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choke-me-joey · 2 years ago

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Eddie Munson x fem metalhead cheerleader

Summary: Based on this - how Eddie met his not so typical cheerleader girlfriend and a little exploration of their relationship.

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smoking, underage drinking, drug use, swearing, flirting, smut.

Author's note: Happy Valentines Day! Every year I say I hate it and then get a little sad when I don't get a card or something little so….here is my gift to you because I love you all! This chapter also comes with a kiss on the forehead for you 😘

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

It had been 2 months since Eddie had ended things. 2 months since you had stopped speaking to him, even glancing his way. You'd stopped going to Hellfire, stopped going to The Hideout and you'd even gone as far as to request your seat be changed in Ms O'Donnell's class, meaning you now sat on the far side of the room, pretty much as far as you could get from him. No more whispered exchanges whilst Ms O'Donnell's back was turned, no more quick kisses at your locker between classes, no more smiles across the cafeteria, nothing. There was nothing now.

The guys in Hellfire knew something had to have happened, but weren't exactly sure what. Eddie had changed personalities overnight, now sullen and moody, quick to anger and snap as opposed to his usual clowning around, all lovesick and dopey and full of jokes. Now, honestly, he was kind of depressing to be around.

You were no better off. The cheer squad weren't exactly your friends before, and now you didn't really have anyone to turn to. You got along with everyone, sure, but since Eddie had broken your heart you had become so withdrawn and quiet, your coach had to step in and make sure everything was okay.

Of course it was the usual response that "boys come and go, honey, it's just a high school crush" which made you want to roll your eyes right out of your goddamn head. Your mood fluctuated from sad, to angry, to sad again, and you'd lost count of how many times you'd cried yourself to sleep over the last 2 months, clutching at Eddie's old Dio shirt he'd given you to sleep in a few weeks into your relationship, but never asked for it back. It very, very faintly smelled of him still and honestly it was the only thing keeping you from completely losing it.

Despite how much he had hurt you, and how angry you got at times, it didn't mean your feelings for Eddie had completely disappeared. Of course you still loved him. You had fallen hard and fast for him and that wasn't just going to go away. Ignoring him at school was one of the hardest things you've ever done, but you knew it would eventually ease your pain.

Rumours swirled around the school, as they do. First it was you had come to your senses and dumped the freak, then it was because Eddie had tried to sacrifice you to Satan and scared you off. But the newest one was that Eddie was screwing a girl in the next town over, and you had found out. Turns out somebody had caught a glimpse of the nude Polaroid falling out of Eddie's locker, not realising it was actually you, and the rumour swelled from there.

That damn Polaroid. It had ruined everything. You don't even know where it had come from, any nudes you'd taken of yourself were safely secured in your bedroom, and any nudes anyone else had ever taken of you were destroyed upon breaking up, you'd made sure of that.

But this particular photo...you'd been racking your brain for weeks trying to think how someone could have gotten a hold of it. It was one you'd kept in your room, you knew it was because of the little star you'd marked them all with; you were very conscious of keeping your nudes safe.

Besides, you'd only ever had 2 boyfriends that you'd taken these pictures for, and you'd not even given them to 1 of them. You'd never taken them for any fuck buddies or one time flings, despite being asked. And you rarely ever brought those dudes into your bedroom, except for-

Your heart pounds, and you start to shake.

That motherfucker.

Eddie sighed as he pulled up to Chrissy Cunningham's mansion the following Friday night. He could hear the music already thumping away; Chrissy's parents had gone out of town for the weekend so of course, Eddie had been called upon to deal. He fucking hated these things, especially now that he didn't have you by his side. He swallowed hard.

He fucking missed you.

He missed you so much it hurt. Now it had been nearly 3 months since he'd found that photo, since he'd ended things, and he still couldn't get your face out of his head. The way you'd looked at him, the way your voice wobbled and cracked with emotion, and the way you'd hissed at him with a venom he had never, ever imagined you spitting at him.

You hated him now. You didn't even look at him in school, stopped coming to Hellfire, stopped parking your car next to his van, stopped it all.

Was that because you were guilty? Pissed at him because he'd called you out? Or...maybe, just maybe, he'd made a mistake.

Eddie kicked himself mentally every time he thought about it. He let his emotions get the best of him, like always, only this time he'd let the rage take over. That had only ever happened once before and it ended in a broken hand, the other guy's broken jaw and Chief Hopper hauling him into a cell, letting him rot there overnight before Wayne came to bail him out the next morning. Eddie had never felt so ashamed as he did when his uncle had looked at him with that sad, disappointed expression. Wayne never said it, but Eddie knew exactly what he was thinking- he was following in his father's footsteps.

He'd sworn to himself after that that he would never let his rage take over again.

And then you came along, he fell head over heels like never before and when his brain had told him you were definitely cheating on him, that he wasn't worthy of you, that you couldn't possibly love him, and when he read that stupid fucking note that all but, in his mind, confirmed his fears he just lost control.

And now you were gone.

