#but I think just doing her solo was faster to draw

[magicalcraftgirl]

I want pumpkin pie cookie to get a christmas outfit that would be absolutely adorable 😭😭❤️

[thewulf]

Crash and Burn || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request! Y/N and Jake have a very… chaotic relationship. Many ups and downs between the two Naval Aviators. One moment they’re fine the next they are at each other’s throats. Everything goes wrong for the duo in training when Y/N catches Jake’s jet wash as he tries to show off for Maverick. Hurt/Comfort. Readers call sign is Jinx.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 4,000+

Arrogant. Cocky. Selfish.

Just a few words to describe your least favorite classmate, Hangman. He had mastered the art of getting underneath your skin. Phoenix always told you to play it cool around him or he’d just keep doing the same. You never learned your lesson always arguing back when he had to say some stupid misogynistic thing about female pilots. You had to hand it to Phoenix though, she never let Hangman work her up.

You hadn’t known him prior to Top Gun like your other classmates had. They gave you a forewarning when it came to Jake. Watch your back or he’d be the one shooting at it. You didn’t believe it at first, but you learned.

Quickly, you understood their warnings toward him. The world revolved around Jake Seresin to Jake Seresin. You dreaded when Mav called your name to go up in the air with him. You had yet to have any sort of success when you flew with Hangman. It always ended up in one or both of you being taken down by Mav. Jake never communicated with you always throwing you off your game. He was so good at making you feel less than.

Today was no different. You heard your name paired with Hangman’s drawing a subtle sigh out of your mouth. You let your head rest against your palm as you thought over your options. You didn’t have a back seater today. Fritz called in sick with the flu leaving you flying solo, something you rarely did. You could beg Mav to switch the teams up or you could deal with it. You opted for the first option.

Heaving your body out of your desk you slowly made your way to your teacher while the rest of the class went to the locker rooms. You really didn’t think you had it in you to deal with Jake today. Not sleeping well the previous night due to getting into a heated argument with an ex-boyfriend all your energy was zapped. Certainly not a good combination to be taking an F-18 up in.

“Mav,” You paused waiting for him to look up to you, continuing only when you had his attention, “Fritz is sick today. Don’t you think another team should go up with Hangman?”

He shook his head looking down at whatever he was working on, “No, Jinx.”

“But I don’t have a wizzo.” You frowned knowing it really didn’t make a damn difference today. You were just running the first half of the course. You didn’t really need Fritz until it was time to train to drop the bomb.

He shrugged, “You’ll fly without a back seater today. Understood?”

Letting out another small huff of annoyance you nodded, “Yes sir.”

“Good, now go get ready. You and Seresin are up first.”

“Course we are.” You nodded leaving the classroom slowly to go get changed. You’d been lucky to avoid being teamed up with him the last few training sessions, but your luck seemed to end today.

Jake was interesting to you. You certainly didn’t hate the man, but he made it so hard to actually enjoy his presence. He always had that stupid cocky grin on his face like nothing could knock it off. You had only seen him slip up with Rooster once other than that he was his usual arrogant self.

Changing quickly, you knew the faster you were up in the air the faster your session would be with Hangman. Exiting the women’s locker room, you made your way to your jet. Going through the pre-flight checklist thoroughly you didn’t hear your teammate approach you.

“Going to be able to keep up today, Jinx?” Jake leaned his frame against your jet taking a full look of you. A soft smile formed when he saw just how focused you were on your task at hand, hardly paying him any attention. He’d never admit it, but he lived for moments like this with you. Moments where he could study you without the world knowing just what he was doing.

He met you at the Hard Deck the night before Top Gun. You seemingly knew Phoenix and Rooster from a previous deployment. You quickly grabbed Jake’s attention with that pretty smile and angelic laugh. Jake swore he could hear your giggle across the bar. A sound so pretty he’d never dare to admit it to anybody.

He grabbed your attention in any way that he could. Even if it meant being the bad guy in your reality. At least you were paying him the attention he craved from you. Quickly, he found what pressed your buttons and made sure to press them whenever he could. Just to get into a debate with you. He loved it. He adored you.

Looking up at the interruption you kept the level head on your shoulders. Trying to do what Phoenix did so gracefully, “Can you just fly the mission? Not pull your usual bullshit Seresin?”

Placing a hand on his chest he feigned hurt, “I’m wounded Jinxie.”

Ignoring him you continued, “Can you? For once.”

Smirking he started sauntering off, like he owned the damn air strip, “Doubtful darling. Gotta be fast.” He threw you a wink before disappearing into his jet.

Rolling your eyes, you tried not to let him get the best of you. It was typical Hangman behavior. One that you would never be able to crack it seemed. You thought maybe you’d be able to in the beginning. You should’ve just listened to Rooster and Phoenix instead of trying with him. All it ended in was arguments every single time you tried to have a normal conversation with the man. You couldn’t lie though, there was something so damn appealing about Jake Seresin that kept you crawling back for more.

Signing off on your paperwork you hopped into your jet. Placing your helmet on you smiled as you took in the front dash. You just loved this. It never ceased to amaze you just how lucky you were. You were able to fly jets across the world. Meeting new people and finding new cultures never got old to you. And you got to fly around on top of it all? You loved every single second of your Naval career. Not having a single regret about all of your adventures.

Taxing onto the runway you waited behind Hangman as he got the all clear. He was Dagger One in this scenario, and you were Dagger Two. Thankfully, all you had to do was keep up with him and not have him on your ass chirping you every five seconds. You hated flying as Dagger One with Hangman as your wingman. It felt like your heart would burst from the sheer stress of trying to deal with him.

You got the all clear taking off finding Hangman in the straightaway. You accelerated already noticing how fast he was moving before you even begun the timed trial. Mav raced in beside the two keeping an eye out, “Two minutes fifteen seconds until target. Time begins when Hangman clocks it. Good luck.” Mav flew off above watching the duo from his eagle eye view.

“Ready Jinx?”

You were honestly surprised he gave you any warning before he took off, “Ready when you are Hangman.”

“Let’s turn and burn baby.” You heard the clock begin. Locking your eyes onto the back of Hangman’s jet you decided he wouldn’t be getting away from you that easily this time.

You kept up for the first thirty seconds before he punched it even further, “Hangman you’re going to fast!” You yelled into your mask trying to accelerate yourself. You started losing him as he only punched it even further.

“You’re not going fast enough!” He countered.

Your eyes lowered knowing he wasn’t going to let up so you sped up as much as your comfort level would allow you, which still wasn’t fast enough, “Hangman slow down!” You began pleading with the asshole pilot.

“Speed up Y/N!”

He never used your real name. He was challenging you. Sighing to yourself you kicked it up a notch not feeling all that great with your speed and closeness to the ground, “I can’t keep up!”

You heard him audibly groan into the comms, “Jesus Jinx, fine.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as his jet dropped speed suddenly. You knew you didn’t have enough time to slow down, or you’d plow right into the back of him. Decelerating at the same time you dipped slightly to avoid crashing right into him, “Shit, Jake what the fuck was that?”

“You said to slow down so I did.” You could practically hear the cockiness lace his voice from a mile away.

“Not like that you fucking asshole.” You sighed this time feeling your heart rate go down a bit. You’d had many close encounters in the jet but nothing like that.

“Hey Jinxie. Calm down.”

“Jesus,” You grumbled positioning your jet back up behind his, “Just go Seresin.”

You weren’t sure what happened but one second you were fine the next your right engine was out and your left one started sputtering, “Fuck.” Internally cursing you didn’t have a back seater to help you talk yourself through the next few minutes. Thankfully your training kicked in.

“Right engine out. No Fire. Restarting. Left engine compromised.” Calmly you spoke into your mask.

“Jinx?” You heard Mav’s voice come in.

“Jinxie what’s wrong?” Hangman’s voice chimed in right after Mavericks. He failed to see you behind him as he sped back up.

Desperately you hit the right combination of buttons, but nothing seemed to feed the engine the fuel it needed. “Shit. Not responding. Climbing to 5,000.” You pulled you plane into the climbing position trying to buy yourself some time.

“Jinx. What’s going on?” Mav sounded concerned.

As you were in the middle of pulling up your heart sank hearing another alarm go off, “Oh shit. Left engine out. No fire. Attempting restart.” You managed to stagger out. Again, you attempted to refuel and refire the engine

Mav came down to your level eyes wide seeing neither of your engines burning, “Jinx eject!” He sounded a bit panicked you noted.

Your training was kicking in though. You had maybe five seconds to try again. After that you’d have to eject or you’d be toast, literally.

“Restarting right and left engine.” Ignoring Mav’s orders, you punched and prayed the engines would respond.

“Jinx eject now!” Maverick commanded you.

“Fuck! Eject Jinxie! Now” You didn’t see Hangman come back around surveying the situation he believed he put you into.

No sign of life from your jet really caused your heart to sink knowing you really only had one option now. Your heart started racing seeing how low to the ground you already were, 2,000 fucking feet. This was going to hurt, “Fuck, ejecting.” You pulled the handle from underneath your seat sending you into the air.

The next thirty seconds felt like a blur as you were free-falling in the air. Your parachute worked it was just terribly disorienting. You’d trained for this but had never had to do it in the field. Shuddering, you heard your jet crash into the desert below. This wasn’t going to be very easy to explain to the admiral.

You knew you were far too low to the ground when you were in the jet to make a graceful landing. You just didn’t expect how bad it would actually hurt once you hit the rocks of the desert below you. You hit the ground hard and fast, the parachute not having the proper amount feet to descend to really break your fall.

Rolling to a stop as the back of your head hit a boulder immediately you knew something wasn’t right. Hardly being able to keep your eyes open you attempted to stand up only falling right back into the same spot you rolled into, “Fuck.” You groaned closing your eyes feeling terribly weak.

You didn’t see any blood on your chest or legs which was a very good sign, but you just couldn’t keep your eyes open. The only way you seemed to stay coherent after cracking your head against the bolder was fluttering your eyes.

Hearing the faint mumbles of Mav and Hangman you couldn’t really make them out. You tried to stand again but miserably failed as your legs shook far too violently to stand on their own. A small tear fell down your face as the feeling of utter defeat began to take over. You had never experienced your body giving out on you so dramatically before. It was humbling when you couldn’t even stand on your own two feet.

Trying to keep your eyes open you focused on the words coming through your comms. You faintly heard Maverick, “Jinx, please copy.”

Before your eyes completely gave out on you, you heard another soft, “Jinxie please!” Sounding awfully familiar to Hangman’s usually annoying voice.

Opening your mouth, you so desperately wanted to let them know you were alive. You were okay. But you just couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“Mav, I didn’t see a parachute, did you?” Shit, they thought you were dead? You were risky but not risky enough to kill yourself.

“I think I did. Fuck. Jinx, please copy.” He tried you one more time a little beside himself. He’d witnessed the entire accident in horrifying detail taking him right back to his own accident from years prior. You pulled your plane up just as Hangman punched it immediately shutting your right engine down and compromising the left with the wash he left behind. He’d seen it several times out in the field but nothing that bad since his own accident.

Frustrated that you couldn’t communicate with your teammates you began to cry more opting you to slide the helmet right off your head to get some fresh air. Feeling a warm trickle down the back of your neck you hesitantly turned your helmet over revealing a rather large crack near the base of it. This was a very bad sign.

Slowly you placed a hand to the back of your skull slightly horrified at the red blood that coated your hand entirely. Fuck. You knew this wasn’t good at all. Trying to stay conscious you unzipped a pant leg off your flight suit planning to use that as a cloth to apply pressure to your head wound.

With all your strength you had left you leaned your head against the boulder placing the piece of flight suit in between praying you had enough pressure to keep you awake while you waited for rescue. Realistically you knew you only had to wait a few minutes before a team of medics were on the way. They were probably already halfway to you. All you had to do now was keep your eyes open. You could do that.

Grabbing your helmet, you decided to listen to the air chatter knowing at the very least it’d keep you focused on something rather than falling into unconsciousness. It pained you to hear the desperate plea’s from not only Hangman and Mav but command as well. It seemed as if everybody was trying to get you to respond.

Again, you attempted to speak only to be met with the utter silence of nothing coming out. It’s like the rock knocked your ability to speak right out of your own head. It was a rather gut-wrenching feeling to not be able to say a word. Just to let them know that you were okay. But you couldn’t. Your body simply refused.

Another few minutes passed which felt like hours as you sat there in the beating sun. Just as you were about to give into the darkness you heard the helicopter above you. Looking over a few vehicles approached in the distance. A small smile flickered on your face knowing they finally made it to you.

Before you knew it a few medics approached you quickly triaging the situation. They realized how incoherent you really were as you tried responding to their questions but couldn’t seem to talk.

“Hey Jinx. We’re going to patch you up alright?” A familiar face leaned down brushing the hair out of your face, “Just try and stay awake, okay?” It clicked that it was your team’s physician. He knew you very well taking your vitals and stats all the time.

“Let them know we’ve got her. Critical care.” You heard him say before placing something cold around your neck.

“You’re going to be alright. We’re taking you to the base hospital.” He smiled softly at you before he gave the next round of orders to his team.

The next while was a blur of you floating in and out of consciousness mixed with tons of people asking you too many questions. None of which you could answer as your voice was still missing.

Finally, you were able to sleep given the okay from a worried looking doctor you’d never seen before. You couldn’t seem to care as unconsciousness swallowed you whole.

The faint beeping brought you out of the deep slumber you were in. Rolling your head to the side you spotted Hangman sleeping in the chair next to your bed. Initial confusion rolled over you and you unfortunately heard the beeping pick up pace rapidly.

The change in background noise brought Hangman out of the light sleep he was in. He had been waiting on you for the last twelve hours or so. Refusing to leave your side until he knew that you were okay.

The initial prognosis given to them wasn’t great. The medics noted you as delirious, out of it, non-responsive before you went out completely. It worried him beyond belief. Especially knowing it was likely his actions that got you here. Mav kept trying to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, but you got caught up in his jet wash. Just like Mav did all those years ago. It’s a freak occurrence and 99% of the time jets handle it fine. You were just one of the unlucky ones.

He looked over to you seeing your panicked expression. His face softened as he realized how much this must be for you, “Hey Jinx. You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

You felt some sense of relief knowing he was real. Sitting right there. You weren’t dreaming. You were back to the land of the living. You nodded recalling having to eject from your jet. You don’t remember much after that though.

“Can you speak?” He scooted the chair closer, so he was right up on the bed, right next to you.

“Yeah.” You managed to croak out. Your throat was feeling rather dry. Likely from all the sand and dirt you inhaled out there.

Grinning at the sound of your voice he grabbed your hand, “Good, let me go get a doctor.” He began to stand up before you stopped him by grabbing at his hand like he just did yours.

“No!”

He paused cocking his head to the side studying you curiously, “Just give me a minute. They’re going to ask a lot of questions and…” You paused not sure if he was even listening. This was Hangman after all. To your utter surprise he had his eyes locked on you, soaking up your every word. You decided to continue, “My head really hurts. I don’t want to talk to them just yet.”

Sighing Hangman looked all too conflicted. What was five minutes anyway? On the other hand, if your head really hurt you that bad why didn’t you want to see a doctor? Didn’t you want the help? Opting to go with your wishes he sat back down making a note of the time, he wasn’t going to give you more than the five minutes you requested.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly seeing him sit there against his better judgement.

“Sure. Are you alright at least?”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath in, “I’m okay. I just don’t feel great.”

“You scared us up there. You scared me.” He admitted whispering it almost so you couldn’t here.

Mustering a small halfhearted laugh, “Like you really care Seresin.” His face dropped immediately after your comment. Meaning it in more of a joking manner you didn’t think he’d take you so seriously.

“Why would you say that? Of course, I care Y/N.”

“One less pilot you have to deal with.” You kept trying to joke with him, but he wasn’t letting you. Taking it far more seriously than you were.

Shaking his head he grabbed your hand, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

He groaned. Frustrated that he wasn’t so great at showing real emotion, “Acting like I don’t care. I do care. A lot.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” It slipped out way faster than intended. You didn’t want to make him feel like a total asshole, but your concussed brain had other ideas.

Head down Jake sighed, “I’m sorry Jinxie. I really am. I never would have thought… I wouldn’t have done that if I would have known…”

“It’s okay Jake.” You shushed him. You had never seen this side of the cocky Jake Seresin before. You weren’t even sure if Jake had a more human side to him. All it took was you nearly cracking your head open to get him there. Who would’ve known?

