he murmured, pulling you close until your body pressed against his. The warmth of his skin and the heat of the water combined, creating a cocoon that made the rest of the world feel distant and insignificant.

Aurélien’s hands moved to your waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your hips. “You’re so tense” he said softly, leaning down to kiss the curve of your shoulder. “Let me fix it”

His lips trailed a line of heat from your shoulder to the hollow of your neck, where he lingered, pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver down your spine. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as your hands found their way to his chest, your fingertips exploring the firm planes of his body.

“I don’t know if this counts as relaxing” you teased, your voice breathless.

“Doesn’t it?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your pulse point. “You seem to be enjoying it”

You let out a soft laugh that turned into a sigh as his hands slid up your back, his fingers kneading the tight muscles there. His touch was firm but tender, each movement thoughtful and deliberate, as if he was mapping every inch of you with his hands.

“Thank you” you said, your voice catching as he kissed the underside of your jaw, his stubble grazing your skin.

“You don’t have to thank you” he countered, his hands moving to cup your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both gentle and intense.

The kiss deepened, the rhythm of it matching the steady beat of the water. His lips were soft yet insistent, and when his tongue brushed against yours, it sent a wave of heat coursing through you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands traveled down to your lower back, pressing your bodies even more tightly together.

“Aurélien” you murmured against his lips, your voice a mix of longing and need.

“I’m here” he replied, his voice low and reassuring. His lips moved to your collarbone, then lower, his kisses leaving a trail of warmth that made your breath hitch.

The kiss deepened, each movement slow and deep the rhythm syncing with the steady, hypnotic beat of the water lapping nearby. His lips, warm and supple, carried a quiet urgency, coaxing a response that made your pulse race. When his tongue teased against yours, it was electric—a flash of heat rippled through your body, leaving you breathless and yearning.

Your arms wound around his neck, fingers threading into the soft strands of his hair, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you. His hands traveled down the curve of your spine, the rough calluses on his fingertips contrasting with the silkiness of your skin. When they settled on the small of your back, he pulled you tighter, the press of his body against yours igniting a fire that burned away all thoughts but one: him. The scent of him—earthy, clean, and intoxicating—mingled with the faint salt in the air, grounding you in this perfect, searing moment.

You mirrored his movements, your fingers gliding over the hard planes of his body as though committing him to memory. Your hands explored the defined ridges of his chest, the taut line of his abdomen, and the powerful curve of his shoulders, your touch reverent and curious. Each muscle seemed to shift beneath your palms, a silent response to your exploration, as if his body spoke its own language, one only you could understand.

The intimacy of the moment enveloped you, amplified by the soft, rhythmic cascade of water around you. It streamed down his skin, catching the faint glow of light, making him appear almost sculptural, as though carved from stone but alive with warmth. The heat of his body seeped into yours, the press of his bare skin a perfect contrast to the coolness of the water.

The quiet mingling of your breaths was its own melody, each exhale matching the other’s, a rhythm that bound you together in ways words could not. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the pulse of your connection, raw and unguarded. It was overwhelming, a heady mix of tenderness and intensity that made your heart race and your senses heighten, each detail burning itself into your brain like an indelible mark.

“I love you” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made your knees weak. “I love you more” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction.

“That’s debatable” you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Then I’ll just have to prove it.”

Aurélien lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cool tiles. His lips found yours again, the kiss more urgent this time, as if he was trying to pour every ounce of his love and devotion into it.

Time seemed to slow, the rest of the world fading away until there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped up in each other. The shower wasn’t just a place to wash away the day—it became a sanctuary, a place where you could reconnect, laugh, and lose yourselves in the love you shared.

His lips closed around your nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, meaningful movements that sent shivers racing down your spine. He sucked gently, then teased the sensitive peak with the faintest scrape of his teeth, a mix of pleasure and sweet torment that drew a soft, trembling sigh from your lips. The warmth of his mouth was intoxicating, each flick of his tongue igniting sparks that traveled through your body, pooling low in your belly.

His hands, strong and sure, gripped your thighs with a possessive intensity, the pressure grounding you even as you felt yourself melting into his touch. With a controlled ease, he lifted you slightly, pulling you closer until his hard arousal pressed firmly against your stomach. The heat of his desire was palpable, a stark contrast to the slick, cool walls around you.

The hot water pounded against your back and shoulders, mingling with the rising steam in the air, wrapping you both in a cocoon of hazy warmth. The damp strands of his hair clung to his forehead, droplets sliding down his jawline and over the curve of his neck, a tantalizing sight that made your pulse quicken. Every sensation—the rhythmic beat of the water, the weight of his hands on your body, the insistent press of his need against you—heightened the pleasure coursing through you, leaving you utterly captivated by the intensity of the moment.

"You're so beautiful" he whispered, his voice rough with desire. His hands moved down further, cupping your ass and pressing you even more firmly against his growing erection. You gasped softly, your hands finding purchase on his strong chest. Water continued pounded against you, creating your own intimate world.

Aurelien's fingers parted you, teasing your most sensitive spots. He groaned at your responsiveness, feeling your wetness increase. "Ma chérie” he murmured approvingly, fingers circling your clit expertly, eliciting gasps and moans from you.

Aurelien’s fingers moved with intensity, plunging in and out, his touch unrelenting as he expertly stroked your inner walls. Each motion sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, his skillful movements igniting a fire that burned brighter with every passing second. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling with a tantalizing rhythm that had your body arching instinctively toward him, seeking more of the exquisite sensations he was so effortlessly drawing from you.

As his hand worked its magic, he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear before his teeth gently captured your earlobe. The combination of the soft nibbling and the low growl that followed sent a shiver racing down your spine. “J’adore faire l’amour avec toi” (I love making love with you) he murmured, his voice rough yet full of adoration, each word dripping with the promise of devotion and unyielding passion.