Except you weren't gone, because there you were, walking up Chrissy's front path with a couple of the other cheerleaders, looking as perfect as ever, in leather pants and a cropped Bon Jovi shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the other party goers dressed in...well, color. Eddie watched as a group of football players met their girlfriends, pulling them into sloppy drunken kisses and grabbing their asses, making the girls squeal and giggle. One football player - was it Johnson? - approaches you with a predatory look in his eye and Eddie doesn't realise he's holding in a breath until he releases it when you completely blank Johnson, shoving past him and into Chrissy's house.

This was going to be a long night.

You'd lost count of how many beers you'd drank and how many shots you'd thrown back. And honestly, you didn't fucking care.

You'd seen Eddie's van parked up down the street when you'd arrived; of course he'd be here. He was always expected to show at these parties - it's where he'd make most of his money. The minute you'd seen it, that's when you decided you were going to get absolutely shit wrecked.

That and when Johnson had had the balls to approach you, grinning like the fucking cat who stole one of your nude photos to sabotage your relationship.

You'd kept your cool, you had to. Your spot on the squad couldn't take another fight, or scandal. You had to swallow your anger towards Johnson, that regretful summer fling from last year, and just get on with it.

So of course, you chose to drink. And dance. And smoke. All on your own of course. You know everyone is looking at you, but you couldn't give two shits if you tried.

You stumble out into the backyard, and spot Eddie dealing at the far end of the yard. Fuck it, you think, you want to just let go, and you knew Eddie had the good shit. You inhale and walk over to Eddie as a group of girls leave him. He looks you up and down, concerned.

"Y/N?" He sounds almost afraid.

"Munson." You say curtly and he winces. "Got any pre-rolled?"

"Y/N, I don't think you should be smoking-"

"And I don't think you should be acting like my goddamn boyfriend, Munson, when you made it pretty clear 3 months ago that you thought I was cheating slut!" You snap. Eddie's jaw clenches.

"I'm not selling to you, Y/N. You're wasted."

"And so is everyone else here!" You gesture around, exaggerated by the alcohol. "Don't act all caring now, Munson. Just...don't."

"Fine." He grits out, giving you the pre-rolled joint from behind his ear. You hand him a $20, but he pushes your hand away. "Just take it."

You sigh. "Jesus, look, just take the damn money, okay? I don't expect girlfriend privileges anymore."

"I don't want your fucking money, okay? Just take the goddamn joint, Y/N, I'm just trying to be nice!"

"Well don't!" You yell, a few people glancing over as a silence falls over them. "You broke my heart, Eddie, you don't get to be fucking nice! You never even once gave me a chance to explain-"

"What was there to explain?!" Eddie yells back, taking you by surprise. "It was pretty fucking crystal clear to me, Y/N! And you weren't the only one who had their fucking heart broken, I loved you!"

You freeze, your breathing turning shaky and you blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill over. You throw the joint at him and turn on your heel, storming back into the house.

"Getting tired of that right hand yet, freak?" A smug voice makes Eddie turn around. He comes face to face with Aaron Johnson, another one of Anderson's idiotic companions. Eddie rolls his eyes.

"You buying or not?" He replies, and Johnson smirks, leaning against a tree.

"You know, if it wasn't for Y/N's shitty taste in music, I probably would have carried on hitting that. She's so fucking hot but I can't be seen with someone who dresses like a satanist, wearing all that demonic shit. My mom would have disowned me. But, fuck, that pussy's second to none, right Munson?"

Eddie's jaw clenches.

"And that body, fuck, it's insane. Glad I found her secret stash of pics and took a little reminder for myself. Came in handy more than a few times." Johnson grins and Eddie's stomach drops. "Y'see, she fucked with our team, freak. Got Anderson kicked off when we were a sure win for the championship, I could've gotten a fucking scholarship. And thanks to her, that ain't happening. So, I just had to let you know what a stupid little slut she is, Munson. I did you a favour."

"You." Eddie grits out. "You did this."

"I did her, too. She really is a freak in the sack, isn't she? Think she's drunk enough to let me fu-"

Eddie's fist connects with Johnson's cheek before he can even finish his sentence. Johnson staggers back in suprise, before returning a blow to Eddie's stomach, and the two begin to brawl, much to the delight of the onlookers in the yard. The news travels fast throughout Chrissy's house.

"Holy shit! Johnson's fighting the freak!" A voice yells from the kitchen, and your head snaps up from the beer you were nursing on the couch in the living room.

You push through the crowd that are now chanting 'fight, fight, fight!' and eventually get outside to the chaotic scene of Eddie and Johnson rolling around on the floor beating the piss out of each other, blood splattering the patio.

"Eddie!" You scream out as he rolls on top of Johnson, driving his fist into his face. He doesn't hear you, blinded by rage. It scares you to see him like this, so, so angry and vicious. Even though he broke your heart, you still cared for him and hated the way his beautiful face was bruised and bloody and curled into a snarl. You run over and grab his arm before he can drive it down again and pull him off of Johnson, but he pulls away from you and dives towards him again. Johnson is a better fighter than Anderson for sure, and immediately pins Eddie back on the ground. "Get the fuck off of him, Aaron!"