He shook his head, “It’s not though. What happened to you. Seeing your plane go into freefall and not seeing you eject was hell Y/N. And then you didn’t respond? Mav and I could only think the worst.” His stare could have bore holes into the back of your head.

Cheeks heating up you turned away from him, “Well, I’m still here.”

Jake smiled picking your hand back up feeling the urge to have you close, “Thank goodness for that.”

Stitching your eyebrows together you looked him over, “You going soft on us?”

“Not on us.”

“What?” You asked him sincerely.

“Only for you.”

Sucking in another breath you turned on your side to face him completely, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t lose you Y/N.”

Where was all of this coming from? While you had to admit he was an incredibly attractive guy you never thought in a million years he’d be going for you. All the two of you did was bicker back and forth. Sure, it never got nasty but the two of you could never agree on the same thing. Not even toppings on a pizza. There always had to be an argument between the two of you.

“Are you saying you like me Jake?” eyeing him curiously you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as you anxiously waited for his answer.

He looked up at you. Studying your face for any sign of contempt. For any sign that your repulsed by the sheer fact that not only did he have a full-on crush on you. He was sure he just might love you to.

Nodding his head in agreement it he finally admitted it out loud, “Yes Jinxie. I like you.”

Smiling to him you grabbed one of his hands this time, “You know we aren’t in middle school anymore Jake.”

“Hmm?”

“If you like someone you can be nice to them. You know instead of making them eject and landing them in the hospital.”

Chucking he looked you right in the eyes, “I’m sorry Y/N. Would you give me a chance to prove I’m not a middle school boy?”

Returning his laugh you squeezed his hand, “I’d love to get to know adult Jake.”

“Friday. 6 o’clock. I’m picking you up and taking you out to a nice dinner.”

Raising your eyebrows you took another long look at him, “I can’t wait.”

[coldfanbou]

Lock Up

So this is a rougher story with some degradation. The basic plot is Ryujin wanting to add the use of handcuffs to her sex life with her manager/master.

Length 1.5K

Ryujin x Mreader

Ryujin sat in her room holding a pair of padded handcuffs that she had recently bought. Placing her wrist through them and locking the cuffs, she tested them by trying to pull them apart. They were taut and refused to do so. Ryujin wanted to add some spice to her sex life, and the idea of being restrained aroused her. She knew you could satisfy her, and this would just be the cherry on top. As her manager, you were in the lucky position to have a job where being around the members would draw no attention. It allowed you to have sex with them whenever they needed it. Ryujin was satisfied after a few minutes thinking the handcuffs were of good quality. She began to look around her bed for the key. Panic filled her as she continued to look for it far longer than it should have taken her. The key had seemingly disappeared in the mass of blankets she had. A knock on the door scares her. 

"Ryujin, are you in there? You have a solo schedule today; we need to get going soon." You say. Not hearing a response, you knock again. "Ryujin? Are you still sleeping?" Ryujin, in a panic, hides under the covers. Her plan is to fake being asleep. You wait for another second, and after no response, you crack the door open, "Ryujin, I'm coming in." You open the door to see Ryujin on her side, facing away from you. You reach her side and nudge her, "Ryujin, wake up." Refusing to wake up, you shake her, causing the blanket to slip down low enough for you to see the handcuffs. You slide your hand down to her sweatpants and rub her slit. "Alright, Ryujin, I know you're awake. Be a good girl, and tell me why you bought handcuffs." 

Ryujin begins to mewl and opens her eyes. "I-it's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you bought a pair of handcuffs and tried them on." As you continue to rub Ryujins lips, you look at her bed and spot the keys. "If I had to guess, you lost the keys, and when I knocked on the door, you panicked and got in bed. Am I right in my assumption?"

Ryujin breaks eye contact with you; looking at the bed now, she says, "...yes." 

You kiss her neck, "We still have some time before your schedule. We could always try these things out." Ryujin moans, feeling your lips attack her neck. In combination with the teasing of her lower lips, she nods, unable to resist.

"Yes, master," you smile at her response. 

"That’s a good girl." You grab the handcuff’s chain and force her hands above her head while you straddle her. Ryujin lies on the bed as you kiss her; your other hand moves under her sports bra and begins to toy with her tits. You enjoy the feeling of her big soft tits in your hand as you squeeze them. Ryujin's moans grow louder because of you. You take a moment to strip off your clothes; once you climb back on top of Ryujin, you place your cock under her sports bra and between her breasts. The soft cushions that are her breasts caress your cock as you start to thrust between them. "You have such a slutty body Ryujin. These nice big tits, such a great ass too, and it's all for me."

"Yes, master. Only for you." Ryujin tries her best to lick the head of your cock when it pokes out from between her breasts. You just indulge in the feeling of your cock between her pillowy breasts. When you feel yourself, get close to cumming you start to thrust your hips at a faster pace. 

"Fuck, I'm going to cum, Ryujin. Open your mouth." You command. Bringing yourself to the edge, you cum all over Ryujin's face and neck when your tip pokes out from her tits. When you aren't doing that, your cum paints her tits. You watch as Ryujin uses her tongue to clean her lips of the small amounts of cum that stain them. Once Ryujin has collected everything she can, you move down her body and pull her sweatpants and panties away from her body in one motion. Glancing at her thighs, you notice they're already slick with her juices. "Looks like you're ready, Ryujin."

She simply responds, "fuck me, master." You slap her pussy with your cock a few times before positioning yourself at her entrance and slamming your cock inside. "Fuck me, master!" Ryujin screams as she feels your coco bury itself inside her. You hold onto her waist as you start bucking your hips. Ryujin releases a euphoric laugh, "Fuck me like the slut I am. I'm your little whore master. Fuck me! Fuck me!" Her tongue wags in the air as you continue to use her body as you wish. You force her tight pussy into the shape of your cock as you impale her with every thrust. Ryujin's moans filled the entire dorm as she reveled in the feeling of being fucked by you. 

You move your hands to Ryujin's legs; taking hold of them, you force them to be by her head. The new position allows you to use your weight to add more strength. Ryujin's walls clamping down on your cock tells you all you need to know. Soon enough, she begins to squirt as she cums. Ryujin covers her body in her nectar as she does. The sight before you brings you close to your orgasm, and you drive your cock deep into her to fill her womb with your cum. As you pump her full of cum Ryujin groans, "yes, master! Fill your filthy whore with your cum!"

You remain buried inside Ryujin's pussy for a minute, enjoying the feeling of her walls milking your cock as her body tensed and relaxed erratically. You pull out slowly and watch as your cum leaks from her body onto the bed. Turning around, you look for and find the key. Unlocking the handcuffs, you turn Ryujin over onto her stomach. Forcing her hands behind her back, you handcuff her again. Ryujin laughs and wiggles her ass in response. You deliver a hard smack to it, making her yelp. "Oh, master," she says sensually as she continues to sway her ass from side to side. "Spank me as much as you want; this big ass is just for you."

"I know it is Ryujin." You respond as you hit her again. Her ass jiggles as a red handprint begins to form. Your hands latch onto her ass as you place your cock between her cheeks. "Every part of you is mine, and I'm going to use your other hole this time."

"Go ahead, master, fuck my big ass. Ram that cock into my tight asshole. Tear your little whore apart." Without another word, you do as much, ramming your length into her. You push Ryujin's head into her pillows to keep her voice down. There was some resistance, but your cock being coated in cum and her nectar made it much more manageable. You let go of her head and pull on the handcuff chain while thrusting into her. Her upper body rises slightly, but she falls back down the moment you let go. While her pussy was tight, Ryujin's ass was on another level. You wouldn't be able to hold on long, so you would ensure you spent your time well. Ryujin's cries of pleasure and pain rang out as she felt your cock slam deeper into her asshole each time. Her hands clenched and unclenched as you used her. Soon enough, you hand to hold her ass up as she sank deeper into the bedding. 

As you feel your balls tighten again, you warn Ryujin, "I'm going to cum again. Take it all, you slut!"

A weak "cum inside" from the woman below you is all you hear as you fill her asshole with cum. You continue to thrust slowly as you cum, enjoying her anal walls, squeezing you.

"Oh my god Ryujin, I love your ass. I should use it more often." As you look over at the clock, you notice that you’ll be late for Ryujin's schedule. "I'd love to keep using you, my little slut, but we have to get going. Let's take a quick shower to clean you up."

Ryujin mutters a short response, "Yes, master." You take the cuff off her and notice Ryujin can barely move. 

"I guess we'll be taking a bit longer; we can't have you show up in that shape."

You would arrive an hour late at the shoot, blaming it on Ryujin getting hurt. This would help explain her limp as she struggled to walk in a straight line. While the other staff worried about Ryujin, she waved them away. She was a trooper and would give her all she'd say.

[smoothielenny]

Bearly see any Norm or Max and seeing artists reader got me thinking of this

Unlike Spider in some ways Reader respect the people of the tribe and not try to be liked them but try to understand them ( like Steve Erwin on how he respects the animals and people) and they went to a solo adventure to draw more plants that haven't even documented in her art book and one day she came back kinda late and they holding something and it's few jars of bry dyes, and when asked where they got it she just said " I meet a small group of Na'vi in my adventure and they seem to liked drawing so we trade one of my art book with these "

Turns out they meet different type of Na'vi who wears a type of skull mask due to the high altitude they travel with their large flight companions ( bigger then the banshees ) that been traveling, and they seem to be very friendly as they view reader as a just a child despite being a sky demon, apparently these Na'vis are very allusive and private individuals but willing to learn of things that Pandora have to offer with a open mind

Dora, Dora, Dora, The Explorer

I couldn’t think of better title lol.

“Norm! Where is (y/n)!?” Max yelled. Max and Norm is like your parents, they deeply care for you. Max is mostly the worried one while Norm is more focused f that chill dad. Norm scratched his head responding with ‘I don’t know’ Max just sighed and face palmed himself.

“I’m sure she’s around, you know how she is, always on adventures.” Norm calmed Max, but he wasn’t having it. What if you accidentally went to the enemy’s territory? And got kidnapped by them? What if this time you got lost? These ‘what ifs’ is messing with Max mind and it’s making him crazy.

While you ‘dad’ is having a panic attack, you were walking around the jungle, actually opposite where the enemies territory are, so basically you are safe. While walking you saw through wood some Na’vi, you thought it would be some Omatikaya who is in hunting, but no, they look different. The clothing seems a bit similar, but they were wearing a mask. A mask that looks like a skeleton (luckily not a human skeleton). You walk further to them make a crisp noise from stepping at a dried leaves. They all look at you way, they took their arrow and bow and on their defensive mode. You gasped and put your hands up causing to drop your sketch book and pencil. Your breathing started to go faster. Nervousness is crawling up to you head.

“I…I’m not a threat I swear.” You said in Na’vi. They were shocked that a human knows their language though they didn’t back down yet.

“I’m a friend, not an enemy.” You said slowly. They all look at each other and finally lowered their weapons. You sigh in relief from this, but now feel intimidated, you don’t know what to do after, but you just asked, “are you part of Omatikaya?” They said no and answered with ‘We are not, We are mountain people.’ You nodded. They were about to leave, but you said something along the lines with, “Will you let me follow you? I want to know more about you.”

You are now in the air riding with one of them on a big ikran, well at least like an ikran, it is bigger that an actual ikran. They all landed on the top of a mountain. It is different from the Hellelujah mountain, it has its own type of plants and habitats. You were intrigued by it and starts drawing it. One of them got curious and gets close to know what you are doing. They saw you vastly sketch out a plant, they were impressed. You started asking them about everything you could find and taking notes of it, they happily answered you. Talking to a human who has an interest in their clan and place makes them happy. They told you about their tradition, their food, animals, and their own spirit tree.

Night has come and Max is extra stress. He still couldn’t find you and Norm is now also worried. You usually go back afternoon and now it’s night. You now probably got lost.

“Norm that’s it, I’m going out—“ his arms is grabbed by Norm, again trying to calm Max.

“Hey, hey. It’s already night, why don’t you relax and I’ll find her with my avatar bo—“ his words interrupted by a bang of a door opening. It was you.

“(y/n)! Where were you!?” Max exclaimed. You have a lot of thing to tell him.

[foundationsofdecay]

So, this has been floating around in my head all morning... Give really feels like it's actually a duet between Sleep and Vessel.

Consider the first verse:

You take the dark and carve me out a home I picture you when you are all alone I know how we got here I know how we got here I am the shadow, you're a passenger I am the intake of breath so sharp and I know you better Just want to know you better

The first two lines sound very much like they'd be from Vessel's POV, singing about how Sleep's taken the darkness surrounding them both and carving a home for him, though it's interesting that he specifies that it's a home for himself specifically, not for them both. This is amplified by the next line, it's not thinking of Her when they're alone together, or thinking of Her when he's alone, he's specifically picturing Her when She's alone. That has a couple of different readings: is he picturing Her in a state of solitude, or is he doing so when She's alone like how one might pray for someone in times of need, or some kind of cosmic sense that tells him when She's alone? If this is in fact Sleep being sung to here, that could be its own kind of offering to lend Her strength, since faith and devotion are so critical to Sleep's well-being to begin with.

In my mind, you have Vessel singing the first "I know how we got here", with Sleep coming in for the second, either solo or together, transitioning between the two points of view.

Then, we can take a look at the final three lines. The comment of being a "passenger" reminds me of Granite, of being "more than just a body in your passenger seat". I usually interpret Granite as being from Vessel's POV, though there are some readings that do challenge that. For now, I'm operating off the assumption that Vessel is the passenger here. Thus, who could be the shadow but Sleep? These three lines are really interesting too when it comes to the overall tone; to me, this feels very subtly... not degrading, but self-important, perhaps? Which is also fitting for Sleep at times, if you go off of something like Ascensionism. Vessel is "a" passenger, indicating that there could be others, and yes there's espera in addition to ii and iii and iv, but Vessel's always been /the/ main one, the first, not relegated to the same stature as the others, as if he was just i. Then you have Her say not just that She wants to know him better, but that She knows him better already. That in and of itself could mean several things, but my personal reading is that She's saying She knows him better than to believe/trust/take at face value something that he's saying or doing. Yet despite that, She still wants to know even more.

Onward, then, to the second verse:

I'll tear the fiber from the filament I'll be the limit of your light again I want to taste you better I want to taste you better I will be watching for your enemies To let them know that they contend with me I want to know you're out there I want to know you're out there

For the first four lines, I have a lot of thoughts on how Vessel talks about electronics and code, but for now... You can read the first two lines as being from either perspective, really, but either POV is expressing some pretty serious power dynamics. Here, I'm going to assume he is talking about fiber-optic cables because of the specific words being used here, but there are other types of cables you could draw connections with as well.

Fiber-optic cables are different from other kinds of cables because of these additional 'optical fibers' that are usually in the center, which specifically carry light. They're used very widely, most famously in internet and telecommunication, because compared to regular cables they have higher bandwidth and much faster long-distance communication, and breaks down less often. The optical fiber, simply put, is what makes all of those things possible; without it, if you tore the fiber from the surrounding filament and protective casings in the cable, you wouldn't just be destroying the pathway the light travels down, you would completely remove the ability to communicate with it. It's a line with very sweeping implications.

Limiting the light of Sleep, of Sleep's ability to grow by threatening to withhold offerings or anything else She might want - or perhaps this being Sleep threatening to take away what Vessel's been given earlier, to take him mentally back to where he was when he relied solely on Her. Which way you read it depends mostly on how you interpret Sugar and how you interpret all the imagery of cables and wires and code etc. To me, this reads as Vessel, but in either case it's incredibly possessive, wanting to hold the other close to taste them and take everything they can give while still wanting to provide.

The first "I want to taste you better" is a clear prelude to Sugar, and here there's nothing to imply that the singer already knows the other's taste, so it's likely implied that during this song, and the final chorus in particular, this is what's happening, unless Gods is your pick for that moment in time.

For the final four lines, you also have these layered vocals for "I will be watching for your enemies / To let them know what they contend with me", though this time the other vocals are lower that Vessel's standard register in the song. It's a nice choice in the sound mixing to imply something more aggressive, like it's being spoken through gritted teeth, or perhaps more of a growl. Now, with Vessel being described as Sleep's "weapon of choosing" (depending on how you interpret Blood Sport), this could be Vessel speaking towards Sleep, a promise to fulfill his duty as a weapon, or this could be Sleep, promising to shield Vessel from enemies from the past and use Her presence, regardless of how much power She actually holds, to ward others off.