Your heart swelled, a rush of gratitude and love mingling with the molten pleasure coursing through you. In his arms, the world faded to nothing—no worries, no distractions, only the overwhelming sensation of his love and the way he could make you feel entirely cherished. The thought struck you like lightning: how incredibly fortunate you were to have a husband who knew you so intimately, who took such joy in making you forget everything but him.

Every movement, every touch, every whispered word felt like a declaration of love, binding you to him in ways that words could never fully capture. His ability to make you feel seen, wanted, and utterly consumed by his affection was a gift—a gift you treasured more than anything in the world.

Your inner muscles begin tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. He curled his fingers inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot, and you cried out, your orgasm ripping through you. You could cry because of good it felt to release all the tension you’ve been holding all day. He held you close, his fingers slowing their motion but not stopping, drawing out your pleasure.

As the waves of your climax began to subside, your body still trembling from the aftershocks, Aurelien slowly withdrew his fingers. His movements were unhurried, savoring the moment as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth. His tongue darted out to taste you, his eyes locked on yours, dark and smoldering with unbridled desire. He licked them clean with sensuality, as if indulging in the most delicious treat, the sight sending a fresh jolt of heat coursing through your veins.

Before you could catch your breath, he pulled you into a searing kiss. His lips claimed yours with a fiery intensity, the taste of yourself mingling with the faint, intoxicating hint of him. It was dizzying, a raw, primal sensation that left your mind spinning and your heart pounding. His tongue explored yours with a commanding hunger, as though he couldn’t get enough of you, drawing you deeper into his orbit.

As the kiss broke, leaving you breathless and flushed, he stepped back slightly, his gaze raking over your body with an almost feral hunger. His hand moved to grasp his thick, hard dick, stroking it roughly, the muscles in his forearm flexing with every movement. His eyes were hooded, burning with a need so intense it was almost overwhelming.

“You drive me crazy” he murmured, his voice low, the words thick with lust and adoration. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world he wanted, made your heart swell. The air between you was electric, charged with the promise of what was to come, every fiber of your being aching to close the distance once more.

With a deep, guttural grunt of effort, Aurelien pressed forward, his dick sliding into you inch by inch with a slow push. The sensation of him filling you completely stole the air from your lungs, and you gasped, your head falling back as your body adjusted to the sudden, intense fullness. The stretch was exquisite, leaving you trembling and clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your toes curled involuntarily, and your legs tightened around his waist, drawing him even closer, anchoring him to you.

His hands gripped your hips with a firm strength, his fingers digging into you just enough to leave the faintest sting—a delicious contrast to the velvety heat building between you. The cold tiles of the shower pressed against your back, a sharp counterpoint to the fiery heat of his body against yours. The water streamed over both of you, rivulets rolling down your intertwined bodies, adding a slickness that only heightened the raw intimacy of the moment.

Aurelien began to move, his hips grinding in a rhythm that was both unrelenting and intoxicating. His thrusts were slow and deep at first, each one measured, designed to make you feel every inch of him as he claimed you against the wall. His breath was hot against your neck, a mix of heavy pants and low, deep groans that gave you goosebumps.

The pace quickened slightly, his movements growing harder, more urgent. Each powerful thrust pushed you higher against the tiles, the friction between the cool wall and your heated skin adding to the overwhelming sensation. The slap of his hips against yours echoed in the small space, blending with the steady beat of the water and the desperate sounds spilling from your lips.

“Tu te sens tellement parfaite” (you feel so perfect) he growled, his voice rough and low, thick with desire. His eyes locked on yours, dark and blazing with intensity, as though he was determined to consume you entirely. The connection between you was electric, every thrust drawing you closer to the edge, every touch a promise of just how far he was willing to go to satisfy you completely.

The water rolling over your connected bodies, the heat from it mixing with the steam that now thickened the small enclosure, shrouding you both in a haze of raw intimacy. Droplets slid down his chiseled chest, trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen before dripping onto your flushed skin, the warmth adding to the overwhelming sensations that consumed you.

Aurelien’s breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each exhale brushing against your damp skin as he drove into you with unrelenting speed. His hips moved with a primal rhythm, each thrust deep and purposeful, his balls slapping against you with a wet, rhythmic sound that filled the space.

With a growl that vibrated against your ear, he leaned down, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His mouth was hot and insistent, his kisses a mix of hunger and tenderness. He sucked gently at your sensitive skin, his tongue soothing the spot before his teeth grazed it lightly, leaving you gasping and arching into him. The sensation was dizzying, every kiss and every thrust working together to unravel you completely.

“Je ne peux pas en avoir assez de toi” (i can’t get enough of you) he murmured against your neck, the words barely audible through his labored breathing, but the raw emotion in them hit you like a tidal wave. Despite the intensity of his movements, there was an unmistakable reverence in the way he touched you, the way his hands slid up your thighs and gripped your hips as though he never wanted to let go.

His pace quickened, the slick slide of his dick driving deeper, his thrusts more urgent yet still laced with that same overwhelming devotion. Each motion brought a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, the mix of his love and raw desire leaving you utterly undone, lost in the storm that was Aurelien.

“Do I make you feel good, bébé?” Aurelien’s deep, husky voice murmured right against your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. The words were soft, but the intensity behind them was undeniable—he needed to know, needed your assurance that every touch, every movement, was bringing you pleasure. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, the slight rasp in his voice betraying his own struggle to maintain control.

You moaned softly, your head tilting toward his voice, your body arching into his as if to answer him with your every movement. “Yes baby” you breathed, your voice trembling with raw emotion and pleasure, “You’re making me feel so good”

The words spilled from your lips like a confession, each syllable laced with breathlessness as the intensity of his touch consumed you. His hips bucked slightly in response to your admission, as though your words spurred him on, his need to please you driving him to pour even more of himself into every motion.