"How'd you like the little gift I left your boyfriend, Y/N?!" Johnson bellows, laughing maniacally as you shove him off of Eddie, who coughs and spits out blood onto the patio. "Should have thought twice before you fucked with the team!"

"This is all because of your fucking high school football career?!" You shriek. "Oh my god, grow up! If Anderson wasn't such a pig maybe he'd still be on the goddamn team!"

Johnson gets off of a groaning Eddie, staggering slightly as he grins at you.

"He knows what an easy little slut you are, Y/N, can you really blame him for trying? If you'll let this freak stick his dick in you, you're gonna let anyone do it."

"At least I knew when his dick was in me, which is more than I can say about yours, Johnson." You bite back, making several of the onlookers gasp and giggle. Johnson looks visibly embarrassed and enraged. "I only give my nudes to guys with dicks bigger than 3 inches, you fucking Neanderthal."

Johnson takes a step towards you, but he's quickly restrained by two of his buddies. The wail of police sirens and flashing lights a few streets over is enough for the crowd to disperse; one of the neighbours must have called and reported the party. "Shit," you hiss, helping Eddie up off of the floor and pushing your way out of the panicked crowd. "Give me your keys."

"You...you can't fucking drive, you’re wasted." Eddie grumbles.

"Yeah? Well I bet I can drive better than you can with a busted eye, Munson, so unless you want another run in with Hopper, give me your damn keys."

Eddie sighs and places them into your hand. You wince at the sight of his raw, bloody knuckles.

You help him to the van and buckle yourself in to the driver's seat. "You're gonna need to direct me Mr Here's Another Excuse For You Not To Come To My Place."

Eddie sighs again.

"It's…Forest Hills Trailer Park, you know it?" You nod. Eddie looked almost ashamed. "Of course you do, Hawkins' best trailer trash, drug addicts and drunks all in one spot, I'm surprised they don't charge at the gate for parents to just bring their kids in and show them how they shouldn't end up like this. Like a damn museum exhibit." Eddie mumbles bitterly. You frown, doing your best to concentrate on driving straight.

"Eddie-"

"It's left here."

The 15 minute drive was silent, not even the radio playing, with intermittent grunts or hisses of pain from Eddie. When you arrive at his trailer, you help him out of the van and to the door, unlocking with his keys. You sit him on the small couch.

"Got any frozen peas?" You ask, looking around the trailer at the small kitchen.

"My uncle keeps ice packs just for this very reason. Second drawer."

You follow his instructions and retrieve one, wrapping it in a dish cloth and handing it to him.

"Keep that on your eye. Where's your first aid stuff?"

Eddie places the ice pack on his eye. "Bathroom cabinet, down the hall on your right, but, Y/N you don't-"

But you ignore him and find your way to the small bathroom. Your tummy flutters as you pass by what is obviously Eddie's bedroom, getting a waft of that delicious Eddie smell. You enter the small bathroom and dig in the cabinet and find an old bottle of peroxide, Neosporin, cotton pads and bandaids. You also find a washcloth, soaking it in cold water and squeezing out the excess water. You go back out into the living room and kneel in front of Eddie.

"Chin up." You instruct, and he does, wincing as you gently rub at the dried blood on his face, getting rid of the worst of it before you soak a cotton pad in peroxide. "This is gonna sting."

Eddie sucks in a breath as you dab at the cut on his cheek. "Ow, fuck."

"Told you." You clean it as gently as possible before popping some Neosporin on it and a band aid. You repeat the process on the cut his forehead, lip, chin and his knuckles. “Didnt think you were a fighter, Munson.”

“Oh, I’m Munson again now?” Eddie huffs and you roll your eyes, placing the last bandaid on his knuckle. “Thanks…”

“No problem, it was kind of my fault you got in a fight. I should have realised sooner that it was him.”

Eddie clears his throat.

“Yeah, listen, about that…I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have let you explain. I guess I was just pissed at the thought of you having fucked someone else, even if it was before me.”

“Yeah, you should have let me explain.” you say, your voice a little sharp. Eddie avoids your eyes. “It’s fine, what’s done is done, but…thanks for defending my honour.”

“Just returning the favour, sweetheart. Couldn't have you beating the shit out of another jock, your place on the squad would have been toast."

"Yeah well…" you shrug, stifling a yawn. You glance at the clock on the wall. "Jesus, when did it get to be 3am?!"

"Well you lost about 5 hours getting wasted. I'm suprised you got us back without landing us in a ditch." Eddie smirked and you shoved him.

"I guess the adrenaline sobered me up." You sigh. "I gotta stop going to these parties, especially when you're there. You're the problem here."

"Ain't nothing new there. Go, take my bed, you need to sleep."

"But what about you, Eddie? You're injured, I cant kick you out of your own bed. I can crash on the couch."

Eddie snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure my uncle would appreciate you stealing his spot when he gets in from his night shift in a couple hours. Take my bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

You roll your eyes. You forgot how stubborn he could be.

"Okay fine but um, can I borrow some clothes? Leather pants aren't exactly the comfiest thing to sleep in."

"Sure, come on princess." Eddie leads you to his bedroom, rifling through his messy drawers before handing you a shirt and some boxers. "You can, uh, change in the bathroom."