Now there's the bridge:

In this open warfare I won't fight fair No, I won't fight fair And in your waking moments I will be there I will be there

At this point in the song, taken as a duet, is when we have them singing either in tandem or switching off frequently enough to indicate that they are effectively being sung simultaneously. Here we again have this open acknowledgement of the conflict between the two of them, starting quietly with Vessel's voice somewhat placed to the back, before it comes in stronger in the third line. They'll each do what needs to be done in order to get what they want. It's a quiet admission, to the self or to the other, but as far as this song cares, those are indistinguishable.

Likewise, Vessel's waking moments are Sleep's waking moments, and they'll each be there for the other, no longer having to deal with loneliness like at the start of the song. It's a sentiment that Granite later highlights when Vessel outright says "we'd rather be six feet under than be lonely", and even in that song, using the first-person plural further supports the idea that both of them are echoing this sentiment.

Then, finally, the chorus. I tackled all three as a single entity.

If you want to give Then give me all that you can give All your darkest impulses and If you want to give me anything Then give, give in again I just want to give Want to give you all that I can give All my darkest impulses If you want to give me anything Then give, give in again

The chorus when looked at as a whole, is like a dance to me, which is what inspired the post to begin with. Their layered vocals with as wide a differences between octaves giving a strong sense of two separate characters, and here each one is wanting the same thing from the other. This again draws comparisons to Ascensionism, but in this case it's much less openly destructive - less of an open and aggressive consumption so much as an offering of its own, wanting both to take whatever the other can offer while doing the same in return. Taken as a duet, these words belong to both of them, and with the lyrics, them to one another.

There's a beautiful back-and-forth happening between the balancing of the vocal tracks both as each chorus plays out as well as when you look at them as a whole. We have new harmonies added with each repetition of the chorus until the final one, following the second "I will be there" of the bridge. The truly special thing about this final chorus is how that line is drawn out before finally turning into its own vocal flair that extends throughout the entirety of that chorus. "I will be there", a sentiment that trails into and colors the entire thesis of the song, and by extension, their entire relationship.

[crimsonscloud]

you know what. it's missing norton!bruce hours (again) and i got some headcanons to share this time. below the cut because we might be here a while.

general / misc headcanons:

based on norton's screenplay for the incredible hulk, this bruce's full name is david bruce banner. (this is also how i mentally differentiate between norton and ruffalo's portrayals; to me, norton!bruce is david, ruffalo!bruce is robert.)

his mother used to call him "davey" as an affectionate nickname when he was little.

frankenstein is one of his favorite books because his mother read it to him. (this one is canon to the ih novelization)

he adores dogs and adopts a puppy between the avengers and age of ultron. (i don't have a name for the puppy yet.)

he likes studio ghibli films and finds the animation style relaxing.

learned russian while getting one of his phds, like in the comics.

inspired by this panel from the "super spy banner" arc in the comics: he likes james bond. and yes, he absolutely takes the chance to say "the name is banner. bruce banner" when he's doing an infiltration mission (probably with natasha and/or clint) or something. he and natasha probably watch the films together since her solo film had her quoting along to moonraker.

bruce. is. a. martial. artist. the films forget this and i'm salty about it.

cooking is relaxing for him so he tends to make a lot of food, and he knows a lot of dishes from different cultures because of how much he's traveled. no one on the team complains.

bruce's powers:

glowing eyes <3

inspired by the john turman hulk script, electricity behaves weird around bruce when he gets emotional. he has made lightbulbs and other things explode if he's standing too close to them. he learns how to isolate the effect once he understands more about his relationship with hulk. tony helps by giving him things he doesn't mind getting exploded, and for bruce it also works kind of like a trauma release. he can still accidentally blow something up if he gets distracted / agitated, but it happens less.

the electrical-interference power also manifests as him being able to hear electrical currents. different things have slightly different sounds / pitches and tony always asks him to describe them.

still has a pretty good healing factor as bruce, it's just slower. (in a ih deleted scene sparr says she's never seen someone recover from a tranquilizer as fast as he does). also can't get drunk, but he's never tested that for obvious reasons.

in the novel he's able to dodge a tranq dart "aimed and fired in one motion" so he probably also has faster reflexes.

immune to mind control as bruce and as hulk. both are pissed at wanda for trying it.

based on a scene in the immortal hulk comics, bruce uses automatic writing and drawing to communicate with hulk when hulk isn't out.

can see astral forms. they're clearer and even tangible when hulk is in control, but bruce can also see them.

also inspired by immortal hulk, he has a weird sixth sense for when people are lying to him. as bruce the "itch" he gets can be ignored most of the time, as hulk not so much.

relationship / dynamic headcanons:

no brutasha romance to be seen here they are friends 😌 (if that's your cup of tea that's fine it just isn't mine.)

stays. in. contact. with. betty. (i will forever fight the mcu over this. they are soulmates yall.)

steals tony's band shirts like a gremlin. also steals tony's snacks.

bruce🤝wanda: blurring the lines of science and mysticism. (later comics describe gamma radiation as having a mystical element, "like a magic spell... when viewed from another angle" which is the same reason bruce / hulk tend to have some extrasensory powers).

i just think we were robbed of a bruce and wanda friendship okay.

[claypigeonpottery]

Heyyyyy~ I'm just... So in love with all the work you do, they're all so precious and beautiful I'm in tears. Thank you so for what you do, can't wait to buy something you made soon :D

If it's okei, can you please tell the story of how you got into this and how did you progress from being babie artist to now growing artist and how long you've been doing this for? What's your top 3 fav works you've done? Did you eat good food today, if not please dooo. Thenks

thank you! that's very sweet x3 I'm excited to get more stuff fired and up on Etsy, hopefully before the end of June

.

choose three favourites of my work? oh, that is a difficult question.

one thing I really didn't like about my art when I was younger was that it was all very static. it was people sitting or standing, it was still life paintings. one of the things I'm really proud of in my work now is the sense of capturing a moment instead of someone posing, and/or giving a sense of movement

these two are just the opposite of static and I love them for that

and then there's this mug. the design is great, the details are great and I had so much fun carving it. it was honestly just delightful and I wish I'd kept it. I don't say that very often.

all sold

.

I'm putting the rest of this under a cut because I'm going to ramble

I started drawing because I was making silly comics about me and my friends in grade school and through high school (I assigned them all fursonas because I was a really cool 15 year old lol)

I got a little more serious about art in high school, but I never thought it'd be something I'd make money at.

when I was... in my early twenties? maybe 19 still? ah, memory issues, I went through a nine month art program, the 'Urban Canvas' project run by SCYAP (saskatoon community youth arts programming). the program is meant to support young artists, especially those with mental health or addiction issues. and it meant I got paid to draw and paint and create weird shit for 40 hours a week, for nine months. and then some (seven? eight?) years later I got to go through the program again which... honestly I'm so grateful I got to do that. (and SCYAP still supports me, they give me a table at their craft show every year and helped me with my first solo gallery show)

these are some of the pieces I made during my time at SCYAP:

and two very rare pictures of me, posing with two of my master studies. the left from when I was 20ish, and the right when I was... 27ish? (man I'm still proud of that Gentileschi copy)

.

it was after SCYAP when I started thinking that I could actually make money as an artist. so I painted more than a dozen murals, drew a 20-some page full colour comic, painted pet portraits, and sold my own paintings. commissions were more reliable than selling my own work for a long time lol

as for how I got into pottery, my mental health uh... haha. it took a nosedive about six years ago and during some of the worst of it, I was severely agoraphobic. my mom, who has always supported my art, offered to take me to pottery classes with her, in an attempt to get me leaving the house at least once a week. it did help (along with a lot of other things) and once I started exploring the surface decoration side of pottery, things really clicked for me

.

tangent: one of the things that really drove me to progress as an artist was having something driving my work. whether it was preparing for a gallery show or making a bunch of holiday cards or making piles of fan art because I was obsessed. every time I made something, anything, I improved. so when I had a goal that made me create more, I improved faster.

my unsolicited advice: make that weird fan art. it's good for your art. (I was really into tf2 lol)

.

I've tried tons of different mediums and I think it was a great way to help my style evolve.

when you're making art with a new medium, it might take awhile before you're making your own personal work. I, at least, find that I usually have to do some studies of other peoples' art and just try some basic creations before I do anything more personal. but once I'm ready to do MY stuff, I have a new repertoire to pull from. I wouldn't be the potter I am if I didn't have the experiences I got from other mediums

like acrylics (I did a lot of self portraits >.>)

paper flower making

watercolour

collage

cake decorating

(also oil paints, pastels, 3D wire art, crochet, linocut, stone carving, sewing, set painting and quilting. also my spouse and I like to make crafts together, like cutting-construction-paper, gluing-pompoms-and-googly-eyes crafts, because it's just fun to make stuff together)

I'm sure pottery isn't the last medium I'm gonna try. I'll probably get obsessed with carving tiny wooden figurines or making wax sculptures at some point. who knows!

.

and now I'm in my mid-thirties, making art pretty much every day. I've been doing this since I was a teenager, so almost twenty years now.

I never imagined I'd be satisfied with my own art, that I could look at most of my pieces and not see how I could have done it better, but hey, here I am.

.

wow that was rambly. the ADHD really comes out when I'm writing lol. and I did eat real food today! before having some freezies

thanks so much for your ask, hopefully I satisfied your curiosity

[notasapleasure]

Oh I realized I forgot to ask about Jerott/Marthe plans (I think I’ve seen what you’ve written but I’d love to hear abt the other ideas too!) and “AU of an AU” bc I wanna know how the townhouse stay goes!

I'll answer Au of an au separately :')

Ik I must have mentioned this a million times, but it always bears repeating :') the whole ethos of band AU Jerott/Marthe is summarised by the song Precious Things by Tori Amos:

So I ran faster But it caught me here Yes, my loyalties turned Like my ankle In the seventh grade Running after Billy Running after the rain

These precious things Let them bleed Let them wash away These precious things Let them break Their hold on me

He said "you're really an ugly girl But I like the way you play" And I died, but I thanked him Can you believe that? Sick, sick, holding on to his picture Dressing up every day I wanna smash the faces Of those beautiful boys Those Christian boys So, you can make me cum That doesn't make you Jesus

These precious things Let them bleed Let them wash away These precious things Let them break Their hold on me

I remember, yes In my peach party dress No one dared No one cared to tell me Where the pretty girls are Those demigods With their nine-inch nails And little fascist panties Tucked inside the heart Of every nice girl

These precious things Let them bleed Let them wash away These precious things Let them break Let them wash away These, these precious things Let them bleed, now Let them wash away These, these precious things Let them break Their hold on me

--

I also actually made a band AU playlist for them ages and ages ago, but some of those songs have since been repurposed to other characters' playlists and I think I'd rework it quite heavily now. Still, gives an idea of the vibes.

More answer and fic below the cut

Marthe gets saddled with minding Jerott while he finishes up his stint in rehab (Anemone on Ao3). She doesn't let on what she knows of where Francis has gone - nor who he's gone with - and Jerott's probably surprisingly tolerable while he's sober and chastened after all the drama of the road trip etc. They get to jamming together and do a few shows for pocket money, and probably bond over some obscure artists and songs they didn't think anyone else knew about/thought were cool in that day and age (mutual love of Nature Boy ftw haha yes I am aware of what I did there: 'the greatest thing you'll ever learn / is just to love / and be loved / in return').

Marthe, cynical about her chances of a solo career in the wake of Kiaya's departure, sees in Jerott a competant musician who she might bend to play her kind of music, to allow her to kind of ride on-his-coattails into the charts/European market (grudgingly admitting the need for a Man in the music industry, thanks for the 'lesson', Kiaya), from where she might find her own niche. They do have chemistry on stage at this point, playing covers together and challenging each other to play better than the other. I think that leads her to a moment of vulnerability where she makes a last gasp effort to convince herself she's bi, when it's really just that competence is a draw no matter who they are. But Jerott's still sober and he's so excited she's willing to tolerate him (oh thank god!! I was attracted to her and not Francis after all!!) that he's well behaved and keeps his mouth shut when told to (see excerpt below). He is also, as we have discussed, A Good Sex Haver, or at least is very much the kind of guy who gets off on giving good head (it's MY au and I'll do what I want to make elements of their marriage less grim ok??), so even if Marthe's not keen on piv she can live with the situation.

The marriage is something they both claim to go into with eyes wide open - knowing it suits her to have access to European residency (I am not looking up citizenship law for this ask, but Jerott probably has dual French/British if that's possible at the time) and knowing that he's obsessed with her(/Francis) while she's kind of indifferent/tolerating him. But of course he believes she'll come to love him anyway, and he believes he doesn't love Francis, and she believes he'll stay sober and meek and won't mind being teased about Francis when it's obvious that's who he'd rather be with.

They do some touring and it starts well - Fleetwood Mac energy, bouncing from love to hate depending on the kind of day they've had. They get a pretty good record contract, but they absolutely blow the recording of it. They have to *live* together for the first time, not on tour, but in a place near the studio, confined and at each other's throats. He starts drinking again. She won't compromise musically. It's a total flop - the lyrics are called outdated and garbled, the music is overproduced, stifled and jars from one track to the next. They play a few live shows where some of the tracks come into their own a bit, but the reviews put such a strain on them they pull their tour and fuck off to Europe, like living together in Jerott's ancestral homelands and sorting through Marthe's grandma's junk is somehow going to improve things.

So that's when things start to come apart, even though they're ostensibly working on a second record together they're not touring and they're working from a home studio, so their world is quite limited and Marthe branches out and finds French friends while Jerott obsessively follows the music news and write great long epistles to Francis.

In terms of the fic I mentioned, the idea was trying to write the highs (well, moderate peaks) and lows of their relationship through sex. I never got very far with the first one (below) but the idea was that 1) leaves Marthe mildly impressed, 2) a bit uncertain of how this might evolve, but still happy enough, 3) he says 'Francis' when he comes, but he's sober and just very tired so she elects to ignore it for now, 4) starting to get bored with this, the tour is tiiiring, 5) studio life doesn't suit them, he's not sober, and when he says 'Francis' this time she's absolutely calling him on it.

I did still intend to write a version of this fic set between the Baron Morgan/Aga Morat stuff and Checkmate, but I only wrote one scene between them, which you've read :)

Others haven't though! So I'll post it beneath the excerpt from the unfinished bit. It makes reference to her suspicion that it's only a matter of time before he calls her 'Francis' and alludes to a less-than-happy occasion on which GRM pulled his hair, not like he's ready to talk about that with Marthe...uh...ever? I imagined it set sometime during their tour, before they get bogged down trying to record their album. It's more them, I think - Marthe eternally shadowed by a kind of self-loathing and resentment of Jerott that's never going to go away.

--

Draft 1

She's pleasantly surprised pre-wedding

No, that won't work, but keep doing it if you have to

He says 'Francis' when he shouldn't

So you can make me come it doesn't make you Jesus

She calls him out on saying Francis, he clearly had no idea he'd said it

1.

By the end of the encore, laughing and waving into what seemed a physical wall of noise, Jerott knew he had never been happier in his life. The crowd wasn't the biggest he had played to, the set had been rough and ready, but there was a spark on that stage that even Marthe could no longer deny. She stepped up to stand by his side and raise her own arms, and she smiled across at Jerott: a small, wry little thing, but a smile that contained genuine pride.

In the motel corridor, Jerott stopped at her shoulder, each of them facing opposite directions. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, her long, white neck held tall and straight, her smile something that even now she fought, but that made her cornflower blue eyes sparkle.

"That was pretty good, right?" He offered his most bashful, winning grin in return, lowering his chin and gaze.

Marthe snorted. "Yeah," she admitted though. "Yeah it was. You can play, I'll give you that."

He raised his brows and tried not to laugh or blush - he knew he could play, he'd never needed to hear it from her. But she was looking at him still, in a strange and calculating manner that made him feel weighted to the spot. Her eyes narrowed, sweat-smudged kohl hemming in their vibrant colour, and she bit her lip.

He didn't notice her hand move until it began to slide around his, neat and warm, her fingers following the sensitive contours of his palm.

Jerott sucked in a breath and his hand tightened reflexively on hers. At the pressure, Marthe's expression flickered, the corners of her mouth moving with something tight and resigned and her nostrils flaring. But she didn't try to withdraw.

She said nothing, and he saw blooms of colour, like peonies, cover the pale skin of her chest and throat. Her pulse flickered in the pronounced v of tendons between her collarbones and Jerott ached to press his mouth to it and feel her life, separate and strange beneath his lips.

Marthe tugged his hand until he took a step sideways, and the lengths of their arms were aligned: his bare brown skin against her rumpled shirt and white skin, long black hairs mingling with the fine blonde ones covering her forearm. Her face was only inches from his. It was smooth as polished marble, distinguished here and there by traces of the complexities of her existence: fine echoes of all her frowns and smiles in the lines that could not be seen when he stood back. And he had never known her eyes so wide, her mouth part with such softness.