Your hands slid up his back, nails grazing his damp skin as you clung to him, the heat between you almost unbearable yet so addictively sweet. His lips curled into a faint smile against your skin, satisfied by your moans and your words, but his hunger to draw even more from you remained. “Good” he growled softly, his voice dripping with a mix of pride and desire. “I want you to remember that it’s me who makes you feel this way”

Every word, every movement of his body against yours, left you trembling, your heart pounding as he claimed you not just physically, but emotionally, with a devotion that took your breath away.

Suddenly, Aurelien pulled out, leaving you gasping at the abrupt emptiness. Your eyes flew open, searching for him, but before you could process, put you down, spun you around, pressing your lower back to bend you over. The cool tiles contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off your flushed skin. His movements were swift but controlled, his hands firm as they positioned you exactly how he wanted.

He lifted one of your legs effortlessly, hooking it over the built-in bench in the shower. The shift spread you wide, leaving you open and vulnerable, every nerve in your body igniting with anticipation. His heated gaze raked over your exposed form, the hunger in his eyes making your pulse race. Without hesitation, he drove back into you with a powerful thrust, filling you completely.

The force of it made you stumble forward slightly, your palms pressing against the wall for balance. A small gasp escaped your lips, but Aurelien was already there, his strong hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place with an almost protective intensity. “I’ve got you” he murmured, his voice a deep, reassuring growl, and the promise in his words steadied you even as your body trembled.

The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, deep and forceful, each movement sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. The sound of wet skin meeting echoed in the small space, mingling with the steady rush of water pouring over you both. The streams ran down your back, easing the tension in your muscles and heightening the intoxicating sensations coursing through you.

His grip on your hips was ironclad, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. Each thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your body responding instinctively to his, matching his rhythm even as he maintained complete control. The heat of his body, the roughness of his hands, and the tenderness laced into his movements all combined into an intoxicating mix of pleasure and connection that left you utterly at his mercy.

Aurelien’s hands began their slow ascent up your back, his touch deliberate, savoring every inch of your skin as though committing it to memory. His palms were warm and firm, gliding over your slick, damp flesh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He lingered at the curve of your spine, his thumbs tracing along it before his hands descended again, spreading over your hips and settling on your ass.

With a low, guttural groan, his large hands spread your cheeks wider, exposing you fully to him. His eyes dropped to where your bodies joined, his gaze locking onto the sight of his dick disappearing into you, stretching you open with every powerful thrust. The image seemed to almost make him completely lose control, a surge of pure hunger overtaking him as he began to move faster, his hips snapping harder against yours. The sound of his low, desperate moans sent you down a spiral, making you arch further into him.

You glanced back over your shoulder, catching the expression on his face—a mixture of ecstasy and determination. His head fell back, exposing the strong line of his throat, while his teeth clamped down on his lower lip in an effort to hold himself together. The sight was utterly intoxicating, a visual feast that made the heat in your core burn even brighter.

Seeing him like that, so consumed by you, sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through your body. You gasped as your walls tightened around him, the slick gush of your release coating him and making it even easier for him to slip in and out of you with each deep stroke. The wet sounds of your connection filled the steamy shower, mingling with his ragged breaths and the soft whimpers spilling from your lips.

“Fuck” he groaned, his voice hoarse, the single word filled with reverence and lust as his hands gripped your hips even tighter. His gaze flicked up to meet yours for a fleeting moment, his dark, hungry eyes locking onto yours as though trying to anchor himself in the intensity of the moment. The sight of you—wild, open, and completely his—spurred him to push you both closer to the edge, every thrust a testament to just how much he wanted you.

“I love you” he gritted out, he then leaves a stinging slap on your ass forcing out a groan. his voice hoarse with raw emotion as his hips moved faster, more desperate. The wet sounds of your pussy making a mess on his dick alongside the patter of water cascading over your bodies. His grip on your hip tightened, his strength grounding you against the slick tiles as he buried himself inside you with every powerful thrust.

His other hand slid down the curve of your waist, his fingers finding your clit with practiced precision. He circled it roughly in perfect rhythm with his movements, his touch sending jolts of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasped, your face falling forward against the cool wall as one of your hands clung to his wrist behind you, nails digging into his wet skin in a poor attempt to steady yourself.

The pressure in your core built rapidly, your body teetering on the edge of release. “Aurélien” you whimpered, his name a breathless plea that only seemed to spur him on.

“I can feel you” he groaned, his voice cracking as your walls clenched tighter around him, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, his teeth grazing the curve of your neck as his own control began to fray.

The coil inside you snapped, your climax washing over you in waves that made your legs tremble. A cry tore from your throat, and your body arched into his, the sheer intensity of it leaving you trembling in his arms.

Aurélien cursed under his breath, his jaw clenching as your pulsing heat dragged him closer to the edge. His movements grew erratic, his dick throbbing as his balls tightened. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself completely inside of you, his body shuddering violently as his release hit him.

“Fuck, fuck……fuck” he groaned, his voice deep and guttural as he spilled into you, his warmth filling you with each pulse of his dick. His head dropped forward, his breath ragged and hot, as his hands gripped your waist like a lifeline. His moans echoed off the shower walls, mixing with the sound of water as he held you close, pressing your trembling back flush against his chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies intertwined and still shaking with aftershocks. The water turned lukewarm, cascading over your slick skin as your breaths slowly evened out. Aurélien’s strong arms stayed wrapped around you, his hands stroking over your sides in soothing, lazy patterns.

Eventually, he reached behind you to turn off the shower, the sudden silence amplifying the intimacy of the moment. He grabbed a soft towel from the nearby rack, wrapping it around your shoulders before lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Feel better?” he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble, heavy with affection.

You rested your cheek against his damp chest, your heart still fluttering as his warmth enveloped you. “Much” you replied, your voice soft yet sincere. “But only because of you.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your damp hair. “I’ll take the credit” he teased, his tone playful yet tender.