"Why? Not like you haven't seen it all before." You shrug, stripping off your shirt and pants, standing in Eddie's room in your bra and panties, modesty gone thanks to the alcohol still lingering in your system . Eddie swallows hard, looking away. He doesn't look back at you until you clear your throat. His heart hammers in his chest as he takes in the sight of you in his favourite Metallica shirt and some of his comfiest boxers, taking your hair down out of the band it had been tied up with. You smile at him softly. "You wore this shirt to my house the first time."

"You wore it too," he grins, wincing as his lip screams at him.

"Yeah for like an hour, you insisted on getting me naked again." You giggle, cheeks flushing.

"I am but a man, sweetheart." Eddie holds his hands up in admittance. He quickly straightens up his bedsheets before gesturing for you to climb in. You gingerly do so, part of you so sad that it's under these circumstances that you're in Eddie's bed for the first time, and part of you elated at being surrounded by everything Eddie. You watch Eddie take off his jeans and shirt, gathering a couple of spare blankets and pillows to lay out on the floor of his cramped but cozy room. Once he's readied his bed, he flicks off the light, and a silence falls over the two of you as you both settle into your respective beds.

Your stomach churns with nerves; you hadn't been near him for so long and now he was so close you could touch him, but you couldn't touch him. It was torture and your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up.

"Eddie?"

"Mm?"

"I miss you." You whisper into the darkness. You're not even sure he heard you until you felt his hand, his non busted hand, blindly reach up and feel around for yours. His fingers link with yours and his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

"I'm right here."

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Tag list continued in comments!

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milkfordamon · 2 years ago

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Shy Link x Zelda's Best Friend Reader

I have never posted my fics on Tumblr before so this is a little daunting for me! All my fics are posted to my Wattpad also (same username hehe) so any requests on either platform are appreciated!

Minors DNI (Please!)

(My pronouns are She/Her but all my fics are They/Them unless I get specific requests!)

- Jealous Link

- Princess Zelda's Best Friend

- You visit a lot, Link looks forward to it when you do

- Obviously very good at hiding his emotions, but he has a secret crush on you

- Finds out Revali also likes you

- When you're all together Zelda notices how much he watches you and Revali together

- He wishes he had lasers in his eyes sometimes

- Revali knows Link likes you, he thinks it's obvious

- When you're out for a horse ride with Zelda, Link following, she asks if you like Revali

- You say no, Link overhears

- The next time you visit, it's a longer time frame between the last visit

- Link is entirely flustered by you this time, maybe you changed your hair or look a little differently, whatever it is, it's extremely flattering on you

- Everyone including you notice Link's non-stop staring and passing glances

- He even tries to impress you

- Maybe he takes on one extra enemy to prove himself or perhaps he runs up to you in the castle halls to be the first to open the door for you

- He passes more smiles at you in the halls than anyone else

- Zelda confronts Link when you go back home

- He's very shy and embarrassed

- Protective Princess Zelda

- "If you want to be with them, then you must protect them more than I ever have. You must love them more than I do, but you also must promise not to take them away from me."

- Link and Zelda both travel to Hateno see you next

- Link's very withdrawn the entire time they are there to visit, he can't decide what to say

- On the last evening of their visit you go on an evening stroll around the village

- Zelda insists she "too tired" and suggests Link goes with you

- Link's very shy and awkward

- Blushing every time you look at him

- You both sit on Hateno's hill admiring the beach in the sunset

- He realises he so head over heels for you

- On the way back Link picks you a flower and gives it to you

- You thank him and kiss his cheek

- He panics and you notice

- The next morning you say your goodbyes, Zelda pushes Link to say goodbye to you too

- He thanks you for letting him stay and hopes to be back soon

- You suggest next time you could go on a date

- He agrees, but very flustered, stumbling over his words, speaking way too fast and saying way more than you have ever heard him say before

- You all say goodbye

- Zelda teases the blushing knight on the journey back

#botw x reader #zelda #link x reader #link x you #tears of the kingdom #headcanon #link #legend of zelda #loz #they them

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bookishjules · 7 months ago

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So I am rereading TMI after almost 10 years and my adult brain is processing small details that my middle school brain did not! I never realized how much Izzy has Jace’s back through the first three books especially. I’m on COFA now and Jace is having his dream about stabbing Clary but right before, he wonders if Izzy is the one knocking on his door to bother him. That got me thinking about that sibling pair. We get parabatai scenes between Alec and Jace but I would love to know what Izzy and Jace get up to as a duo? Their one-on-one conversations seem like such a mystery lol and I know you’re an Izzy enthusiast so if you have any headcanons about this please share 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

i have so so much love for jace and izzy's relationship, but you're right, we really don't get much in terms of content for the two of them. which honestly?? tragic. not only do they top the shadowhunting charts, but idk there's just something about how the two of them function in life that would breed such great comradery imo like there's a reason they tried something romantic at one point, yk? they're so similar and they both hold the other in such high regard.. okay i could rant about them for a long time, but let's talk headcanons

jace was always quick to include izzy in any games him and alec would play, even when the latter was going through his 'my sister is so annoying' phase. jace understood what it was like to be lonely and didn't want to be the cause of izzy being forced to find some way to play on her own (or with her baby brother) when there was a perfectly good game she could join in on

the two of them did occasionally pull pranks on their older brother too. alec got so pissy about it, but that was of course the best part hehe

along with being pranking buddies, i think they also did a lot of confiding in each other. alec would get more withdrawn (into responsibility, into big brother protector mode, into hiding his crush on jace) and there was just something about a brother that wasn't quite a brother, who wouldn't reprimand you or worry about you or tell mom and dad on you. and of course not having any real friends around kinda made it difficult to have confidants who weren't also your siblings.