Jerott felt his heart jolt at the expression on her face. He had imagined it so many times, in so many places, and it could never have compared to the way she looked now: sultry and confident, gently, wryly amused, and - finally - interested in what she saw in return?

"You think I can play?" He murmured, leaning into her gravity, his smile smooth and his eyes steady.

She grinned, but it made the hairs on his arms stand on end: a sense of danger gathering. "Don't," Marthe said, her voice crisp and firm.

He raised his eyebrows and broadened his sweetest smile. With an unsteady breath he lowered his face still closer to hers.

Marthe snorted, blue fire dancing in her eyes, the dimples in her cheeks sinking deeper. "I said don't!" She repeated, but her grin crept into her voice. "Don't pull that smooth shit with me, you got your compliment."

Jerott laughed silently and looked down, his eyes hovering on her lips as he contemplated saying another foolish thing.

She must have seen the idiocy on the tip of his tongue and pre-empted it: "Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up," she raked the last syllable over her vocal chords, drawling , chuckling, edging nearer herself until her nose brushed against his. Her mascara-coated lashes lowered until the last moment.

Jerott met her eyes as their lips touched: blue like an open sky, blue like denim and fresh water. Her mouth was soft and hot, closed over his own parched mouth as she tested the feel of him, her open eyes seeking out the response she elicited.

He tried to hold her stare, but her lips moved against his, her teeth met his lower lip with gentle, teasing pressure, and he gasped and his eyes fell shut. His free hand came up to her shoulder, which was warm beneath the shirt she had shrugged on over her sweat-dark tank top, the perfect fit against his palm.

--

Draft 2

He'd proven himself, to Marthe's great surprise, an enthusiastic and generous lover. No inheritor to Gaultier's bored, unimaginative humping was Jerott Blyth; he'd go down on her at the drop of a hat, and he'd do it well; backstage, back alleys, motel rooms - wherever he could get his hands on her while they were both still buzzing with the adrenaline of the set they'd played.

Marthe wasn't sure if it made it easier or harder when he was above her in a motel bed then, taking what he assumed would be given freely in exchange for his own efforts. She did try, for the first few times, to work out if she might like it when it was a handsome young man between her legs instead of her dry, detached professor. But though she entertained the idea of being someone, something else, it wasn't long before she knew it just wasn't for her - neither in the sense of something given, nor in the sense of appealing to her tastes.

But he wasn't Gaultier, she wasn't his pet, and he could play. Their sets were electric, furious, wild in a way Marthe had never had the freedom to be publicly before. And afterwards he wanted to - and could - make her cum like no one she'd met since the girlfriend she'd had back in halls, and after that she was able to simply lie there and wait for him to finish without even feeling much of anything.

Gaultier had developed a habit of working on his compositions while he fucked her - eyes closed, mentally picturing the stave as he hummed and muttered notes to himself. Jerott, on the other hand, was gentleman enough to admire her with his eyes, his hands, his tongue. To never forget a condom the way Gaulter had from time to time – because he could, too. Above all, he was very eager to tell her she was beautiful.

Marthe didn't need to be told that. But it was better than being used as a dissociative tool for someone's artistic process.

It seemed kinder, then, to maintain an air of curiosity, of interest. In order to do so, she made a bet with herself - with the money she was earning from this tour, she'd buy herself a new guitar if he slipped and called her Francis while deep in the throes. If he didn't, she'd do something sensible with the money. Put it in savings or something.

Maybe she was thinking of the guitar when, one night in Seattle, she sat up to take the foil packet from his hands and open it herself. He looked at her searchingly, dark eyes she found difficult to read scanning her expression for ulterior motives.

Marthe tossed the loose tendrils of her tied-back hair over her shoulder and tore the packet open with her teeth, aware of the weight of his stare, aware of his breath coming more heavily.

She rolled the condom on, thinking abstractedly of community sex ed workshops on the college lawn. For good measure, she gave his cock a couple of firm strokes, and he gasped, his brows raising.

Ok, that's plenty, Marthe sat back with an expression she imagined was closer to being a seductive smile than a grimace. She didn't want him to think she was going to do...that, every time.

Perhaps she was overthinking things, overestimating what he'd notice and what he'd expect. Jerott wasn't that complicated, after all - he reached for her and kissed her like there was only one thought on his mind, and Marthe let herself be brought close, kissed him back with the same sloppy urgency.

Then, impulsively, she moved closer still, lifting one leg and shifting to straddle him where he sat on the edge of the bed - he made a sound in the kiss that Marthe took to be surprise and pleasure, and she ground her hips against him, her body still wet from his tongue, from her own orgasm, slick against the rubber he wore.

Jerott moaned and Marthe gritted her teeth. She pushed him back to the mattress and lowered herself onto him, her eyes closed, her mind on the wares for sale at Eve's Garden. She had him half on the bed and half off, his lower legs dangling over the side, unable to brace himself easily against the floor - it gave her near total control of the rhythm, and she batted him back down again if he tried to sit up.

He didn't take much convincing, though he remained propped on his elbows for a time, gawping up at her. She could sense him watching, and cracked open her eyes to wince at his expression of ragged, lascivious desire - mouth loose and open, eyelids heavy, gaze blank. Marthe screwed her eyes shut again and sank herself as low as she could, upping the pace of her rolling hips.

Jerott at last admitted defeat, lay back and made a strangled sound of ecstasy, holding onto her thighs just above each knee with bruising strength in his hands.

She'd never done this with Gaultier - he didn't believe in a woman being on top, and besides, if she'd broken his hip or something, he wouldn't have hesitated to claim the medical bills on her insurance.

But there was, she found, far more pleasure to be had this way. There were no hot, grasping fingers or lips on her breasts, there was no sandpapery, rough cheek rubbing on the skin of her neck. She could keep her eyes closed and imagine herself wherever she needed to be to get off.

She began to believe that she might do so here, as well. She wielded her body with less deliberation, working herself to a sweat as she bucked her hips, her hands resting on the tops of her thighs, feeling her breasts swing heavily, the small, natural garland of fat on her belly and her flanks jogging with her movements. The bed and mattress shrieked and rattled beneath her, the sound like a crowd going wild for an encore.

Jerott let out a cry and Marthe was almost embarrassed to hear herself answer it, feeling fire crawl its way up inside her, flickering and crackling like a broken bulb at the edge of her vision.

Fearful he wouldn't last as long as she needed, she let herself lean forwards, one hand a fist, bracing herself against his chest, the other taking hold of a bunch of his black hair for good measure, fingers tangling against his sweaty scalp. She adjusted the angle of her hips accordingly and bit her lower lip, trying to keep her momentum going.

Beneath her, Jerott's body flinched.

"Fuck...!" he groaned. He gripped the wrist of the hand that was knotted in his hair but found that tugging it only tightened Marthe's hold. His other hand flailed for the bed clothes, grabbing at the sheets and relieving the pressure on Marthe's thigh so she could really move how she wanted to.

He didn't complain about her grip. On the contrary, his eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed with concentration. "Oh, god..." he said hoarsely as his head rolled on the covers.

It was never quite enough though - she didn't get further than eternally close before his body bucked beneath hers with a grunt. The way he craned his neck and turned his head against the mattress pulled her forward, jerked by the hand tangled in his hair, and her own concentration was lost as he came.

"Shit," Marthe barked breathlessly.

She tugged her hand free, noting that Jerott's hold was now on her hips, his thumbs softly caressing her skin, encouraging her own gentle rocking motion to continue as he finished, wringing every last drop of satisfaction out.

Marthe swept his hands away, rolled off him without preamble and sat beside his prone form with a sour taste rising to her tongue. Disappointment - she knew the flavour well. Stupid, to let herself get involved like that, to try and take something for herself. That wasn't what this was about.

It was about her career. Wasn't it always?

Marthe sighed and massaged her brow. Her grandmother would want to know when she was moving to Europe, when she was going to find a market she could really sell to. When she was going to make something of herself - or, failing that, make Francis Crawford make something of her. Whatever they really were to each other.

Her grandmother would have a great many questions when the tour finally came to an end in New York, but one thing Marthe's grandmother would be certain of was that the man currently lying next to her was second-best - and Marthe's grandmother would therefore judge him perfectly adequate to his task.

Jerott lay still for a moment beside her and then raised a hand and rubbed at the top of his sternum, at his throat like he had a pain there. He let out a cough and frowned at the ceiling, then sat up and slipped away to the ensuite.

Usually, when they were in the motel room, he couldn't wait to wrap his arms around her afterwards, to pin her close in his hold - where Marthe felt like a small bird gripped in a fist. He'd fall asleep and she'd lie there, smelling his tobacco, his whiskey, waiting until he was heavy and snoring and she could squirm free to lie comfortably on the other side of the bed.

Tonight though, he lingered in the bathroom, and Marthe felt chilled and exposed as she realised that, for once, she would quite like to have been held in his warm arms. It might have made her feel a little less silly about the whole relationship, just to follow through with the act a bit longer today. But he didn't seem in any hurry to come back to her. She lay naked on the rumpled bedsheets while he ran faucets and clattered about with mouthwash and water glasses.

Her head propped on one hand, the remote lying in front of her, Marthe glared at the tiny TV screen in the corner of the room and stabbed buttons on the remote with one-fingered vindictiveness. That was it, she'd decided. Penetrative sex had to be the worst joke ever told to womankind. She wouldn't bother getting her hopes up again about it.

Click.

Porcupines fucking on a nature documentary. Marthe accepted the funny side of it, and snorted.

Click.

Some lowest common denominator sitcom where the overworked woman was chewing out her lazy husband.

Click.

Teleshopping.

Click.

Pizza ad. Her stomach growled. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe she was just hungry - she hadn't eaten since before soundcheck.

Click.

A familiar shade of rose pink caught her eye as the channels flickered, and she stopped her assault on the remote to frown at the screen.

"With revelations emerging about Rajneeshpuram daily, it's looking more and more like Graham Reid Malett's activities were standard across all the cult's sites."

It was a report into illegal activities at the main ashram in Oregon, but showed footage of the man who had styled himself Geetesh in custody and on trial for crimes committed at his own Nevada ashram. Marthe watched with a kind of fascinated disgust as the portentous voiceover barely scraped the surface of Reid Malett's wrong-doings.

"Fraud, invasion of privacy, coercion, and he presided over violent and sexual workshops in which willing participants..."

As she watched, Jerott emerged from the ensuite. He handed her one of the two water glasses he'd filled and paused by the bed, staring at the TV with an appalled expression.

"What the fuck are you watching?" he asked.

Marthe shrugged the shoulder that was uppermost and nodded at the bedside table, indicating that Jerott could leave the water there.

"You don't wanna know how Swami Graham is doing?"

He'd moved round to his side of the bed and she saw his face the way it was lit up by the screen: repulsed, furious, maybe even a bit scared?

"No."

Marthe thought she noticed his fingers tremble a little as he put his own glass down. He ran them through his hair and then his eyes fell on the remote.

"Switch it off."

She saw him reach for it and - because he wanted it, because he spoke commandingly and she'd let him have enough already, and more, that night - she snatched it away. "I'm watching!"

"Well don't! What do you even want to know that you haven't already seen with your own two eyes?" He gestured furiously, pointing two fingers at his own fierce features, and grabbed again for the remote.

"Hey!" Marthe wasn't above hollering when he laid a hand on her to stop her from protecting the device. "Don't touch me!"

Jerott had already retreated to stand by the bed again, maintaining a distance, his palms open at his sides, his expression one of vexed fury. "Please switch it off," he said carefully, but Marthe knew suppressed anger when she heard it.

She narrowed her eyes. "Why? You're not gonna...let it all out, get all cathartic on me?"

His jaw clenched visibly.

"Personally, I think it's reassuring to see him cuffed and guarded," Marthe added, eyeing up the picture on the screen.

"...swapped his disciple's robes of pink for fetching penitentiary facility orange..."

Jerott said nothing, but took three long strides to the far wall and yanked the TV plug from the socket.

Marthe rolled her eyes and swept the remote off the bed so it clattered to the floor. "Oh, Mr Rock and Roll. Gonna throw it out the window, too?"

Jerott got into bed and yanked the sheet over his body without turning to face her. "Good night, Marthe," he snarled.

She stared at his back for a moment and then made a sound of exasperation and got up to brush her own teeth.

It wasn't like she'd wanted to watch the programme anyway, it was just that any talk of the Rajneeshees wound him up so much, even now. Marthe, of all people, could well understand another's bitterness about the wasted years of their life - but Jerott's bitterness was always special. He couldn't accept that anyone else might have regrets about any number of things, oh no - nothing compared to the victimhood of the boy who had run off to join a cult instead of going to med school, who had run off to med school instead of joining a band with a man he was clearly deeply, obliviously in love with. He was evidently the first guy on earth to find out he was attracted to a man and feel conflicted about it, the first person in the history of mankind to have his illusions shattered about someone he'd trusted.

Marthe brushed her teeth and hair angrily in the dark bathroom and got back into bed with a heavy landing on the mattress, with deliberately exaggerated kicking of the sheet, plumping of the pillow, and fidgeting until she was comfortable.

"Good night, Jerott. Good gig today. Sleep well."

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

I was tagged by @bougainvillea-and-saltwater to do this amazingly cool tag game and share the "theme songs" of my fic, all instrumental!! You had such a wonderful idea with this tag game, dear 🥰🥰 **Edit, since this has been in the drafts, @shitty-drawer also tagged me💖💖 Thank you so much, and I actually tagged you in this game 🤣 You were faster than me in posting it.

I thought it was going to be easy, as I listen to a ton of instrumental music, because I also like to always have music in the background! But going off of vibes, this is how I associate music to my fic "Wherever you go, there you are":

"Miasma" by Ghost. This is Ravonna’s theme song. This one, I feel like, it encapsulates Mage!Ravonna perfectly. And that saxophone solo? Groovy! Just like her and her bard side. It also feels like a beautifully threatening song, in a way, and I think it fits her perfectly. The second song for her, because I simply cannot only choose one is "Faronell's Division" by John Playford. This one represents her sassyness as well as her impulsiveness, with all the changes in rhythm

For Miraak, I'm going with "Gnossienne No.5" by Erik Satie, because of the ✨️gentleness✨️ and this song heals the soul, and he's a healer, sooo yeah. The second one I choose for him is "A watering hole in the harbor" by Adam Skorupa; this is such a joyful song, and I feel like it really encapsulates the "I have no idea what y'all are doing, but I'm joining in and I'm so happy to be here" vibe that Miraak has once he gets more comfortable and lets go of the Miraak persona and embraces his true self <3

Now for the WYGTYA as a whole and general vibes:

I find myself listening to "Thunderbrew" by David Arkenstone a lot while writing, and since it has such a tavern-y vibe to it, this could be the theme for the fellowship whenever they are at a tavern having fun, drinking, eating and being in their natural habitat 🤣

"People of the land" by Jan Valta is the absolute perfect song for showing beautiful landscapes of both Morrowind and Skyrim, while also being the perfect song for Ravonna’s inner struggles to figure out whether she feels more at home in Skyrim, the land of her people, or in Morrowind, the land where she grew up. This is also the Civil War storyline theme, in my heart :')

"City of Sails" by Inon Zur is a theme that I don't know how to explain, without giving away spoilers :)))) It has ties to Ravonna's family, but will also represent the land of High Rock (yes, the story will go there too🤣) Also this one is one of those songs that I am kind of emotionally attached to, for some reason. I just wish I lived within this song, in a way.

And for the extra ocs:

For Endryn, I have "Tavern" by Jason Hayes, this one is pretty obvious, he is my beloved innkeeper dunmer oc who adopted Ravonna. He was very friendly, kind, stressed and quite funny, dad joke expert.

For Hjaldir, my other beloved oc, the nord bard that worked at the Inn where Ravonna grew up, because he is an ex-pirate, I'm going for "Moonlight Serenade" by Klaus Badelt. I don't associate him with the character Jack Sparrow all that much, but this song draws the perfect image of a charming and charismatic pirate, and the tune is incredibly melodious, so it really fits his bard persona well! Also, the intense part is perfect for his adventurous and danger-filled life. He's got many, many stories from his pirate days 😉

If you made it until here, I literally love you so much! Thank you for reading my ramblings. I could talk about songs and music all day!