He carried you to the bedroom, the cool air brushing against your flushed skin. As he set you down on the edge of the bed and began gently drying your body, his touch was reverent, each stroke of the towel a reminder of the care he had for you.

When he finally joined you under the covers, he pulled you close once more, his strong arms wrapping around you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. His lips found yours in a slow, languid kiss that spoke of more than passion—it spoke of love.

And as you lay in his embrace, tangled together with nothing but the sound of your hearts beating in sync, you knew that no matter how hard life got, as long as you had Aurélien, you could face anything.

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Twenty Eight

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline. If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

There is slight smut in this chapter(oral with female receiving and slight pinv)

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066 @nameless-ken @minami97 @bookofriverr

The rays of the sun broke through the small opening of the curtains, blanketing warmness over Bucky and I as we laid in bed. I had been awake for a while now, simply staring at him, heart swelling in adoration and love. We’d been sharing a bed the last couple of nights, both needing the sense of security from one another. All we would do was lay in each other's arms, that’s it. Even though we were getting close again, I didn’t want to jump right back into everything until I felt I was ready to. 

Bucky’s hair was falling into his eyes so I gently brushed it away, the urge to kiss his plump lips was unbearable. I leaned on my elbow to stare down at him, a soft snore sounding from his mouth. 

As if he felt me staring, Bucky’s eyes slowly opened with a very large smile appearing on his face when we noticed me staring. 

He snuggled closer to his pillow. “Hm, good morning, doll.” 

“Morning,” I smiled back. 

His vibranium arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer into him. I rested my head against his chest and hooked my leg around his waist, locking him into place. This is what our mornings had been spent the last couple of days before Bucky locked himself in his office at home for the day, trying to find more leads on Clint or Natasha. 

Absolutely nothing. It was as if they dusted away, their lives almost forgotten. 

“Are you busy tonight?” Bucky asked while rubbing my back. 

I couldn't help but snicker at his question. He knew that with the hit on me, I refused to leave the house alone. To be honest, I rarely left his house this past week, not wanting to risk anything. There was no way Bucky would let me leave by myself anyway.

“I think my schedule is open,” I joked with a smile while looking up at him. “Why?” 

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me?” 

My breath caught in my throat. “Like a date?” 

Bucky could feel the way my body tensed in his embrace so he gave my hip a soft squeeze. “Whatever you want to call it; a date or two friends getting dinner.” 

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, debating the offer around in my mind for a few minutes. 

“How about we start it off as friends and see where it goes?” I suggested. 

He smiled, brushing his lips across the top of my head. “As long as you're comfortable, Y/N.” 

My laughter bounced off the small confines of Bucky’s car as he drove us back home, our dinner replaying in my mind over and over. It had been so long since I had someone do everything Bucky did tonight and my heart was swimming. 

It started with him renting a small section of the restaurant for us, him pulling out my chair for me, and the table had a very large bouquet of black roses; my favorite. He already had a set menu for tonight, knowing what I liked, and when we talked he let me talk endlessly as I told him about me; things he didn't know. Not once did he interrupt, only kept his bright eyes on me the entire time. 

Bucky then divulged into his own life growing up and I learned so many things about him that surprised me. Our hands were linked on his lap under the table the entire time, his vibranium thumb pressing light circles on my skin. 

He pulled the car to a stop at a red light then looked over at me. “Have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?” 

I smiled, my hand resting behind his neck, fingers playing with the end of his hair. 

“Once or twice.”

The car started to move again but I could tell that Bucky was still upset with what happened tonight so I placed my other hand on his knee. 

“You know you could have asked Steve or Sam to hang around. That way you wouldn't be so on edge at some points,”I said. 

“I didn’t like the way the waiter kept staring at you. I couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t try something,” Bucky said while gripping the wheel a bit too hard. “I can take care of you, Y/N.” 

I bit back a laugh. “It could be the fact that the dress I chose was a bit too short.” 

His eyes were laced with darkness as they quickly grazed over my form, slowly licking his lips. I felt my body ignite under his gaze so I shifted in my seat, the air shifted around us and I suddenly wanted to feel him all over me again.  

We arrived back at his house before I knew it and neither of us made an effort to leave the car, only staring deeply at each other. Our breathing synced as Bucky lifted my chin up towards him. 

“So was this a date?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, quiet. 

I nodded without hesitation. “This was the best date I had been on in a very long time. Thank you, Bucky.” 

“Anything for you, doll,” he breathed over my lips. 

The Bucky that I had been around the last few days was different from the one from months ago. He was more attentive towards me, sweet, and willing to take everything slow. All the anger I felt for him had vanished long ago, my love for him outweighing all the bad. 

I was done taking it slow. 

“Bucky?” My voice husked. 

His shoulders shivered. “Yea?” 

My tongue rolled over my bottom lip, it got caught between my teeth. 

“Did you want-.” 

I was cut off by his phone ringing but Bucky ignored it. “Not important.” 

“Are you sure?” I asked. 

“Doll,” he leaned closer to me. “You’re the only thing that matters to me right now.” 

Without a second thought, I crashed my lips to his and he wasted no time either by lifting me into his lap, the steering wheel digging into my back. I scratched and pulled at his hair, doing whatever I could to deepen the kiss. His tongue tangled with mine and I moaned into his mouth when his vibranium hand squeezed my ass to bring our hips closer together. 

I leaned my head back when Bucky began biting and sucking at the sweet spot of my neck, our movements becoming familiar with each other all over again. He remembered exactly where to touch or kiss that would set me off, in the most euphoric way. 

My name fell from Bucky’s lip when I started to rut my hips into his, trying to scratch that itch I felt almost everyday since we came back into each other's lives. 

“Should we take this upstairs?” I asked breathlessly from our kiss. 

Bucky didn't answer, only kicked open the car door and carried me inside the house. We were so engrossed with each other that the text message from Baron Zemo that interrupted us before went unread. 

“Oh, Bucky,” I moaned, nails scratching and pulling at his hair. 