so jace was the first to know about izzy's first kiss, and izzy was the first to know about jace's first time.

because jace often felt like he had to look cool and desirable (not sexually just like.. worthy ig) to alec, it was often izzy who he'd open up to. about his past, about how hard the transition to new york was from the countryside, about how left out he felt when maryse wouldn't sing to him etc.

she shared her hair products with him and he would read to her on nights when her parents were fighting and it seemed to affect her more than any of the boys.

when he told her the spaghetti story she tried to make spaghetti for him at least once a month. never with positive results, but she was teasing him for his youthful obsession, so he'd tease her about her horrible cooking <3

she shared her hair products with him and he helped her study, since he was already well ahead of shadowhunter standards for their age

i feel like they're the kind of duo who starts out having a very casual, joking conversation that devolves into hours of deeper shit that they then have to go to the training room to sweat off together

#i got this ask while i was out at a bar with lena this weekend and got so excited because they are literally such an underrated duo #thank you for giving me the chance to talk about them <3 i hope this sufficed #headcanon #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #isabelle lightwood #jace herondale #asks #anon <3 #vetted

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cocojqr · 3 years ago

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why i absolutely hated season 2

even with all the spoilers and critic reviews, i just had a lot of hopes that this season could at least capture the essence of k&a. but i don't even have a few good things to say about this, i no longer have time to waste. so this is the last post that I will talk about this in. here are all the reasons i absolutely hate season 2:

all the stupid side plots, in season 1 i remember sitting through most of them, because of the sheer fascination of this new story, and it acted as good filler between things. but i was almost skipping every sub-plot this season. not the featheringtons, not benedict, not eloise and pen, not even colin and pen could keep my attention, everything felt like stale filler kept in just to fill time and skipping through all this made me realise how much screen-time anthony and kate don't even have

season 1 had the added advantage of the magic of the regency period, showing you all these new characters and this new world. and i feel like the show really falls flat this season despite throwing things in

I don't feel the essence of any of the characters. not even the main characters (i will expand on this below)

i will not pretend the book is a perfect representation of anthony and kate's entire story arc, but it did fundamentally set each character in stone. while the book avoided the love triangle super early on, the show seemed to somehow want to simply do it, only for the drama.

i don't blame the writers for what they've chosen to do with edwina. the books don't explore her in depth too much, but what i loved about her so much is her sheer love for kate, her kindness, and how she knew exactly what she wanted in the book

the book states several times that she wanted a scholar and someone who reads, but the show alters this and runs with edwina's infatuation head first. they could've at least cut it short after a bit but I do not understand how they kept it going for that much.

i hate that anthony kept the wedding going as long as he did. it just feels insane how long this bit went on

the way edwina had to call off the wedding, that anthony would've willingly married edwina, even if he had been staring at kate's face through the ceremony, what does that say about him??

absolutely hate that they cut out kate's fear of storms, or anthony comforting her. and anthony revealing why he is so hesitatant to love to kate, are all integral parts of the characters

we're never introduced to the fact that anthony has a fear of dying at the exact age of his father. they merely convert it into a fear of making someone go through what his mother did

the absolute lack of any substance between kate and anthony beyond the yearning. why is it that we never got true conversations between them. even a few, as friends, because the book clearly made them good friends for a period of time.

I would've forgived this, if they had actually given anthony and kate an extended epilogue. but one half naked scene and pall-mall where they can't stop kissing doesn't convince me of their love.

they were delaying that first kiss purely for fucking theatrics. even the first time. everything felt withdrawn simply for the "yearning"

I hated the half baked representation of the sharmas, while I'm thrilled to see an Indian woman as the leading lady, it felt even more disappointing as an indian woman to hear random words thrown around to sound authentic. throwing around 'amma' 'appa' (which might I add is not even fucking accurate) does not make any show authentic

while they definitely take back anthony's toxic masculinity from season 1, they fundamentally just made this character so frustrating. book anthony was dead set on not marrying for love, but he was already changing his mind before the bee sting, he was rather okay with the wedding happening even as long as he kept rules for himself. but the show made him go through with things for the wrong reasons

so angry that even before any drama that kate, mary, and edwina never shared any cute family bonding, or moments. like i want to see them AS A FAMILY

still so angry i couldn't even see anthony and kate as a couple, or even the wedding, NOTHING. idk it feels so odd to go from an ily to them making out in the garden. i don't know what to say

the kanthony bits were satisfying, okay, but it did not have so much of the substance it needed to have for it to be really believable.

for a show about kate and anthony, it didn't feel like it. they werent even there half the time

also wtf, i forgot what they made kate's real name, but kathani?? wtf. do they pick names out of a random generator

why does my beloved kate, one of the MAIN CHARACTERS of this season, not get anything? a wedding? a haldi? a proper proposal? her trauma explored? her culture? flashbacks?? NOTHING. we learn nothing more about kate as a human than obscure facts and that she hates english tea. brilliant.