I'm tagging my usual favourite mutuals @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thelavenderelf @nerevar-quote-and-star Y'all already know you don't have to do this if you don't want to 💖💖 just ignore me and if I'm being annoying with the tag games, do let me know. This is not my intention at all! I will stop tagging you if you don't want to participate.

[jazzandotherthings2]

I. Welcome To Chicago

You’re slow, Kathrine says, though she’s not really saying it, switching between the snare, the ride cymbal, and the toms faster than anyone else I’ve ever played with. I reply by speeding up, running down chromatic runs, landing on the flat seven, then the fifth, then the tonic as the form draws to its end. It’s like the adrenaline in my veins finally reaches my head as I find a resolution with the last measure. Damn, I love soloing. 

When I glance over my shoulder, Kathrine offers me a smile from behind the drums. Sam, the bassist, tilts their head to the side for a moment. It means go again. I don’t really have time to prepare, but Alex, the pianist, covers me. He’s a great musician, but I can’t talk with him through music like Kathrine can. We go back and forth through the form again, responding to each other’s thoughts. It’s a conversation that transcends words. When we reach the top of the head, I am hearing Sam, pushing us along, ready to pick up a different song.

As Alex closes the song, Sam whispers to the stage, “Yardbird?” 

I nod, ready to play it. ‘Yardbird Suite’ is one of my favorites. Charlie Parker, one of the most influential jazz musicians of all time wrote it. His nickname, Yardbird, or just  Bird if you’re short on time, comes up again and again. Parker wrote a lot of my favorite bebop tunes. His songs are good for using chromatic lines over the changes. Coming in with the band is probably one of the most powerful feelings in the world.

Performing is probably one of the best things in the world. This is how I was meant to spend my life. It’s funny. While I usually have at least a vague idea for something before I start soloing, I can never remember what I did after. It’s probably the adrenaline. 

When we’re on our mid-set break, about halfway through the night, Alex asks, “So what were you doing with that one on the last song?”

“What?” I ask. My eyes catch on Kathrine. “Hey-” She takes a swig of her drink before looking at me. “You changed your hair.”

She smirks. “Yeah.” It’s in cornrows, dyed blue at the end. “What else is new?”

Uhh, no clue. I look her up and down. Wait, she’s wearing heels. I will never understand how one works footpedals in heels. Well, it’s probably a learned skill, but, damn. Has she ever done this before? “You’re wearing heels?”

“Two for two,” she says. “Yet somehow you’re still single.”

“You’re, like, twelve, your insults mean nothing to me.” She’s twenty four, but same difference.

Kathrine laughs and finishes her drink. “I’ll still throw you for a loop tonight.” It’s a game we play. We try to find ways to get each other tripped up, just because it’s funny to try and recover.

The rest of the set goes well. Kathrine does not manage to trip me up.

After the set, Alex elbows me. “What are you doing after this?” He asks.

“I’m heading to Charlie’s,” I reply. “You?”

“I was going to go home and sleep,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Like a normal person.”

I shrug. “Gotta pay rent.”

“When’s your next day off?”

“Wednesday, I think.”

“Do you want to meet up?”

“Sure,” I say, undoing the top button of my shirt. “Sam, is everything loaded?” They nod and flash a thumbs up.

“What, like you were going to help,” Kathrine scoffs. 

“How’d that feel for you?” Sam asks, leaning against the passenger-side door of the car. 

It’s pretty normal for our Monday night gig. We got there, we played, and then we left. 

Wait, shit, it’s Tuesday. That means I’m teaching lessons this afternoon. Well, next afternoon. Tomorrow. Time is weird when you work nights. 

Guitar and amp in hand, I catch the subway to Charlie’s Luthier Shop. It’s technically called Charlie’s Guitar Repair and Shop, but the stickers in the door just say Guitars. I walk right past that glass door, down the narrow alley beside it, and into the even narrower walkway to the workshop. The key clicks into the lock, and the familiar scent of wood and epoxy fills my nose. My guitar and amp go on the bench by the door, and I change out of nice clothes before clocking in. The first thing I do is sweep. I spend the full night doing odd tasks around the shop. That’s one good thing about working nights: I get to be left alone.

When I’m measuring wood for guitars, that’s the only thing in my mind. Time becomes a liquid, falling on the roof outside and catching in the gutters, pooling in puddles around my mind. When I’m too tired to use cutting tools, I switch to cleaning the shop. For a moment, I’m not an adult working late at night, I’m fourteen, mopping the shop floor over and over and over again.

“Evan?” Charlie’s deep voice comes from the door, and I jump, dropping the mop. “You’re here early. Or, well, late for you.” 

Shit, what time is it? I check my phone: 6:30. Damn. 

“What time did you get in last night?”

The restaurant we gigged at last night closed at 10:30, right? “Eleven I think.”

“And you’re teaching lessons today, yeah?” I nod. “Go get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”

“Thank you, sir.” I put away the cleaning supplies. 

My phone buzzes at seven, as I walk the too-bright streets to the train station.

Good Morning, Alona Peshlakai says, and I’m already smiling. Are you awake?

One handed, guitar over my shoulder and amp in my other hand, I reply: Yeah.

Early Morning or late night?

Late night

Do you want coffee? 

Yes. Always yes. When do I not want coffee? When do I not want her attention? It takes a moment to type a reply.

In case you’re wondering: the gig economy is absolutely fucked over. Working as a luthier and a lessons teacher is a little bit more stable, and, when I need to, I can always find work as a video editor online. That’s actually how I met Alona. She hired me to edit a video for her work.

Alona Peshlakai is probably the most fascinating person I’ve ever met. She has two PhDs and a master’s degree, she’s the best whittler I know, and she prefers candies to chocolate. (Her favorite is Sour Gummy Worms.) 

I sit at a table by the window as I wait for her. By my position, I see her before she sees me. She’s wearing jeans and sneakers that squeak when she moves from the still-wet sidewalk to the concrete floor of the coffee shop. 

“Hey,” she says, smiling and putting her backpack by the table.

“Hi!” The grin on my face is impossible to hide. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m gonna order and then come right back.” She does, and I like the dimples that form in her cheeks as she smiles at me. 

“What’s your day supposed to look like?”

“Well, I’m heading into the lab today, where I need to check in on some experiments, and help some PhD kids set up theirs. I have a meeting with the lab board after lunch, and then a few more meetings with some of the students I’m advising, but mostly after lunch.”

“You advise students?”

“Well, I’m going to start today.” She sips her coffee. “How long have you been up for?”

My phone reads 7:17. “Well, I woke up at about eleven yesterday, I had a gig at an office opening party, and then I went to the restaurant we gig at on Mondays, and then I went to the luthier shop and did work there until I came here to see you.”

“So it’s a twenty hour day for you?”

I hadn’t done that math. Another sip of warm coffee. “I’m fine. It’s a good day for this, too.”

“Did you hear much of the rain?” I nod. “Yeah, it turns out I left my window open last night.”

“So how long are you in town for?”

“Maybe a week? I don’t know. My sister wants me to get home soon. She’s having another baby and she wants me in town for it.” Alona lives in Arizona most of the time, with her family, about one thousand five hundred miles away, and a four hour flight to Phoenix followed by a four hour drive to the no-name town she lives in. “When do you need to get home?”

I shrug. “I have all the time in the world.”

Alona smiles. “So what’s in store for you today?”

“Well, I’m going to go home, sleep, and then teach lessons later, and then I’ve got a gig at a jazz club tonight, and then I’ve got the day off tomorrow, so-” I shrug again, trailing off.

“Nice.” Her smile is almost aggressively pleasant. “I hope it’s a good day, then.”

“Maybe I’ll see you.”

“I hope so.”

That night, during my gig, I’m playing with people who love jazz. The people I play with are complete strangers who don’t even know my name. Everyone in the room is eager for the next note, all the players anticipating me as I solo, me anticipating theirs. It’s loud here, but the music is meant to be heard here, too.

When I get home, I collapse into bed. As I lay there, pretending to sleep, I scroll through my phone. Tomorrow is my day off, and I was planning to meet up with Alex. And Alona. And I need to clean my stove. And I haven’t posted a video in months, I should do that. So much for a day off. When I breathe in, and my lungs expand, it makes my head feel better. At least I don’t need to set an alarm tomorrow.

[when-all-hope-feels-lost]

oh shoot i was going to write this out the first time you asked then ~forgot~ so let’s see what i remember

basically sophie’s just some kid at public school just doing her thing, a child genius

she’s been playing the violin since she was five years old

her neighbour, mr forkle, gave lessons and when she was little she would always watch and listen from her neighbour, so much so that he offered to teach her when she was young

she was incredibly adept at it and picked skills up much faster than anyone forkle had ever seen before so he always worked hard to keep her engaged in her art

her parents never really found out as they were so busy with work they didn’t notice her going to the house next door for violin lessons

that is until she’s in middle school and joins the school orchestra

for a spring showcase, it turns out that representatives from foxfire arts institute are there, searching for young talent that they can nurture at their school

sophie goes up for a solo backer by the orchestra and plays the most beautiful rendition of the lark ascending (i live and die for hillary hahn do check out her performance here plus i think it’s a fitting piece for sophie)

the whole group did quite well but to hear such control from such a young violinist really struck the fancy of the visiting representatives

i wrote this like four years ago and left it in my drafts oopsie but this concept is still jangling around my head like one of those marble mazes. i lost the doc with my original concept but what i do remember is:

keefe on cello

biana on flute

fitz on violin

dex on viola or clarinet

tam and linh doing vocal performance and piano but also a traditional instrument like guqin maybe?

and honestly i don’t remember if there was a real plot or if i just wanted to draw the crew playing music

i like to think that sophie has horrible stage fright. like perhaps she’s fine as concert master within an orchestra but the moment she has to stand for a solo she freezes, partly from her unconventional training. she loves the music but grew up having to keep noise down lest she wake up her little sister and then showing up in this incredible school surrounded by kids born and bred on stage in performance halls and the pressure that came alongside that

one day i will write this all out i promise but that’s all i’ve got for now

someone remind me to go into detail about my music prodigy au please

[secretivemessenger]

YES JOHAN SOLOS!!!

OKAY SO MY IDEA IS Sub bottom spy male reader x Dom top Johan

Themes: Non con(or dub con if you prefer), Exhibition, age gap (kinda?Reader would be in his late 20's to early 30's and we know that Johan is 23), hate sex.

Where reader is a spy that works for The Eugenics Experiment, he is merciless and doesn't show much emotion making him emotionless, he also doesn't talk much in fear of letting anything slip out accidentally.

Johan knows about him as he appeared when Anna was telling about her experience while being away from Johan and their mom

Reader keeps an eye on Johan at all times until one day he lost sight of Johan, he had never lost sight of someone just like that, he was looking everywhere for any signs of Johan when he suddenly gets drugged.

He wakes up in a room and the rest is history !!!

A Spy’s Mistake

Top johan x spy male reader

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Rough sex! No prep! Blood?! Non consensual! Bondage! Drug use! Somnophilia! Aphrodisiacs! Violence!

100+ Event

You were supposed to keep him is sight , that was the sole purpose of your mission but you somehow managed to mess it up

He was right there and the next thing you know he was not there anymore , it shocked you so much you didn’t notice the figure behind you

And the next thing you know everything was turning black as you were injected with something

There you were the one who was sent to look out for Johan , instead of watching him you were right under him on his basement floor , oh for how long he wanted to do this make you think you were doing such good job spying on him , when in reality he was aware of it the whole time

The drug he gave you was quite strong it should be able to keep you down for sometime , while in you sleeping state you were more open and vulnerable for him , the way you look laying there on the ground peacefully he can’t help but want to ruin it all

Johan moved your body making you sit up with your back against the wall , he grabbed a rope that was hanging from the sealling and tied your hand on-top of your head , once you were ready for him he smiled looking at you sitting there so beautifully for him

But there was no time to waste , his hands grabbed on your pants and underwear slowly pulling them down until your lower half is completely naked , he took your cock into his hands and started fisting it and in no time he was moving his hands up and down your now fully hard cock

You were squirming in your sleep moans slipped out of your mouth as pre cum leaked out of your cock , his hands moved at a faster pace now that his hands are covered in your pre cum

The wet sounds his hands are making out of your cock mixed together with your cries of pleasure , you were still unconscious so your body was extra sensitive “who would’ve thought a spy can be this slutty”

Little by little you were coming back to conciseness , your head hurts like hell , what happened is the question that was repeating in your head , when you finally managed to open your eyes fully you saw him

There he was sitting right infront of you “did you rest well sleeping princess , or should i say sleeping prince?” You looked down at him in shock , you were even more shocked looking at your cum covered stomach

“Johan liebert what do you think your doing” you glared down at him “what a sharp eyes you have i wonder how would they look like filled with tears” he said smiling at you completely ignoring your questions

You tsked at him , and when you wanted to move you noticed your hands tied up together , no matter how hard you tried ripping the rope it never worked “careful now you could hurt yourself” he said still with a smile on his face

You ignored him before wincing in pain as it rips a bit through your skin drawing blood , “this is getting boring” he said which made you look at him confused before it turned to shock , his fingers sneaked down near your hole ready to penetrate you at any second

You immediate reaction was to move your legs and deliver a hard kick to his face , his face turned to the other direction because of the strength of the kick , you moved your other leg to kick him a second time but he stopped it with his hands “I’m not gonna fall for this twice”

He’s looking down on you not so amused anymore out of nowhere he grabbed a needle and got it near you thighs , you panicked and you moved your other legs delivering multiple kicks to his now bruised face , but he ignored you and grabbed one of your legs and injected the liquid in your thighs

It had immediate reaction , your body stopped moving completely before it began rising in heat your cock rock hard , it’s not that hard to guess what he injected you with , your mind became all clouded making you unable to think straight

“I wanted to go easy on you but you leave me no choice” he said looking at you with a poker face , he grabbed your body and turned you around , you looked back at him giving him death stares but it’s hard to take it seriously when your face is flushed dark pink

He grabbed your hair harshly and slammed your face hard onto the stone wall , you groaned in pain as you felt blood seeping out of your mouth , the Aphrodisiacs now taking full effect on you making you stand back helpless while your body tremble’s

You could hear sound of Johan unbuckling his pants , you wanted to just run away but your body refused to move and the bone crushing grip he had on your face continued to give you constant pain , When you thought all of that was too much , you didn’t know about what awaits you

You widened your eyes , your back arched as you cried out in pain , out of nowhere Johan plugged his cock inside your tight hole , with no preparation he stretched your hole as far as it can get , you felt like it’s going to rip you apart split you in half

He didn’t give you a chance to adjust as he started thrusting , it was very hard to move in your tight hole because there is no lubricant to make the movements sloppy but he didn’t care , he had you sobbing a stream of tears falls out of your eyes , you can feel your hole throbbing in pain

The mixture of pain because of Johan’s hard thrusts and pleasure because of the still active Aphrodisiacs had your body and mind going crazy , you’ve never done something like this and you don’t like it

No matter how much you begged for him so stop he never did instead he continued with his rough thrusts , pulling out until only the tip is inside before thrusting all the way in again and repeat making You chock on your own blood

You squeezed as tight as you can around him making Johan groan at your tightness , he moved his other hand to your still hard cock and started pumping it in rhythm with his thrusts , His moves are better now that his pre cum painted your insides making his thrusts a bit more bearable , his hands moved impossibly faster making you gasp and scream as you came all over yourself

Because of the Aphrodisiacs your body was too sensitive , you just came but you felt like you could cum a second time , and you could tell Johan was about too cum because of his cock twitching inside of you

Your body felt a little better now so you started to squirm around trying to set yourself free still not ready too give up “I thought you would’ve learned the first time , looks like i was wrong” he said looking at you directly in the eyes as you looked back right at him

He softened his grip on your face and instead pulled hard on your hair “let’s see how long till you break” he whispered near your ear , you groaned before glaring daggers at him “never , once im out of here your head will be the first thing i come after” you said making him chuckle “we’ll see” he said as he continued to fuck you into oblivion

[writing-wh0re]

Billy Hargrove smut where he rough fucks reader in his car 🤤🤤

All writings will be #writing-wh0re-requests  Likes are great but feedback is golden - Open to all feedback, I know there is room for improvement. 

Hope this fic is what you wanted Anon! Keep the requests coming xx

*FIRST SMUT FIC!!* 

Y/N (YOUR NAME) Y/S/N (Your Siblings Name)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader

Word Count: 2,111k 

Warnings: Smut 18+, Explicit Language, Daddy Kink (whoops), Slight Praise Kink, Fingering, Vaginal Intercourse, Unprotected Sex, Oral (female receiving), Angst(?), Arguments. 