His moans were swallowed by the lips between my legs, his tongue pressing circles on my sweetest spot. I hooked both of my legs around his neck, almost smothering him. Bucky didn’t complain once, only kept his actions up, moving even faster. 

I lifted my hips up from the bed as my orgasm washed over me without warning and cried out his name over and over again in praise. 

Bucky didn’t bother waiting for the white haze to pass from my eyes before he hooked my leg over his hip and buried his dick between my folds. I clenched around him and he let out the most guttural moan which made my eyes flutter shut. 

“I missed this so-,” he slid his dick out but left the tip in.“-fucking much.” 

With a hard snap of his hips, he began to move them erratically, his pace unforgiving and unruly. It was what exactly I needed, my nails grasping at anything I could reach. The sheets of the bed, the skin of his back. Anything. 

“Bucky,” I breathed. 

He buried his face in my neck. “I miss the way you say my name. The way you touch.” 

I whined at the sudden emptiness as Bucky dragged his soaked cock from me to roll me onto my knees. My ass was raised up towards him, ready for whatever he was about to do. 

A hard smack of skin against skin bounced off the walls in tangent my screams when Bucky smacked my ass. 

He leaned behind me, his warm breath cascading over my ear. “I miss the way you fuck. The way you taste.” 

I pressed back into dick, the precum and my own sweet arousal dragging all over the back of my thigh. 

“Please,” I begged. “I need you, Bucky. I need to feel you again.” 

“Doll, you never have to beg me for it. Never again.” 

We shared a moan as he slipped between my folds again. 

Snores filled the room as our sweaty bodies were tangled together, not bothering to cover ourselves with any covers. We had come down from our high a while ago, both of us collapsing to the bed short of breath. Bucky had me locked against his chest, vibranium arm over my stomach. 

Tonight had felt like we never missed a beat, everything between us becoming second nature. The only difference was that Bucky didn’t have to leave, we could stay as long as we wanted together. There wasn’t the lingering regret or shame that we would feel after a night spent together. We didn’t get the chance to talk about us, exhaustion taking over us almost immediately. But there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that things would be different between us. 

For the better. 

That was until the sudden thirst woke me and I let out a small yawn while doing my best to untangle myself from him. 

Bucky whined while gripping me tighter.  “Where are you going?” 

“I’m thirsty,” I giggled. 

He left a kiss on my bare shoulder. “Hurry back. I’ll miss you.” 

I laughed at the tone of his voice and gave him a quick kiss before slipping on one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. 

Not bothering to turn on any lights in the kitchen, I rummaged through the fridge in search of something to drink. That was until I felt a strong arm around my throat, yanking me away and tossing me onto the hard, cold ground. My head smacked against the floor as I let out a strangled scream, feeling hands around my throat now. Fear filled my eyes as I looked up and saw a vicious smile looking down at me. 

“Cl-clint?” I choked out. 

“Miss me?” 

Before I could fight against him, he knocked me unconscious with a swift punch to the side of my head. 

[milla-frenchy]

I didn't expect to get hit in the face by the first sentence but here we are (and I'm here for it anyway😌)

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray. 

omg oh no. Don't touch her you fuck

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit. 

shit. shit

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers. 

(I'm so fn nervous Toni, hold my hand 😭😭😭)

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

I hate him. I fn hate him so fn much. I'm gonna be so fn GLAD when Joel's gonna rip him in two

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast.  There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place. 

jfc YES!!!!

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home. 

Damn I wanna cry. I was so scared for her, I'm so relieved Joel's here, but seeing that he tries to heal her and then realizes that the wound is inside is so hard to read 😥

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

I hate what that guy did to her. I hate it so much

“My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious.  “My daughter loved that shit,” he says. 

Oh wow... Oh, Joel... 🫂

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil. 

This is so beautiful

“Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening.  “Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent.

Damn I love them so much

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell.

I don't have the reference 🥲 Which song is it?

What a chapter Toni!!! The emotions, omg. This series is so so good 🖤🖤🖤

of rage and ruin - chapter nine

chapter nine

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: things take a turn for the worse.

Please read the warnings as some new important ones have been added. NOTE: this is the last time that the SA tag will be used in this story. However, the events of this chapter are important. If you decide to skip this chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll fill you in. Or message if you want specifics about the tags to decide if you want to read it.

chapter warnings: non-con, dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, sexual assault (NOT by joel, NOT described, just implied and alluded to), p in v, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were wrong about Mike. About his lack of retaliation.

You were so, so wrong. 

That much is clear when you wake up.

The first sign that things aren’t quite right is that you never did get around to going to sleep last night. 

The second is that you may be buried, or something. You can’t quite move your limbs beyond wiggling your fingers and toes. And you can’t see shit. 

The third sign is that you can’t smell Joel. Not beyond what’s soaked into your skin and sweater. No, he’s very much not here. Or anywhere nearby, if the rapidly tightening feeling in your chest is any indication. 

It’s panic you can’t shake off, you know, since you can’t fucking move. 

The fluorescent overhead buzzes to life. 

“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice blows in from across the room and sinks in your gut like it’s sleeping with the fishes. 

You really, truly are in some deep shit. 

You’ve been kidnapped from your kidnappers. Honestly, what did you do in a past life to deserve this? 

He’s right about one thing. The confidence you clung to in the early days has been picked at like carrion. You’re scared. 

“I didn’t–I’m–” but something is wrong, so very, very wrong. You’re bubbling out gibberish and spit. It’s just sounds, dribbling from sloppy lips. 

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. It ain’t gonna wear off for a while, so best just sit quietly like a good bitch.”

You’re not sure if it's the panic or whatever he’s drugged you with, but your throat is cinched, and your cheeks sting from the uncontrollable stream of tears. 

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray. 

Shit. They were actual brothers. Not that it mattered; what was done was done, but you had really miscalculated this. 