GOODBYE AND I'M DONE

I've read a thousand other good fanfictions and even the book isn't as bad as this

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton season 2 #kate sharma #kanthony

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway?

“You are absolutely unbelievable!”

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid.

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics.

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face.

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs.

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded.

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.”

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open.

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake.

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now.

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door.

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body.

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek.

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together.

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there.

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too.

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker.

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows.

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.”

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.”

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory.

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face.

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.”

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.”

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.”

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive.

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise.

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces.

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep.

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him.

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone.

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling.

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck.

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine.

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years.

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again.

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little.

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name.

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words.

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort.

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off.

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees.

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.”

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane.

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away.

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up.

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?”

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on.

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there.

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers.

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air.

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair.

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen…

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks.

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had.

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before.

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another.

“Please.” She all but begs.

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing.

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame.

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns.

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly.

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other.

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her.

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely.

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another.

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them.

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before…

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?”

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body.

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.”

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering.

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.”

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom.

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner.

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs.

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs.

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse.

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks.

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.”

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything.

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.”

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly.

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain…

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly.

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton.

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way.

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...”

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier.

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles.

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs.

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock.

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag.

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that .

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet.

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of…

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple.

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone.

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 3 years ago

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hey love ❤️ have you ever heard the song Constellations by Jade LeMac? i’m listening now and all I can think about is Bucky and the writing possibilities 😩🥺

Stargazing | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, @breakablebarnes!

I listened to this song for the first time at your recommendation and oh my god you are so RIGHT! Literally Bucky feels the whole time. Thank you so so much for the suggestion, I had a great time working on this and I hope it matches what you were thinking. 🥰

If anyone has suggestions or requests, send em my way!

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @emetophilily 💕

"Now you're gone in the blink of an eye, I try to remember what you taste like. Replaying in my head, the smell of your body is still in my bed"

Sometimes you hated this arrangement you had with Bucky. He'd show up at your apartment, the stress from his most recent mission making his muscles tense. In search of a release he'd always find himself at your door, drawn to you like magnet. He could have any woman he wanted as his own personal plaything, and for some reason he'd chosen you.

This best friends to fuck-buddies situation made your head spin and your heart ache. Getting to see Bucky at his most vulnerable, staring into your eyes and gripping your waist as he climaxed, only made your feelings for him more complicated. At first, he'd been withdrawn, quiet, not one for divulging any information that he deemed 'too personal'. As time passed and he became more comfortable with you, you became the only person he'd confide in. He'd tell you every deep, dark thing in his soul while sipping a whiskey before setting up camp between your legs, spending hours in a very personal place.

He knew your body better than you knew it yourself. It was easy for him to find every spot that made you whimper, moan, and even scream. His kisses were slightly slick with your arousal, and he'd use the back of his metal hand to wipe it away before diving back in. It was never just sex to you, it was a connection. You knew every detail of his dark side, the side he was intensely ashamed of, but you still found yourself craving him- his kiss, his touch, his presence.

After Bucky took care of you, multiple times, the two of you would lay in your mostly-dark bedroom, sweaty bodies tangled together and smelling like sex, as the sounds of Bucky's favorite playlist filled the air. Sometimes you'd catch him staring at you, his deep blue eyes examining every aspect of your face.

"What are you looking at?" you'd asked one night.

"I'm just admiring your freckles."

"Ugh, please don't. I hate them."

"Impossible. They're like...constellations. Orion, Cassiopeia, Eridanus. You're like your own galaxy".

Moments like those only made the morning after that much harder. He'd lay there with you, holding you until you fell asleep, but you'd wake to an empty bed. Your sheets always seemed to smell like him, even fresh from the wash; the enticing scent of ginger, bergamot, and cedar had woven itself into the fabric and lived there permanently. It was a cruel joke when you'd wake up in the morning, catching his scent before opening your eyes, only to realize that he was gone and had left his alluring fragrance behind.

The taste of him always lingered on your lips, only being removed by your morning coffee. It didn't seem fair that he got to come and go as he pleased while you lived in a constant state of uncertainty. You knew you'd never say no when he showed up at your door, but part of you wanted to-just to see what would happen.

That part of you lost, however, when Bucky showed up the following night. His lips overtook yours before you could even greet him, and his hands tightly secured themselves around you waist. In no time at all, he'd stripped you out of your tshirt and shorts, leaving you in nothing but a skimpy pair of underwear. The underwear didn't last long after he carried you to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to live between your legs for the rest of the night. He knew exactly how to make you melt beneath his touch, and abused that information without restraint.