Summary: After forgetting your three year anniversary, Billy attempts to make it up to you.

I was walking down the street, hearing the music pumping through the wind as I spotted it. 

Billy’s blue 1979 Camaro sitting in Carol Perkins driveway. I made my way up to the car, feeling the hood still warm, meaning Billy couldn’t have been here for that long. 

“Fucking prick.” I mumble as I start my shuffle and weave through fellow classmates to find Billy. 

“Y/N, Billy didn’t mention you’d be coming? If I had known I would have sent you a dress code sheet.” Carol Perkins states holding her red solo cup against her shoulder. I look down on my outfit quickly, black converse, leather skirt and dark green lace bodysuit. I raise an eyebrow as I look at  Carol’s outfit, sucking my teeth as I roll my eyes. 

Carol drives me insane, she hasn’t liked me from the minute Billy and I started dating and to be honest, the feeling is mutual. Between her bitchy comments and her backhanded compliments, I couldn’t care less about her. 

“Dress code sheets would have been handy because under dressing as a hostess is embarrassing.” I watch as Carol scoffs, looking at Nicole beside her who has a disgust written all over her facial expression. 

“Drink, Drink, Drink, Drink.”

I follow the chanting to the back patio, leaving Carol and Nicole to mumble between themselves. I spot Billy doing his famous keg stand, surrounded by almost all the boys from the football team cheering him on. I watch as Billy completes his keg stand, his shirt open, beer coating his chest causing it to glisten in the light. I lick my lips at the sight, feeling wetness starting to pool between my legs, I shake the thoughts from my head. 

‘Remember why you’re mad at him.’ I remind myself, disliking that my body has such a reaction to him.

I watch as a girl walks up to him, placing her hand on his chest as she whispers in his ear, causing him to bite his lip and chuckle. I lean against the support beam as I watch the scene unfold, Billy turning the girl down as she rolls her eyes and attempts a new technique, only to receive the same result. The girl struts away annoyed as I walk over to Billy, watching as he tenses slightly, knowing he’s fucked up. 

“Hi princess, what ar-” 

“Fuck you Billy Hargrove.” Billy, grabs my forearm and pulls me into him, our chests bumping into each other as he narrows his eyes at me, smirking devilishly. 

“Want to say that again princess?” 

I pull myself out of his grip as I shove him backwards, causing him to chuckle as he looks over to Tommy. 

“I think she’s mad at me, don’t you think Hagan?” Billy chuckles as I whip around to Tommy, holding my index finger up. 

“If you know what’s good for you Hagan, you’ll walk away.” I threaten as Tommy shakes his head at us, putting his hands up in defense and walking back to the house. 

“Honestly Billy, I had to find out you were here from Y/S/N and Max!” 

“That’s the last time I tell Max anything.” Billy says walking towards me as I huff. 

“Not the point, do you remember what today is? Does today have any importance to you?” 

I watch as Billy puts his head down sighing shuffling around in his pocket as he pulls out a cigarette lighting it and taking a draw before answering me. 

“Did you fail a huge test today? Is it a birthday?” Billy questions as I scoff. 

“God, you’re such a prick you know that.” I turn to walk away from Billy feeling sadness fill my chest as I see a small crowd watching our interaction. 

“So what, you’re just not going to tell me why you’re mad at me? I have to play some sort of guessing game? Why did you even come here Y/N, you hate parties.” 

“I think you’re just being a dick on purpose now, have a reputation to keep up?” I question gesturing to the small crowd. “It’s our fucking three year anniversary dickwad!” I yell watching as realisation hits Billy. “And also, I don’t hate parties, I hate parties at Carol’s or parties I'm not invited to, which makes me, us, look fucking ridicolous.” 

I hear a few oo’s and oh’s from the small crowd as Billy forms two fists, anger boiling inside him. 

“Enjoying the show? Get the fuck out of here!” Billy yells to the crowd as they quickly disperse. “Princess, Tommy invited me tonight and I forgot.” 

“That’s exactly what I want to hear, you forgot.” I cross my arms over my chest watching as Billy’s eyes trail over my chest, his eyes lingering as they track down my body, Billy closing the distance between us as he runs his fingers up and down my arm. 

“Did you wear this, all for me?” Billy asks seductively as goosebumps prick my skin, a soft sigh falling from my lips. Billy moves closer, his lips ghosting mine as I feel my eyes flutter closed. 

‘No.’ I think to myself as I pull back. 

“Enjoy your party Billy.” I hear Billy groan in annoyance as I turn to walk away, feeling him grab my hand and rush ahead of me, pulling me behind him. 

“Billy.” 

“What are you doing?” 

All my protests fall on deaf ears as Billy and I shuffle through the bodies and make it outside. 

“Get in.” I raise an eyebrow and notice Billy unlock his car as I scoff. 

“I’ll walk home.” 

“It wasn’t a fucking question Y/N, get in the car and stop being a brat.” I huff as I walk to the passenger side and slip into the leather seat, Billy falling into the drivers as he starts the car and reverses out. 

“You better be taking me home.” 

I hear him chuckle as he takes the corners fast, his car engine roaring through the streets as he continues to drive, my mind not knowing the surroundings due to the blanket of darkness. After roughly five minutes, he parks the car on the side of the deserted back road, between a small clearing of trees. Billy gets out of the car as I look around at our surroundings, nothing but trees, silence and darkness. He opens my door as I look up at him confused. 

“Get in the back.” 

I smirk, licking my lips as I sit forward in my seat slightly, giving Billy the perfect view of my cleavage. “You expect us to have sex here?” I question as Billy huffs, grabbing my wrist and pulling me up to his chest. 

“I have to make it up to you babygirl, now get in the backseat.” 

I open the door and crawl into the backseat, sitting and facing the open door as Billy grabs ahold of my ankles from my outstretched legs, swiftly pulling me closer to him. I feel my breath quicken as he takes off his button up shirt, exposing his toned torso as I bite my lip. I keep my eyes on him as he wiggles my skirt to just above my hips, chuckling to himself as I feel heat cover my cheeks. 

“And I wonder who made you drip like this baby girl.” Billy says as his index finger traces over the dark green lace of the body suit as a small whimper falls from my lips. 

“I asked you a question.” 

“You did daddy.” I whisper as he smirks, kissing my inner thighs, ghosting over my heat as I sigh. 

“Good girl.” 

I feel Billy pull the lace bodysuit to the side as his finger traces small circles around my clit, causing soft moans to fill the air. 

“You can be as loud as you want princess, no one is around to hear us.” 

Billy slides a finger into my tight, dripping pussy as I cup my boobs toying with my nipples. He picks up the pace slightly, adding another finger and curling it upwards as I arch my back. 

“Fuck.” 

I hear Billy moan as his tongue slides over my throbbing clit, my back arching off the leather as I moan in pleasure, my fingers running through his hair as he continues to flick his tongue on my sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Jesus Daddy.” I moan as we lock eyes with each other, causing Billy to moan sending vibrations all over my clit, his fingers picking up their pace. I feel Billy wrap his lips around my swollen clit, sucking softly as I feel the coil inside me tighten as I get closer and closer to my release. 

“Just like that, oh fuck, I’m going to cum.” I warn as Billy stops abruptly, smirking at me as I groan in annoyance at the loss of pleasure. 

“You only get to cum on my dick baby girl.” 

I run my hand down my body to play with my clit, wanting to get back to feeling some sort of pleasure as Billy slaps my hand away. I watch as he swiftly takes off his belt, undoing his jeans and sliding them down only slightly, allowing his dick to spring free, slapping against his stomach as I lick my lips. 

“Move back.” Billy instructs as I shuffle backwards eagerily, allowing for him to get into the car. 

Billy kneels on the leather seat, pulling me closer by my hips as he lines himself up against my pussy, sliding right into place as moans fill the air of the car. 

“Fucking made for me.” Billy praises as he starts to move his hips, not giving me much time to adjust to his size. 

“God, you’re so fucking big.” I moan as Billy raises my legs up to rest against his chest, feet either side of his face, the new angle allowing for him to go deeper. 

Billy picks up his pace, throwing his head back in pleasure as I arch my back. 

“Fuck Y/N.” 

“Daddy.” 

Billy lets go of my legs as he slides out, grabbing my hips as I raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Ass up.” Billy commands as I oblige, turning over, face against the leather, ass in the air as Billy slaps the supple skin. “God, you’re hot.” He praises as I moan softly, feeling him run the tip of his dick around in circles on my clit before sliding deep into my pussy. “Fuck, you’re so tight baby.” 

I moan into the leather as Billy starts to rock his hips into mine, faster and deeper in the new position. 

“Just like that.” I say as Billy grabs a fistfull of my hair, pulling me up slightly as he rubs circles on my clit causing me to cry out in pleasure.

“Are you going to cum for me princess? Cover my dick in cum?” 

I feel the coil tighten again, my eyes squeezing shut as I finally feel it snap, my body flooding with tingles as I cum all over Billy’s dick, my legs trembling as moans and profanities fall from my lips. I feel Billy’s thrusts grow sloppy as he reaches his high, cumming inside of me. 

Billy trails kisses from the top of my ass to my shoulder. 

“Happy Anniversary Princess.” Billy whispers, kissing my neck as he shuffles out of the car to adjust his clothing. 

I shuffle around in the car, wiggling my skirt back down and fixing my body suit as I step out of the car into the slight breeze of summer air. 

“I am still mad at you a little.” I mumble as Billy tuts, shaking his head. 

“Of course you are.” 

“But, that did make up for a little part of it.” I wink as Billy smirks, cupping my face and kissing me. My heart fills with love at the soft affectionate side of Billy.

“I love you Y/N.” 

“I love you too.” 

“I better get you home before your dad loses his shit at me.” Billy chuckles as I nod. 

“Sneak up through the window and spend the night?” I ask as I get into the passenger seat, Billy having made his way to the drivers side. I watch as Billy tosses up the idea as I smirk, placing my hand on his knee. 

“I haven’t been able to give you anything for our anniversary yet.” I whisper as my hand moves up his thigh, brushing against his dick as his breathing grows heavy. 

“You have me wrapped around your finger princess and you know it.” Billy smirks as he starts the car and begins the drive to my home. 

It’s going to be a sleepless night. 

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Oh my dear, thank you for trusting me on this journey. I understand being wary to jump into this last part. Once Benophie are married, I suppose I have no loyalties to canon in terms of deciding their fates. But this was always intended to be a slight spin on TSPWL, where Phillip the hero saves an ailing member of Benedict’s household, helping Eloise to realize how much she loves Phillip and bonding the two family branches even closer. “This conclusion really does feel like one giant breath after being trapped under rough waters.” It is SO rewarding to hear that because that is precisely how it was intended, and how it felt to write. 🫶

I don’t think we’re getting (nor do I want) a massive time jump between any of the sibling love stories on the show, so with no Benophie children to strike down with illness (and I also think it’s a pretty cheap/lazy way to create emotional stakes without developing a character; we don’t even know Charles in the books) I made it the person Eloise would care about the most. The person who would draw together all the characters we love so dearly, and who viewers/readers would be horrified to potentially lose 💙

Sorry not sorry for the little death fake out. You know I had to 😉 I have a reputation to uphold but also, as you so eloquently said, we are seeing through Anthony’s eyes and he is inclined to see the worst. Yes, it was critical to me that he and Sophie join hands over Benedict and my heart is so full knowing you picked up on that and can see their relationship as I do. 🥹 “The imagery of them completing this sort of circle around Benedict is chill inducing.” 🫶

I must tell you how much you alone influenced this final chapter. I wasn’t locked into a particular outline for it, and it was still unfinished as I posted the earlier parts. Your comments about Violet and insights into Eloise’s behavior around Anthony motivated me to add more than I originally envisioned. I agonized over Violet and when she would arrive. I was always going to have Kate and Colin storming in on horseback because they are the closest to A&B and canonically strong riders. But originally I never put Violet on a horse. I had her showing up with the rest of the family hours later. But you were so right - Violet Bridgerton would face hell and high water to be with any of her children in their time of need. Maybe she can’t ride solo, but she would strap herself to Colin and shout at him to go faster the entire way. So - you brought her there, and it’s so much more satisfying this way. Thank you 💙 Just for you, I’d be happy to write a little drabble of the moment she actually gets Benedict into her arms. I have a little idea of what words would have been exchanged.

The Anthony and Eloise conversation would also never have existed without your feedback. My idea was for Eloise to be moving through this story asking Anthony, Benedict and Sophie about love/marriage to try and use their advice to sort out her feelings about Phillip. But Anthony “not a man of poetry” Bridgerton struggled to answer her and I never envisioned revisiting that. You make me a better writer by catching details or loose ends I didn’t even realize were there. That initial conversation in the carriage deserved a resolution, and we needed to check in with Anthony after his rush of relief in the morning. A&E showed up and had their lovely convo in my head after reading your earlier notes, and again I have to thank you for calling them in to do so. The story is just better this way. 💙

And Philoise - I hope it was fan service in the best way 😜 I love Phillip but don’t get me wrong, book!Phillip has issues the same as A, B, C and I’ll presume Simon as well. He does treat Eloise like crap sometimes and their inability to communicate is incredibly frustrating. The vibes I get from show!Phillip (though still TBD) are that he struggles to communicate out of shyness and feelings of self-doubt, not because he is an arrogant misogynist. But same as the book, after a near-death encounter, everyone needs to drop the BS and talk about their feelings. It was cathartic to write it all out, and I’m so happy you enjoyed it!

“Thank you for all the time and effort that so clearly went into this body of work.” 🥹 😭Thank YOU for being so thoughtful and generous with your support. This story was a big emotional investment for me, and you have helped me feel that it paid off. 🫶

Willow Bark - Day 4: A Vow

Rated: T, whump and angst Word count: 6k

Day 3 Masterpost

Anthony was awoken by the sound of sobs. His body was so stiff from sleeping bent across the bed that it took a moment to wrench himself upward. The scene that met his eyes caused time to slow and everything within him to freeze. Sophie was awake, her head still lying on Benedict’s chest as her arms clung around him, and she was hysterical. Her entire body shook with wails as she buried her face against her husband. Benedict laid on the pillows precisely as he had for days. His skin was drawn and sallow and his head was tilted back, eyes closed.

Anthony couldn’t breathe. If he could feel anything at all, it was as if his organs had fallen out of his chest and onto the floor and now there was nothing. Nothing within him. Nothing to feel and no senses to feel with. 

He couldn’t move. 

He couldn’t think. 

All he could do was stare.

And as he stared, Benedict’s lips curved into a weak smile. Eyes still closed, his brother raised a pale hand and rested it on his wife’s head. That’s when Anthony noticed that her head was moving slightly, rising and falling as Benedict breathed. Her tears were not those of sorrow but of relief. Benedict was still here, and he was awake.

He couldn’t feel his limbs, but Anthony reached out nonetheless and gripped his brother’s arm. He needed to make sure this was real. 

Sophie looked blearily through her tears and saw the Viscount clinging to his brother, eyes more terrified than she had ever seen. She wrapped one of her hands over his and held it tightly, then turned her face into Benedict’s chest just to feel its warmth on her skin. She couldn’t stop crying despite how she was trying to regain herself. She just needed to hold him. Hold him and keep him right where he was - with them.

Thus Benedict passed through the darkest night of his illness and began his journey back to health. Held tightly in the arms of his wife and elder brother, he used their strength to carry on.

—-

The sound of Anthony’s approaching footsteps and the glare of early morning sunlight stirred Phillip and Eloise awake. They found themselves still on the sofa, heads tucked together and hands tightly clasped. No one had seen fit to disturb them and Eloise was grateful not to wake up alone. When Anthony appeared in the doorway they both leapt to their feet and held their breaths. The Viscount was haggard, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. Eloise gripped Phillip’s hand. He stood at her side but could not look at her. 

He had failed. By God, it had happened again and he had failed again. Why had he even bothered to try? Damn him for giving this family false hope, for giving Eloise false hope that he could do anything to help her brother. He was certain this would be the last time he would ever hold her hand. She was about to be consumed by grief and likely a fair amount of contempt for him. She would never marry him now and in truth, he didn’t believe she should. He was no better than a charlatan witch doctor leaving a trail of casualties behind him.

The silence before Anthony spoke seemed to stretch on for a year.

“He’s awake,” he choked at last.

Eloise let out something like a strangled laugh then flung her arms around Phillip, crushing herself against him. He held her but was stunned, staring at Anthony.

“He’s alright?”

Anthony nodded, clenching his jaw to hold back tears. Phillip finally let himself breathe and looked down at Eloise. She was red-faced, her hair mussed as she cried and laughed simultaneously. 