His hand is on your shoulder. It’s better than where you thought he was reaching, and yet, still horrible. It’s not like you haven’t had to deal with handsy or aggressive men. It’s just… usually, you can move. Fight. Run. 

His hand is nothing like Joel’s. His fingers are short, his nails broken and edged with grime. There are scars and dry skin, like Joel, but it’s nothing like his rough grip. There’s no nick above the webbing of his thumb, no calluses on the plump pads of his fingers to remind you that you’re alive. 

Mike brushes his thumb over Joel’s bite, the thin newborn skin taut and jagged. You make a sound. You don’t hear it, not with the way your heart is beating in your eardrums, not the way every note scrapes your throat, but you grate out a sound that might have been a hiss. 

Or a growl.

His hand connects with your cheek, which does not help the dizziness stuffed between your ears.

 

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit. 

He must know he’s on a dwindling timetable. Inevitably, by dawn, the others will return to the base with Joel in tow. Inevitably, by dawn, they’ll know. 

As if he can tell you’ve dug up a fragment of hope, he leers, taking a swig from a bottle of dirty brown liquor. “You think Jim’s gonna waste resources on finding you?” he murmurs, grimy fingers stroking your cheek. 

And just like that, with a sharp breath, you lose that hope. Because he’s right, he’s undeniably right. Jim never misses a chance to bitch about the drain you are. They don’t need you, not really. Neither does Joel, not really. 

It’s easy, after the hours that have passed, to give in to the overwhelming dread. His hand wanders as it settles in, and you twitch away from his touch.

“Guess it’s wearin’ off,” Mike muses, taking another drink. “Can’t have you puttin’ up a fight now.” His bottle clinks against the file cabinet he sets it upon as he squats to dig through a duffel bag. 

There’s nothing you can do when he ties you down. There’s nothing you can do as he grips your cheeks hard, his thumb digging into your jaw until your mouth opens. You try not to swallow the liquor he pours in, only to aspirate it instead, wheezing and sputtering to little effect. 

“Jesus. Can’t even handle a little booze,” he sneers. “Too bad. Can’t have you gettin’ too feisty, huh?” He forces more down your throat, and it burns. 

He keeps squeezing your face, peering down at your mouth. “Reckon I should teach you a lesson about biting,” he said, tapping the bottle lightly against your front teeth. A whimper of fear slips free, and he grins crookedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t like that, huh? My brother didn’t much like gettin’ bit, either.” 

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers. 

You can feel your body twitch, trying its very hardest. The lingering drugs and booze make your head spin and throb. Mike faded in and out of view, but made his presence very clear as he pried your jaw back open. 

He tapped each tooth with the pliers, hemming and hawing about where to start. Garbled sounds are all the protest you can muster, trying to shake your head loose of his grasp as he selects an incisor. 

The first two attempts fail, the pliers slipping free, battering you in the process. The third try, though, clamps on just right. He clumsily tugs, to no avail, before wiggling and twisting the tooth. Reluctantly, your body parts ways with it as he increases the force, plucking the loosened tooth from the gum. 

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

—

It’s not the fight that wakes you. Not the gunshots, not the snarling. Everything has died down by the time you come around.

Well, not everything. Based on the sounds, you’d hazard a guess that Mike is still at least a little alive. When you look up, you’re thrilled to find out you can, that the paralysis has waned. 

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell. 

For a moment, Joel meets your eyes, and you are the wolf, nearly. You can feel the way it burns through your veins. 

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast. 

There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place. 

The Wolf that is Joel, that is your alpha, that is your savior, stands on his hind legs with those unsettling inverse ankle-knee-freaky bits bent. But even crouching, he fills the room. He’s a blur, like the first time you saw him, an ink blot in the center of your vision. A wormhole absorbing all the light. What little is left reflects off his shiny body. It takes you a moment to realize his fur (or his body hair, as he insists) is soaked in blood. 

It clings to the plaque on his teeth. His hands are steeped in it, some already hardening or coagulating under the stretch of his claws. He stalks over to you, and you do not flinch from him. His claws rend the rope as if it were no more than spaghetti. You tremble uncontrollably as he helps you sit up, most of your faculties back under your control. His blood-soaked, massive paws cradle your cheeks, pulling back abruptly when you whimper. 

A growl rumbles from his chest, and he throws his head back and howls. It brings footsteps in your direction as he gathers you into his arms. You’ve never felt smaller than you do now, and it’s not just the bulk and heft of his body. He cradles you with a delicacy unbefitting his sharp, deadly nature, but it’s all the more Joel to you than the brutality you witnessed. 

The raiders filter in, just a few of them, more to control him than assist, but they reclaim Mike’s stolen supplies and pay you no mind. At least until Cheryl comes in. 

“Alive after all, huh?” she says, approaching far closer than you think she should dare. But she wiggles the remote to the shock collar as she nears, peering at you. “Still want her, pet?” she asks Joel. “She’s all used up.”

He bares his teeth and snarls, and she shrugs. “It was just an option,” she says, hand dropping from the pistol on her belt. 

You feel sick from the second brush with death in as many hours. Or maybe it’s from the bootleg booze and blood that’s been dripping down your throat. 

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home. 

No. Not home. You can’t let yourself accept that. But it’s been almost a year, now. Almost a year since they plucked you from that FEDRA truck and brought you to hell. 

It’s not the cell that’s home, though. It’s him. 

—

You look up at the wolf once you’re locked in, the relief of your familiar prison bubbling up like bile. The others go back to their day, the incident no more than a blip of inconvenience. Silence lingers, both of you waiting, waiting, waiting to hear the heavy thunk of the cellar’s deadbolt. 

As soon as it sounds, you break.

“You found me,” you gasp, trailing into a whimper. “You found me, you found me.” Your voice is grating, leaking from your cracked and dry throat. It hurts to talk, your jaw throbs, and you struggle around the swelling, but you can’t stem the leak.