After he'd exhausted you with unrelenting pleasure, he laid his head on your chest and stared up at you.

"What are you doing, Buck?"

"Stargazing" he answered.

It was only minutes later that you fell asleep, knowing that you'd be heartbroken in the morning when you woke up without him.

The sun rose and poked its head through your curtains, pulling you from your sleep. Bucky's scent filled your lungs the second you were conscious, and a pit formed in your chest- another morning of disappointment. You rolled over, hoping to go back to sleep for awhile before starting your day.

Changing positions, your hand came into contact with something cool and metallic. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sensation and your eyes flew open, only to see Bucky Barnes lying in your bed-asleep. He looked so peaceful with his arm outstretched toward you and the usual worry lines gone from his brow.

A smile crept across your lips as you scooted closer to Bucky and he reached out for you in his sleep, pulling you closer with his strong arms. A contented sigh left your lips before you drifted back to sleep in the grasp of your favorite person.

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lin-nin · 4 years ago

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Headcanons for maybe they cause the reader's death? Like in an accident / generally not on purpose. Maybe they're in the middle of a battle and when they try to strike their opponent, their s/o is shoved in front and is the one that they hit instead? I just want angst :DD. Maybe for Techno, Schlatt, Dream, and Bad? Thanks!

heaOOOH ANON, YOU KNOW ME SO WELL. I LOVE WRITING ANGST ITS CHEFS KISS MWAH. I WILL GLADLY WRITE YOU SOME ANGST LOVIE. THESE ALSO CAME OUT MORE LIKE MINI ONE-SHOTS Warnings: Death, Gore, Coerced Suicide (BadBoyHalo)

Techno accidentally killing his S/O

Techno was always so easily caught up in battle. The way the voices chanted and demanded blood, he was quick to give in in the heat of the moment. Doomsday was no different, truly. Hell, he was eager for doomsday, and you had been too. You wanted to cause the chaos. It was only when you were off of the obsidian grid, moving to take down whoever you could with your axe. You and Techno didn’t always keep an eye on each other in the field. You just checked in on one another after, tending to the other as needed. He mainly checked in on you, as you often suffered the worst injuries in battle. You hadn’t heard his rocket launcher fire, ears full of the ringing and chaos and explosions of battle. No, you didn’t realize it until you had moved towards his target, the firework hitting you square in the back.

Techno swore everything was in slow motion then. The way your body flung into Tommy, slipping onto his sword that he had raised in the process to counter you. It impaled you, and he couldn’t see the look on your face. The voices in his head screamed and he was moving without thought, your name spilling from his lips, barely audible over the roar of battle. Tommy looked stunned, letting himself get shoved away once the older man came over, cradling you. You were covered in blood, seeping through your wound and shirt. He didn’t realize he was crying until you shushed him, reaching up to cradle his face.

“Don’t worry,” you had reassured, wiping at his tears and only managing to smear blood over the fur there. “This isn’t my last life. We have plenty of time together, just wait a few days. I’ll be back.” You would cough, making blood spurt from your lips as it bubbled into your throat. Techno could only helplessly watch as the remnants of you life drained from your eyes. This would put you on your final life.

The rest of doomsday was spent relentlessly slaughtering everyone who even looked at him wrong. He was inconsolable. When he returned to his cabin, and you finally came back- with new scars from both the firework and Tommy’s sword, he quickly deteriorated again. He struggled to voice how he felt- that it was his fault that you had been tossed into the blade and killed. He did, however, become fiercely protective of you. He would constantly give you armor and repair it, making sure you were fed and your weapons were the best. For whenever he would allow you back into battle and chaos.

Schlatt accidentally killing his S/O

Schlatt never had many on his side. You, though? You were always there for him. Originally a body guard he had hired, only to find a best friend and lover in you. A confidante. You may not have approved of each of his decisions, but you still protected him. He wasn’t necessarily a fighter, preferring to play the role of puppet master. You acknowledged that when it came to battle, you were a puppet.

It inevitably had already cost you two of your lives. You had no idea if it was intentional or not.

It was when Pogtopia came to attack that you were worried. Schlatt hadn’t been looking good. He had been drinking so much, seeming distant. Withdrawn. Even though you loved him, you struggled to get through to him. You stood at his side as you watched the chaos, gripping the hilt of your sword. Prepared to deflect at any given moment.

Tommy had found the pair of you first, and you easily preoccupied yourself with countering him. Only to feel yourself get whipped around, Schlatt’s hand familiar on your arm. Just for an arrow to lodge itself into your windpipe. You choked and gasped, feeling the blood invade your throat. Had you been warned, you could have put up your shield. Which had clattered to the ground with your sword. You had expected him to be pulling you from danger. Not putting you into it.

“No, no, no, stop it. Don’t you fucking die on me. Don’t you dare!” His voice rung in your ears. It was denial. So full of denial. As if the arrow in your windpipe had sobered him entirely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Stop! Fucking stop, you can’t leave. You aren’t allowed!” You gazed up to him with a weak smile, resting one hand on top of his.