“Oh Phillip,” was all she could manage to say. 

Then Anthony grabbed Phillip’s hand in both of his own, squeezing it so tightly Phillip feared for his bones. The Viscount’s eyes bored into him, that signature Anthony Bridgerton glare, except this time it was not in anger. It was an intensity of gratitude that Phillip had never seen before and doubted he ever would again. 

“Sir Phillip,” he said shakily. “You are a man of the highest quality and my family and I are forever indebted to you.”

Eloise continued chuckling through her tears, smiling up at them both. Phillip returned the handshake with as much strength as he could muster while entirely overwhelmed. He had no idea what to say. He certainly wouldn’t take credit for Benedict’s recovery. There was no proof that his intervention had been the cure, though the timing seemed to imply it. It was unscientific to conflate correlation with causation. He was simply relieved that the family would not have to suffer through another untimely loss.

“Can we see him?” Eloise asked.

“Of course,” Anthony nodded and turned to lead them through the house.

Eloise barrelled into the bedroom and knelt next to Benedict, crumpling onto his chest. Benedict grinned, dragging a hand slowly across her back and mumbling things only she could hear. Something eventually made her laugh and she straightened, wiping her tears away. Sophie still perched beside Benedict in the bed and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Phillip,” Eloise called for him to join her. Taking his place at her side, he looked warily down at Benedict. It was still a struggle for him to be at the bedside of the ill, especially someone with a fever. Benedict had the same sunken look about him as Marina did. His skin had the same pale yellow pallor. He somehow looked even worse than she had after she passed, but he was smiling up at the two of them.

“Sir Phillip,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I hear you are my savior.” 

Beside him, Sophie was looking at Phillip and positively glowing.

Phillip shook his head profusely. “No sir. I simply did what I could to help. I’m sure your own strength pulled you through. I am happy to see you are awake.”

Benedict cracked a lopsided smirk. “Let’s say we’re even then,” he rasped. “You saved my life and I saved yours when I chose not to shoot you after I found you courting my sister.”

Eloise snorted and crossed her arms. Sophie rolled her eyes. Phillip allowed himself a grin.

“When is the wedding?” Benedict arched a brow at them.

“All right, that’s enough.” Sophie chided him, stroking the matted hair back from his forehead and shooting a wink in their direction. “You need to rest.”

Benedict nodded, clearly exhausted by the energy it took to maintain his cheekiness. Eloise kissed his hand then he shifted to lie against Sophie.

Watching them all from the doorway, Anthony couldn’t tamp the fluttering feeling in his chest. The gratitude, the breathless relief that the worst was behind them. He no longer needed to maintain a vice grip on the situation. Just as the rain outside had finally given way to sunlight, so too had hope finally returned to the cottage. Almost as if in response to the buoyant feeling flooding through him, he heard commotion in the entry hall and a voice calling his name, sweeter than any angel - his Viscountess.

Stumbling over his own feet, he bolted downstairs to find Kate, Colin, and his mother dashing toward him just as urgently, faces drawn with panic.

“Kate?!” In an instant they were in each other’s arms and he wanted nothing more than to melt into the heady scent of liles he found there. “You’re here,” he murmured into her raven hair, breathing her, clutching her, swimming in every sensation he had been starving for. Her strength and softness were the very tethers that rooted him to the earth, now returned at last. 

An iron grip on his arm broke his reverie and he turned to face his mother. The grey-faced woman he saw was someone he had hoped to abandon to memory; a shade of his mother that had been drained of all joy and vitality.

“Where is my son?” Her whispered plea was ferocious.

“Upstairs, but…” 

She was gone before he could offer further details. Immediately Colin stepped forward, looking frantic. “Anthony…is he? How is he?” His eyes darted in alarm as he too moved for the staircase.

“He’s alright.” Anthony assured him, releasing his wife to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “The fever broke overnight. He’s awake now.”

He felt Colin settle beneath his hand, exhaling as his eyes softened. “Thank God.”

Anthony looked between them both, dressed in riding cloaks and disheveled. “Is everyone with you?”

Kate took his hands in her own, her very touch revitalizing him. “No, but they are not far behind. We got your letter and told everyone to leave quickly but with Penelope and the children, the carriages… You understand.”

Anthony nodded. Penelope was heavily pregnant and his own two sons were not fond of carriage rides. Plus his youngest siblings - transporting them all was not a simple undertaking. But here were his wife and brother, damp with sweat and rain, arrived without their children or expectant spouse. His mother had looked windswept too. “So you…”

“We rode through the night, the three of us.” Colin smiled.

Antony gaped. “Mother?”

“She rode with me,” his brother explained, then tilted his head toward Kate with a smirk. “It was her idea.”

The love Anthony felt cascading toward his Viscountess made his heart throb. He clung to her, staring into the eyes of the woman he could never convince himself he deserved, speechless.

She smiled in that way he knew was reserved for him alone. “We needed to get to you quickly and your mother refused to wait. We had to be with you,” she squeezed his hands, “you and Benedict. He is improving?” All Anthony could do was nod, still struck dumb by the demonstration of their devotion. “Good,” her smile widened. “Everything will be alright now.”

—

Within three hours every Bridgerton from London descended on the cottage, two carriages rushing in to deposit Penelope, Gregory, Hyacinth, the two boys Edmund and Miles, and a half dozen staff. Everyone piled into the main bedroom until it resembled a reception hall. Violet repeatedly fell upon her second born, the two of them clutching each other and weeping. Sophie scurried about, answering everyone’s questions and landing in tearful hugs with each of them. Word had been sent to Daphne in Clyvedon and Francesca in Scotland too, telling them to hasten to Kent so that they might see Benedict recovered before Eloise’s wedding. Each of Benedict’s siblings nearly leapt upon him, tousling his hair or smothering him with affection until a familiar light shone in his features and Sophie felt, for the first time in days, that her husband was present in the room once more. Phillip was called in to join them all, earning many an embrace and hearty slap on the back as the hero of the day. He blushed under all the praise.

Seeing him well tended to by family, Sophie kissed Benedict’s bright face and used the opportunity to excuse herself for a bath and a meal. Her hands idly caressed her stomach where their secret joy lay, known only to her husband and Anthony. Refreshed, she walked back through her home and came upon Phillip in the sitting room idly plucking at his hat. It was obvious he too had bowed out of the Bridgerton reunion and was now unsure of where to place himself. He eagerly accepted her invitation to take in some fresh air.

His eyes studied each flower as they passed through the cottage’s winding gardens but his focus on their conversation was unbroken. “I really am very glad that Benedict is improving.” He smiled at her. “Though, I’m sure that sounds rather cheap saying it to you.” 

Sophie smiled in return, her heart overflowing with things she wanted to say. This man, soon to be a brother-in-law, was still a relative stranger, but now a most cherished one. “Are you a religious man, Sir Phillip?” she queried.

He frowned. “Not particularly. I’m a man of science.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m very religious either,” Sophie mused, keeping pace beside him. “In my life, before I met Benedict, hope never got me very far. Cruel circumstances seemed to pile themselves upon me one after the other. So if there was anyone charting a path for my life, I wasn’t grateful to them. But since I met this family, so many things have happened that…I lack any word to describe them other than miraculous.” She felt Phillip studying her curiously but pressed on. “There are still moments of darkness. Moments of struggle. But every trial seems to bring about a bright new beginning. Permit me if I overstep, but I believe you are one of those miraculous things.” She halted, turning to face him. “That you would come to us when you did with the knowledge that you have and the kindness and courage to try…”

“Mrs. Bridgerton…” He cast his eyes down in humility.

Sophie continued. “Even if you did not cure him you gave us all hope. You need not credit yourself with saving my husband’s life but I always will.” She rested a hand on his wrist and he looked up at her, bright eyes timid. “And you didn’t just save his life, you saved mine. I daresay you saved the whole family. We will never be able to repay you. If there is anything you need, ever, if we can provide it to you, it is yours.”

He shook his head. “I need nothing.”

With a nod, Sophie released him and resumed their slow trek through the flowering hydrangeas. She would find a way to express her gratitude for his priceless favor. “Eloise is lucky to have you. I’m sure she knows it. She is a woman of discerning tastes. What I know of you, which I am ashamed is not enough, is that you are an honorable, intelligent, kind and gentle man. It will be a privilege to have you in our family.”

Phillip stopped in place and she turned to find his head bowed, eyes uncertain. “That is something I will need Eloise to confirm she still wants.”

Sophie’s heart sank. She had a vague recollection of her conversation with Eloise, questioning whether she loved Phillip, and of Anthony’s aggravation with their visitor. She had been too overwhelmed to realize it over the past days but now the pieces were falling into place. Something was amiss. “I see. If I can offer any assistance?”

“It is my fault,” he hung his head in shame. “She was only trying to talk to me about the children and I…I am not very…” He searched the sky for his next words and gave up with a defeated shrug. “I must have misspoken. I’m not always skilled at connecting with people. It’s a relatively new phenomenon for me, if I’m being honest. Even having people I want to connect with.” 

He looked to Sophie, something vulnerable in his impossibly blue gaze. “I too know something of the cruel circumstances life can heap upon us. My childhood was not happy, my household not loving like the Bridgertons. I’m afraid I don’t know how to navigate around these feelings…around love.” He stuttered as if the word was foreign to his tongue.

“What of your first marriage?” Sophie asked. “Eloise told me you are a widower.”

A cloud passed over him, dimming the spark that Sophie had seen trying to peek through. “Marina and I were not in love. She loved my brother and when he died I married her to protect her and my niece and nephew. We simply tolerated each other. And then she…” he turned away. “Died of fever.”

Sophie gaped, mortified with guilt. “Phillip! I am so sorry. I never thought…”

“No, no.” He shook his head to reassure her. “It’s as you said. Brightness out of our darkest trials.” The light returned to his eyes. “I would not have thought to try those remedies if I had not learned of them during Marina’s illness. They were not enough to save her but thankfully, they may have helped Benedict.”

Overwhelmed by a swirl of serendipity and a newfound sense of connection, Sophie looped her arm through Phillip’s and pulled him onward. He followed, easing into step beside her. It seemed they had more in common than she suspected. Dark upbringings whose shadows were banished in the presence of the Bridgerton clan. She knew firsthand how challenging it could be to allow oneself to embrace it all, when your new reality ran so counter to what you had been conditioned to expect. But there were always anchors, points of love and hope which had shone through the gloom of the past, and in those one could find reflections of all that lay ahead. 

“Would you say you loved the children?” Sophie asked. “Your niece and nephew? Forgive my bluntness.”

The smile that spread across his face rivaled the sunshine. “I do. I feel as if they are my very own.”

“And do you think that if they were no longer in your life, you would feel that you had lost something quite essential to your happiness?”

“I would.”

“Do you feel the same way about Eloise?” Phillip slowed and they turned to face each other. He understood her intent. “Yes.” He smiled softly, longing in his eyes. “Very much indeed.”

With a growing certainty that the wedding would occur, Sophie grinned. “Then for what it’s worth, I believe you do know how to navigate around love. Make amends and see where that leads you. Lord knows Benedict and I had to do the same before we were engaged.”

Phillip arched a brow at her and she chuckled. “A story for another time perhaps. You say you are not good at connecting with people, Sir Phillip. But I think you underestimate yourself. You have connected with the Viscount and with my husband and now with me. The very act of coming to us as you did is quite the display of love in my opinion.” 

Phillip blushed, uncertain as always of what to say, but Sophie’s words had renewed his courage to speak with Eloise and infused him with hope that the conversation may have a happy outcome. She guided him along once more, a hand resting on his arm as they walked slowly back to the house.

“Eloise is not one to suffer fools. So if you have gotten this far in courting one of the maddest Bridgertons and have survived, you must have what it takes to make it in the long term.”

Phillip laughed, a rare and delightful sound. “Oh no, you don’t mean to tell me there is a crazier Bridgerton?”

“Yes,” Sophie smirked. “I married that one.”

—

The afternoon wore on but the Bridgertons never slowed. Violet and Kate seized control of the household, dictating to their London staff and sending for more from Aubrey Hall. The cottage was to be cleaned, the kitchen stocked, and Benedict and Sophie tended to hand and foot until further notice. The family would stay in residence with them until Benedict was recovered and then they would rejoin at Aubrey to finalize the wedding preparations. 

That was the plan at least. Anthony had neither the energy nor the heart to tell his wife or mother that the nuptials may be in jeopardy. In his relief over Benedict, he had all but forgotten that Eloise was upset with Phillip, only remembering once his mother began discussing seating arrangements. He knew he had to address it and went in search of his sister. She wasn’t in Benedict’s room where his brother was flanked by Sophie and Hyacinth, the latter reading to him and woefully mispronouncing words. She wasn’t in the sitting room where Colin sat with an arm around Penelope, the two of them watching Gregory entertain Edmund and Miles by acting as a steed on all fours. He found her in Sophie’s study, flopped across the sofa and picking at a box of sweets which he suspected she had opened without permission.

With a tired sigh, he lowered to sit next to her and held out his hand expectantly. She popped one of his favorites into his palm and the two of them sat in contented silence for a moment, tongues rolling around their candies. Their last conversation about Phillip, the frustrated carriage ride from Romney Hall, seemed ages ago. Anthony wondered if Eloise’s anger had dissipated yet or if she would finally reveal to him the cause of it. But those weren’t questions he was there to pose. 

“Sister, about the wedding…”

“Yes, Anthony.” She groaned, dropping her head onto the cushion behind her. “I’m sure you want it all to carry on as planned. Though perhaps you might consider delaying it until our brother can walk again.”

Anthony exhaled loudly through his nose, too exhausted to combat her attitude. “No. No, Eloise, listen to me.”

She turned, surprised by the uncommon softness of his tone.

“I wanted to say that you should not feel obligated to marry Sir Phillip simply because of what he has done. I do not want you going through with it out of a sense of obligation.”

Eloise nearly choked on her candy, wondering who this imposter was that looked so like her brother. Was he not the same man who had spent the preceding week all but prodding her toward the altar with a fire iron? He had given her chances to back out, more than once, but always under the presumption that Phillip was some sort of villain. Now that her suitor had proven himself to be quite the opposite, Eloise couldn’t fathom why her domineering brother would leave something so momentous up to her whim alone.

“What?”

“To undertake a wedding purely out of a sense of duty…” Anthony stared off, shaking his head. “It was more than I could bear. So I can only imagine how intolerable you would find it.” His eyes found hers again and they were warm. “You have a choice, Eloise. Whatever is going on with you and Sir Phillip, it is between you to resolve. I will not get in the way, nor compel you to any course of action. He has done us an immeasurable kindness, yes, but your future should not be repayment for that.”

Her mind whirred, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. “Are you being truthful with me?”

With a tug at the corner of his lips, Anthony took one of her hands in his. An action so rare, she couldn’t recall if it had ever happened before, but it was undeniably comforting. 

“You asked if I sacrificed anything for my marriage. To have the marriage I truly longed for, I had to relinquish my belief that I could control the situation. In fact, that sacrifice is repeatedly demanded of me as it becomes increasingly evident that there are some things over which no one has control.” He clenched his jaw, searching for his next words. “Life can be…fleeting. So you should endeavor to live it in happiness.”

Eloise stared at him. The realization that her fate lay solely in her own hands began to wash over her. It was electrifying, exciting. It was the same feeling that flared every time she received a letter from Phillip and the one which had spurred her to run away to meet him. It had been stifled since her brothers stormed through the doors of Romney Hall, resigning her once again to the belief that her future could only be dictated by the men she found herself adjacent to. But now it had been restored, and by the last person she would have expected. 

The events of the last few days had certainly put everything into perspective. How silly her argument with Phillip seemed now and how inconsequential all the fretting about wedding details. Looking at Anthony, she realized that he had felt the shift too. She could see in his tired eyes how much he had borne to steer them thus far and she felt a stab of guilt for anything she may have done to aggravate him. He had shouldered the weight of her petty problems even in the face of unspeakable fear, all without complaint. Her heart swelled with gratitude and she endeavored to relieve him of her burdens. If she was going to be a grown woman, out in the world as she had anxiously waited to be, she needed to solve her own dilemmas and to do so wisely.

Overcome, she could only whisper, “Thank you, Anthony.”

He nodded tightly, releasing her hand. “Be sure to thank him too. Regardless of whatever else transpires.”