He grips your biceps with both paws, and rolls back the shift enough to speak. “I found you,” he says firmly, letting you feel his sturdy hold on you, keeping you there and present. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t respond, still shaking and swaying a little on the spot. “You found me,” you echo, raw and dredged up from the hollow of your lungs. 

“Hey,” he growls without aggression. “ Listen to me. ” He doesn’t mean to do it. His voice drops a register, an even lower rumble than usual, and your attention snaps up to him. 

He winces. There’ll be time to apologize later, though. “I’ve got you,” he repeats steadily. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you echo in a whisper. 

“I will always find you,” he promises, eyes gone dark. “Always, little omega. You’re mine, and there’s nowhere on this godforsaken earth that they can hide you from me.” 

In any other context, it would frighten you. It should, by all means, frighten you a little. Instead, you kiss him.

It’s a mistake that sends you pulling back, gasping in pain, and all the ferocity on his face falls.

“Let me see,” he coaxes gently, cradling your jaw. He’s careful as he presses your lip to the side to get a good look. “ Jesus, ” he whispers.

You can see the guilt building up, layers upon layers from all his life. You won’t let this, won’t let you be another. “Joel—”

But he’s not having it. He bristles and narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop tryin’ to run your mouth? You’re making it bleed.” His eyes dart over your face, stopping back on your missing tooth each time before sighing, shoulders slumping. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles, leaving no room for argument by simply picking you up and carrying you over to the bed. He settles with you straddling his lap, wincing. He looks down for only a moment. “I’ll take care of that next. Sit still ‘n be good.” 

It turns out not to be a hard order to follow. He sets about to lick your wounds, starting with your mouth. He doesn’t mean for it to turn into anything, he really doesn’t, but he’s licking inside your mouth. As his spit mixes with yours, as he laves his tongue oh-so-gently over and over, the familiar tingling starts to set in. It numbs the pain, not entirely, but the relief is enough to make you sigh softly against his mouth.

He can’t entirely be blamed as it turns into lazy kisses, tongues brushing comfort over one another, each press of lips like a mantra. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not sure who’s reassuring who. 

It’s not going to fix it. There’s not a magical makeout session that can restore your tooth or even heal the socket. Not that quickly, anyway. But it eases the pain, and so does the way his warm hands hold you like you’re something precious. The way he groans into the kiss, the way he can’t stop reaching for every bit of you, checking meticulously to make sure nothing else was taken from you. 

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

He settles you down on the mattress, settles himself into the wolf, and he licks every inch of you. His long, hot tongue is just rough enough to make you feel clean. There’s no way even a cell of Mike’s skin is left behind on yours. Joel eats it all up like he did the man himself. It leaves your whole body tingling, your heart pounding in your ears, your cunt gushing by the time he sheaths himself in you. 

There’s no room left for anyone else. There’s no room for anything but you and Joel in the darkness. 

It’s too late before either of you realize he’s triggered his own rut. Your body responds beautifully, burning under his touch, following your alpha into blissful oblivion. He fusses relentlessly, worried despite his own distress and desire, not wanting you to feel trapped or forced. Not again. Never again. 

It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can keep, but both know he’ll die trying. 

It isn’t as long as your first heat, but it’s all the more intense. Your little room fills with sweat, pants and groans replacing any need for words. And it’s exactly what you need—no thoughts, no memories, no dealing with what you’ve suffered. Just Joel, just… love? No, that can’t be right. Just lust. 

His cock is insistent, pressing into you, filling the gaps he’d left behind. He doesn’t bother turning back to the man, doesn’t bother trying to pretend he’s anything but a mindless creature right now. And still, he’s so gentle. More gentle than he’s ever been. 

You didn’t have time to build a nest, but that’s okay. He doesn’t ever move from his place over your body, cocooning you, blocking everything else from sight. There’s just Joel. You’re warm and cozy and safe. 

You almost forget that you’re locked up at all. He keeps you on such a high with his deft fingers, mouth, and cock that you can’t even fathom a time when he might have to part from you. The lock of your cunt around his knot is your echo of his promise. Never again. 

—

“How much of this is even real?” you whisper in the fading light of your heat. Your hand is lazily raised, blocking out the fluorescents, but he catches it with his own, his thick fingers making room for themselves between yours. Locking you together in another way, keeping you close. 

“Couldn’t tell ya,” he says quietly, gruff voice even coarser in the way he holds back, keeping it soft in your ear. “Probably nothin’. But it’s there anyway.”

He was sure as shit right about that. This burning in your chest, the way your heart picked up as he wove your fingers together and tugged your hands down, using both your arms to hold you to his chest, your unified fist in the center. It’s not real, not really. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. There’s nothing for this heavy feeling to rest upon, no foundation for the feelings that should not be there. 

And yet.

The conversation is veering uncomfortably personal, of which you only have yourself to blame, but you run from it anyway. “You ever see Dawn of the Wolf? ” you ask, pushing for something unserious, something that’ll have him rolling his eyes and putting up a fuss about the W Word. 

That’s not what happens, though.

His breath catches for a second before rolling out in a soft sigh, his warm breath ruffling the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious. 

“My daughter loved that shit,” he says. 

You can’t help the way your body stiffens. You want to roll over and look at him, to parse his pursed lips and warm eyes. He doesn’t let you, though, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers pressing a little more insistently in the divots between your knuckles until you settle. 

“Watched the damn movies, read the damn books, had the damn poster on her wall,” he says, something careful in his words. Like he’s trying to give this to you without giving anything up for himself. These memories he’s clutched in the recesses of his ventricles—they can’t be extracted without damaging the last soft tissue he could spare to wrap them in. 

“So, who’s team were you on?” you tease instead. 