—

As preparations were made for dinner Mrs. Crabtree’s voice could be heard from the kitchen, fretting over whether there was enough ‘good’ butter to serve the army of unexpected guests. When Phillip pulled Sophie aside for a farewell so that he might reduce the burden on the household, she forbade him from leaving. She called for Eloise and suggested quite firmly that they go for a walk to observe the sunset. Smiling nervously at one another, they agreed. When they stepped outside to the cool air and soft buzz of evening insects they both breathed a sigh of relief. Relief at escaping the relative madhouse that the cottage had become, and relief that they were alone together at last. Phillip longed to take Eloise by the hand but instead guided her to a row of crape myrtles in bloom, their bright pink hues matching the streaks through the soft orange sky as dusk set in.

“Phillip, I don’t know how to thank you.” The vulnerability in her voice was entirely new. A facet he had never seen, but one which stirred his yearning.

He shook his head. “You don’t need to.”

“If you hadn’t come looking to speak with me, I don’t know that I would have told you Benedict was ill. I don’t know if you would have been able to…”

“It doesn’t matter.” He relented and gently took her hand, testing the waters and knowing she needed a distraction to stop endless trains of distressing thought. “All that matters is that he is well again.”

He was relieved that she did not withdraw from him. In fact, she wrapped her fingers over his own and stepped closer.

“It matters that you offered to help. I doubt many gentlemen would be as considerate.”

“Your brother is a good man. All of them are as far as I can tell, now that they no longer wish to murder me.” They smirked at one another then Phillip lowered his voice, professing the truth of what had driven him through the dark and rain with no hope of welcome. “I could not leave him to suffer if there was any way I could assist. And I didn’t want you to suffer either.”

Eloise gazed up at him, feeling an odd kind of certainty fusing her disparate thoughts together. Benedict and Sophie’s words were becoming clearer - deeds, not words; knowing that they would do anything for your wellbeing. She felt, to her great relief, that she was beginning to understand. “Phillip…”

“I need to apologize.” He cut her off, straightening his posture as he delivered the lines he had been rehearsing for days. “I’m not fully sure what I said to upset you, but I am sorry nonetheless. You were upset about the governess.”

Eloise balked, broken out of the tender moment by a reminder of the spat she had nearly forgotten. “Yes,” she slipped her hands from his, preparing to argue but finding that the fire behind her position had diminished. Nonetheless, she shared her honest thoughts. “She is a horrid woman who you should dismiss immediately.”

“I have dismissed her.”

Eloise gaped. “You did?”

Phillip nodded, sighing heavily. “You were right about her. I spoke with her after you left and learned that she was disciplining the children entirely too harshly. She is gone. We have you to thank for that. I’m sorry I did not listen at first.”

“Well, good. Thank you for that.” She stuck her nose in the air. This didn’t solve the entire issue. “But you said, when last we spoke, that you would not allow me to take her place.”

Phillip looked at her warily. “I said I didn’t want you to be their governess.”

“Yes, precisely.” Eloise felt the exasperation again, the frustration and fear that the vision she had for her life may be incompatible with the man she wanted to live it with. “I thought that we had come to understand one another through our letters.”

He paused, his brow furrowing. “I don’t take your meaning. Do you feel that I deceived you in some way?”

“No.” She huffed, searching for the words. “No, you have proven to be very honest. I fear that I may have misled you. Or rather, I perhaps did not share everything about myself as clearly as I should have. What I mean to say is…”

As she prattled on, Phillip couldn’t stop him from grinning. There was something undoubtedly charming when she devolved into a chatterbox. Eloise knew from his expression that she was rambling so she halted, taking a breath to refocus. It was time to have it out, the full truth.

“I cannot be a traditional wife. I cannot sit around idly minding a home with no occupation for my mind. I cannot be relegated to an ornament while the children are under the yoke of one dimwitted or horrid governess or another. If you will forbid me from overseeing their education and doing something useful within our marriage, then I’m afraid… I don’t know how I can choose between being my true self and…being with you.”

Her eyes fell and Phillip’s heart fell with them. He stepped forward and gathered her hands again, desperate to make himself clear. “I will never ask you to choose. Eloise, I was not trying to forbid you from doing anything. I should know better that such a feat is impossible.”

This coaxed a smile from her and he pressed on. “I could never have imagined that you would want to teach the twins and be their governess as well as their guardian. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to take on that responsibility. I didn’t want you to think I was marrying you just to have someone to look after the children.”

“So you…you will let me teach them?” Eloise stuttered, flabbergasted at how simple the misunderstanding had been and how easily she may be able to secure the life she longed for. 

Phillip’s voice was soft. “If that is what you truly wish to do, of course. I only wanted to spare you from any burden.”

She chastised herself for bolting from their prior conversation. Such anger and impulsiveness was befitting of a child, not a lady. Not a wife. “It is what I wish. I know it’s not traditional for a lady to do, but…”

“But you cannot be traditional.” Phillip grinned as he pulled her closer. “Eloise Bridgerton, that is precisely why I am so captivated by you. It is why the children adore you. Look at our home. Nothing about it is traditional. You fit in perfectly. I want you Eloise, just as you are. Before you, I had taught myself to despise the sunshine.” He swallowed, pledging in that moment that he would let the past lie and forbid it from intruding on his new happiness. 

He grasped her hands tighter, speaking clearly. “I vow that I will never ask you to change because it is precisely you, the whole of your mind and your passions and your person, that has brought the sunshine back into my life again. I would never seek to block it out.”

They stared at one another, breathless, a delightful tension rising between them. They had been acquainted for over a year and living together for a week, testing each other to see if they would suit as a couple. They had stolen kisses and something rather unspeakable but divine in Sophie’s study only days prior. But this moment felt like the first where their hearts were truly laid bare. There was no longer a need for pretense, no coy flirtation or hidden insecurities. They had faced a formidable darkness together, indeed Phillip had rescued her from it, and now they both craved the comfort of one another’s honest emotions.

Eloise sensed a slight tremble in Phillip’s hands. He chuckled nervously. “This feeling, it’s…I think it’s…”

“It’s love,” she whispered. The concept, previously so foreign, was now abundantly clear and she surged forward to kiss him. Phillip welcomed her into his arms, the two of them clinging tight to one another as they expressed with their lips all of their gratitude and relief and desire. Passion had governed their previous kisses but this one was guided by their hearts, reveling in recognition of one another and eager to be joined together forever.

Pulling apart, they both laughed, resting their foreheads together. If this was a taste of what lay in store as husband and wife, Eloise could not wait to venture further. “I never thought I would be so eager to get married,” she chuckled. “It’s a strange feeling. Strange and wonderful. We must wait for Benedict to be fully recovered. I believe I’d like him and Anthony both to give me away.”

Phillip set her upon her feet but held her close. “Of course,” he nodded. “But should we not make him the best man instead?”

“God, no.” Eloise scoffed. “Colin would never forgive us for revoking that honor. You know how he adores you.” Phillip smirked and she rested her hands on his chest. “Let’s get this wedding nonsense over with and get on with what I truly want. All of you, Phillip. Our life together. Us and the children.” 

They were sentiments she could never have imagined uttering just a few months prior. But that was before she had met Phillip; before she had found an unlikely camaraderie with the twins; before he had awoken her carnal desires; and before he had proven, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he would support her and her family even in situations that were untraditional and especially in situations that were bleak. She had always known she would make her own way in the world and now she could not imagine doing so without him by her side.  

“They miss you.” Phillip intoned.

“They do?” Eloise had never known children to desire her presence and the knowledge of it stoked a longing to return to them.

He nodded. “When I left they asked me if I would return with their Aunt Eloise.”

“And what did you tell them?”

Phillip brought a hand to her face, stroking his thumb across her cheek with a warm smile. “I told them that she cared for them very much but that the decision was hers entirely, because her life was her own.”

Lightheaded with happiness, Eloise leapt upon him for another kiss, messier, more insistent.  They schooled themselves when someone called for them from the cottage. Hand in hand they walked back through the dim light, eager to share the news that the wedding would continue, eager to share their joy as the pall of illness faded from the house, and eager to rejoin the warm embrace of family.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @musicismyoxygen84 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @hopepaigeturner

[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[varnienne]

At His Mercy

This is for the Citrus Dome's Hybrid AU Collab. It's so late and I feel terrible but life is so hectic for me rn. aflskfj this is my first attempt at writing monster smut so please be patient with me T-T

CW: dubcon, naga!Shinsou, edging, minor degradation/name calling, gn!reader but they have a pussy, I think that's it?

A rodent squeaked as it raced across the ground. You jumped, heart thumping in your chest as you turned at the sound. Brightening your lantern, you glanced around. Nothing. You sighed.

Why did I take this job again? Oh, right. The reckless dumbasses in your party were still healing from the last job. Next time they want to fight an elder black dragon, you’re going to teleport them as far away as possible. Now, here you were, on a solo quest to help pay for lodging and food while they recovered. They owe me for this.

Something pulled at your senses. Frowning, you concentrated on it. No oily malice, but no warmth of light either. You hesitated. Last time this happened, it led you to an abandoned mansion full of strange traps and gifts. Poor Mina was now cursed with a ghost child haunting her. At least you got a new spellbook out of it.

Another tug made you stumble. Guess I don’t have a choice. Slow, hesitant steps, the light of the lantern showed nothing but glistening rock. A cold droplet fell on your hand. You raised a brow, brushed it off, and kept walking. A few more landed on your clothes. What… your gaze moved to the ceiling. Eyes wide, you swallowed thickly. Sharp stalactites dripping with water hung low. Well, if I wasn’t careful before, I sure as hell will be now.

The strange pull coalesced and swelled until it pulsed from ahead. Magic sliced through the air, disturbing the formations above you. Several began to shake. Shit. You pushed off and didn’t look back. Some of the fallen stalactites started to block your path. Throwing your free hand out, magic surged from the pendant around your neck.

“Guiding Bolt!” Light converged into a ball. The ball raced forward, crashing through the rocks. The path was clear. More stalactites fell behind you. One skimmed past your leg. Another just missed your ear. You pushed harder. I’m not gonna let something like this kill me!

Another tremble alerted you to the largest column cracking and starting to fall. If you didn’t hurry it would cover the exit. But the stalactite was falling too fast to cast another spell. You leapt forward and rolled into a ball. The column crashed as you stood, ice shooting down your spine at the echoing thud. That was way too close.

You brushed yourself off and checked your lantern. “Dammit.” The glass was shattered and the last of the oil shimmering in a puddle by your feet. You shrugged. It was cheap anyway. Digging in your bag produced a striking stone. “Light,” you murmured. The stone sparked a few times before igniting, its glow just bright enough to see ahead of you. “Perfect substitute.”

~oOo~

Another hour of walking brought you to a three-way division. The pull surged once more, drawing you to the left path. It had a soft light that radiated with warmth.

The further in you went, the stronger its glow became. A gasp left you at the beautiful geode. Its vibrant purple crystals glittered from every crevice. The pull you felt earlier rippled all around you. This was the source of it. The geode’s aura hummed with a soft trill. Your eyes closed as the soft tinkling echoed in your ears. A smile danced on your lips as the magic enveloped you into an intoxicating high of warmth and comfort. There’s a word for this feeling. What was it again?

Something slithered around your ankles and a deep, timbre chuckle caressed your ears. “Well, well, well. Looksss like I found a would-be thief.”

“A… a thief?” Wait… were they talking to you? Your eyes opened as you tried to sense who was behind you. A yelp escaped your lips as you were lifted from the ground. Now hanging upside down, you stuttered out, “N-no! No, I wasn’t trying to…” But you were. For your client, at least. He wanted a small pouch full of crystals for the village’s power system. “Alright, I was.” Shaky hands waved in front of your face. “But I-I’m sure a few... small ones should work fine.”

The voice scoffed. “That’s what they all said.” Whatever held you up, shifted. You gasped when your gaze met the being who trapped you.

His deep violet scales glimmered with the geode’s light. Bright lavender hair defied gravity in soft spikes. Lithe, sun-tanned skin covered his torso, sloping down into a thick tail that disappeared into the darkness before looping back through the crystals and around your ankles. But what really caught your attention were his eyes. Slitted pupils with violet irises as deep as his scales, a quiet hunger for something you couldn’t place in them.

“Tell me,” he brought you closer, gaze narrowed on you. “What should I do with you?”

You gave him a shaky smile. “Le-let me go?”

The naga laughed. “That was a cute try,” you flushed, “but no. Can’t let you go that easy.”

Maybe if you could focus on another spell-

“What time of year is it?”

You blinked at him. “What?”

Shinsou huffed. “What time of year is it out there?”

“Uh… It’s almost time for the autumn harvests.” Heart pounding furiously, you eyed the growing smirk on his face and swallowed. “Why?”

The naga chuckled. “The villagers only ever send someone down here every few years before winter.” His tail finally lowered you to the ground. Though it coiled further up your legs. “Usually as some kind of sacrifice. Looks like they chose you to be next.”

“Sacrifice?” Escaped as a mere whisper. “What… what happened to the others?”

Shinsou slithered closer and cradled your face in one hand, the other carding through your hair. It loosened your braid and forced your hood down. His smirk turned into a wide smile that showed all his fangs. Another chuckle. You shivered.

“Depends.” His long tongue flicked out. “Do you wanna be eaten?” His thick coils tightened around your body, the pressure soothing knots in your shoulders and back. The softness of his scales relaxed the last of your tension. “Or would you rather face the villagers that sent you here?”

“I…” With your friends still recovering, you weren’t strong enough to fight an entire mob alone. But was becoming food really much better? “I don’t know.”

A strong hand lifted your chin. You glanced into Shinsou’s eyes. Funny. Were they glowing like that before? Or was that the crystals’ light in them? Claws gently slid up and through your hair.

“So, you want to be eaten?” You answered with a breathy yes. He chuckled. The deep tone had warmth rushing to your face. “Just remember, you asked for this.”

You blinked when the end of his tail tapped your nose. It brushed across your cheeks and trailed down to your neck. You shivered. Shinsou’s eyes flashed. His tail uncoiled from around you. Every touch of his scales on your skin sparked heat low in your abdomen. He smiled and finally released you from his coils.

Clothes in disarray, your shaking legs gave out. Shinsou caught you. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want a nasssty spill.”

You gasped. A tremble rippled through you. Shinsou’s hands grabbed your hips as his tail slithered between your legs. It teased you, moving higher and higher. Then it stopped. You rubbed your thighs, trying to relieve the ache.

Shinsou leaned in, breath ghosting over your ear. “If you want to be eaten, beg for it.”

You bared your teeth at him, but he only chuckled. Damn. Then his fangs nibbled at your neck. Fuck it. “Please,” you whined.

He smiled into the base of your neck. “‘Pleassse,’” His tongue slowly dragged up to your ear. Smiling lips barely touching the shell of it, he whispered, “What?”

Breathing ragged, you mewled and grabbed his arms. “Eat me.”

“With pleasure.” His tail brushed your inner thighs and wrapped around your waist. Coils shifted as he raised you high enough to reach your sex, tearing your clothes off. Shinsou set you down on a small pile of his tail. Clawed hands gently trailed down your hips and thighs. Your sex twitched when he pushed your knees apart.

He breathed in deep. Eyes rolling back, he growled. “Fuck. You smell deliciousss.”

Two fingers gently traced over your puffy lips. Up. Over your clit. Down. Barely sliding in. Shinsou teased your sex again. And again. You squirmed, trying to buck your hips onto his fingers. To no avail. A whine sounded from your throat.

“Impatient to be eaten are we?” He tapped your clit then gently rubbed it in circles. Slowly, so, achingly slowly, he leaned down. Breath ghosting over your pussy, he smirked. Then steadily licked up your slit.

You mewled. “Please, make me cum.”

“That’s sssir to you, little slut.” His deep chuckle rippled through you, strengthening the haze in your mind. Shinsou gently thrust into you. It writhed around, searching for that special spongy spot that should be…

Your back arched as your fingers dug into his tail. “Oh, fuck!”

Right there. The naga kept attacking that painfully wonderful spot. Rubbed your clit in faster circles. His fangs gently nipped at your nether lips with every thrust of his tongue. A clawed hand snuck around your thigh, holding your hips still. Shinsou stopped.

You whimpered when he pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah.” He glanced up, juices glistening on his lips. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

Blunt nails dug deeper into his scales as he edged you again. End of his tail slithering around your neck. And again. Fingers ghosting up your sides. Claws flicking across your nipples. And again. Tongue sliding against that delicious spot.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Please sir, can I cum?”

Shinsou gently rubbed your clit. “Don't you want to feel this good all the time?” You whimpered and hastily nodded. He smiled with all his teeth. “Then all you have to do is sssubmit.”