“I didn’t give a shit,” he dismisses. A beat passes. “Why would she even have considered the wimpy blond vampire kid?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, nodding sagely. “You think the obvious choice was the tall, hairy, brooding wolf-man. I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” he grouses immediately. “It was all stupid, anyway. None of ‘em could stop whining.” 

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil. 

“Never did get to see the sequel,” you say after a moment, trying to regain some sense in your brain.

He snorts. “Didn’t miss anything. I thought it couldn’t be worse than the first one but it was the stupidest two hours of my life.” 

“I can’t believe you saw Dawn of the Wolf 2, and I didn’t,” you say. A beat passes. “Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening. 

“Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent. The oaky notes are easier to parse, now, much more complex. Hints of spices are there, sometimes. 

You’re getting too familiar. So much so that when the chamomile blossom of his grief leaks through, your grip on him tightens just a little, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to the thick thatch of hair beneath your cheek. 

It isn’t real, but how can it not be? How can something this intense not be real? No, it’s different. This isn’t real versus fake like something photoshopped, something on a green screen. 

This is more than that. The dotted lines that make up constellations aren’t real, but it doesn’t change the way those stars are bound together to make something unique, something breathtaking.

“I get it now,” he murmurs, breaking your existential reverie. 

“Get what?” you say, nose wrinkling.

He bumps his nose against yours, nudging at you in a way you know would involve a playful nip if he was his other self. “Why he didn’t just eat her,” he says.

You reward him with a bark of a laugh. “You’re still thinking about Dawn?” 

This time he does nip at you, catching your ear gently with very human teeth. “S’your fault,” he grumbles, and you feel it rumble through his chest. 

And yours. 

No, wait, that was your stomach. You’re suddenly starving, and with that revelation comes another, much worse one. You sit up so quickly that Joel follows suit, eyebrows raised. 

“What’s the matter?” He barks. 

“It’s the food,” you whisper. “That’s why they don’t let you share. That’s how Mike got me. It’s in the fucking food.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw. “Explain,” he growls.

“I think they’re drugging us,” you finally tell him. It’s been a haunting tug in the back of your brain, one you didn’t really want to admit to. There’s been a matching tug in your gut, the feeling of something not sitting quite right, but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

It had been twenty years since you had something like cough syrup, anyway. But that’s the feeling. The fuzzy spot between your eyes where the ground seems to swoop up, the way you move through the day underwater. 

“Fuck,” Joel whispers. But he can’t deny it makes sense. It makes too much goddamn sense. He’s been too fucking compliant, too fucked to care. He thought it was apathy borne of everything he’s been through. 

But goddamnit. He knows. He just knows you’re right.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Love is Happiness (Tuva Hansen/Lena Oberdorf/Lea Schüller)

Warnings: migraines, mentions of throwing up

Summary: Lea isn't feeling very well cause she has a migraine and her two favorite brunettes make sure to take very good care of her.

Lea did regret going to practice today even after both of her girlfriends told her it was okay to stay home since she looked quite pale. But the blonde insisted on going and that the air would make her feel better. Spoiler Alert! It didn't help at all. It made things worse. She almost fainted after they practiced Corners and she did a Header. It got in but she also felt like her head was about to fall off, her vision was really blurry and she was starting to walk wobbly. That didn't go unoticed by the Team and especially not Lena & Tuva.

Lea was close to crying and fainting from the pain but Tuva quickly catched her, holding her up. "Lea! Babe that's it i am taking you home." she told her, picking up the blonde to carry her. Lena was next to them quite fast as well. "Let me grab our stuff while you get her to the car, Love?" Lena suggested gently. Carefully Kissing Lea's forhead before Kissing Tuvas. "Alright." The Team sent them Home with 'well wishes' for Lea.

Tuva helped her blonde girlfriend into the Backseat of her car. Kissing her forehead. "It will be okay love." She whispered out. "It hurts alot." Lea breathed out, fresh tears followed that revelation. She gently grabbed onto Tuvas hand. "Sit with me, lovely?" Lea almost begged so the brunette ended up in the backseat with her. Not that she didn't have planned on sitting next to Lea anyways . Tuva held the blonde carefully in the arms. "Close your eyes, beautiful. I am here! Get some rest!" Lea didn't need to be told twice and fell asleep, leaning against Tuva. Lena drove them home in Tuvas car.

When they reached their home, Lena scooped a sleeping Lea into her arms while Tuva opened the front foor for her girlfriends. Lena was being very careful not to wake Lea. Lying her down in their shared bed. Taking the Blondes shoes off and then her own. Lena & Tuva laid down on each side of them. They cuddled her close. Letting her sleep. Both Tuva & Lena stayed awake. Cause they wanted to be there when Lea needed something. It broke their Hearts to hear the blonde whimper in her sleep.

It took like an hour before she woke up and felt so sick that Tuva and Lena both helped her to the bathroom just in time because she had to throw up quite alot. Lena held back the blondes hair while Tuva was rubbing her back gently. "It's okay love, we got you!" Lena whispered out. Making sure to speak in a very gentle volume because she knew how much loud noises made things worse for her girlfriend. "Thank you, to both of you." She breathed out and leaned against them after she was done vomiting. Lea was hiding her face in Tuvas arm while grabbing a hold of Lenas hand. Squeezing it gently. "You don't have to thank us. We would do anything for you!" Tuva replied. "Tuvi is right, we would do whatever it takes to make you happy." Lena told her. "I am happy. Cause Love is Happiness and the two of you have so much love to give!" Lea explained, her voice still weak but full of Love as well, she meant what she said.

After helping Lea up from the floor and helping her brush her teeth Lena helped her back to bed while Tuva made a tea for Lea to help her with her upset stomach. Later on Lea was taking a bath and took another round of her migraine medication. She was starting to feel alot better a few hours later, thanks to her two amazing girlfriends.

The next day she could even go back to Training but she had to promise both Lena & Tuva that she would tell them when she wasn't feeling well and not wait until her migraine was in full swing again.

(If you want to read more about these three together let me know.)