“I won’t.... leave without you.... Don’t.... leave me waiting,” Your words were choked, interrupted by bubbling gasps. You would pause to cough up blood, gagging and choking on it with each breath and word. He dropped your body when you stopped breathing, standing up with his jaw set and an ache in his chest he didn’t want to identify. He didn’t keep you waiting, surrendering in the battle before succumbing to his failing health. The afterlife, though cold, was a little warmer and more humorous with him there.

Dream accidentally killing his S/O

Dream loved you with a passion so fierce it felt like the flames from the fire of it would often engulf you. The protection he gave to you, the way he often spoke to you or held you. It wasn’t bad, it was just always much fiercer than you ever anticipated. This translated to everything, too. He fiercely encouraged you to fight with him, but not to the point of getting yourself killed.

You weren’t always too good at following those words.

You had lost your first life fighting against L’Manberg. Not a direct cause from Dream, though. Just carelessness on your behalf. After that, he hovered near you during fights. Making sure you didn’t die. You didn’t mind. It at least showed how much he loved you, right?

Of course, he said all he cared about was the discs. When questioned about you, despite his hesitance, he had insisted you meant nothing to him with the same ferocity as before. It had hurt, cutting deeper than any blade before. You left, with Sapnap and George. You didn’t know where that had left the two of you, but you knew you couldn’t be near him and his delusions.

It’s how you ended up against him on Doomsday, staring him down atop the grid. The wind whipped at you and he pointed his crossbow at you. You didn’t blink, even as it loosed and shot the bolt into your leg. You had lost your balance, tumbling off of the grid with encouragement from the wind. You had narrowly missed the edge of the growing crater, thankful for the protection of your armor.

Only for the explosives raining down to knock the land from beneath you. You were sent tumbling down into the crater, landing on your neck. You had no recollection of it, no understanding of the horror he felt at watching you fall from such a height. He didn’t need to be told it was fatal. He hated himself for it. For what he had caused. Because, despite his words, he did still love you.

It wasn’t until you visited him in the prison, a nervous twitch in your hands as result from the fall, staring him down, it came crashing down on him. He had ruined you. “I wish he killed you. I wish I could kill you.” Your voice was cold, and you raised your hand to demonstrate the constant tremor caused by the neurological damage. You couldn’t kill him if you tried. You could barely hold a sword.

“I would deserve it.”

Bad accidentally killing his S/O

(Warning for suicide coercion)

You absolutely adored Bad. And He, you. That much was obvious. Life with him was fairly good, too. Mostly peaceful, and pleasant. The occasional bits of chaos, but so long as it didn’t directly affect you, you didn’t care. It usually didn’t, and you were content with that. Content to help others and stay neutral as needed. Until the appearance of the egg, of course.

You hated it. It made you uncomfortable, in a way that had your head ringing and chest feeling tight. You would avoid it as much as possible. You only came to dislike it more as it affected Bad. The way he didn’t make himself seem so small anymore, towering to his full height. The way he would kill a person over the egg, if it told him to. It was all so much.

Yet at the end of the day, he always came back to you and seemed almost like your Bad. Almost.

“Cupcake, give it a chance,” Bad had insisted one day, pulling you towards where the egg was. Even if you wanted to fight him on it, you couldn’t. Not physically.

“Bad, I told you. I don’t like it, it makes me feel... wrong.” This hadn’t been the first time the two of you spoke of this. Yet he insisted. The two of you had bickered until he tugged you into the building, unceremoniously pushing you towards the drop. Despite your protests, you fell in. Everything immediately felt wrong as you came close to it, the whispers of it not new. You had heard them before.

Yet it was vile as always, causing you to claw at the room in attempt to leave. Until it was all too much. There was one way out of this that you could see, even if it would cost you dearly. You sought out the vines of the egg, using them to rid yourself of your current life, much to the egg’s encouragement.

When you were free, you were different, the patterning of the vine clearly visible on your neck. You had packed up all of your important things, leaving Bad a note and going as far away from the influence of the egg as possible. Bad was clearly distraught upon finding the note. He looked for you for a long while, but always came back to the egg. At least, if the egg helped him bring peace to the entire place, he could get you back. Right? That was the newest goal. Bring peace and bring you back to him.

#Anonymous #badboyhalo #dream #schlatt #technoblade #technoblade x reader #schlatt x reader #dream x reader #badboyhalo x reader #tw suicide #tw death #tw gore #headcanon

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hopeshoodie · 3 years ago

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So here's my rant about Kobi/Rahim as super similar character but with vastly different standards for what behavior towards others is acceptable. Because it really feels like the writers realized the problems with Rahim’s character and then pulled an uno reverse on them.

And I’m not saying it in like a ‘oh the two dark skinned polo wearing athletic men are the same’ way, but that Ibrahim and Kobi have similar personalities. They’re both very sweet and romantic, aren’t super outgoing in group settings or actively involve themselves in drama, and cultivate a close group of friends in the villa more than romantic interests (Rahim with Noah/Gary/MC and Kobi with MC/Cora). They're both really loyal to their partner even when facing backlash (Kobi sticking by Lexi and then Juliet, Rahim asking Jo to be his gf even though all the girls argue with her).

But the huge flaws in Rahim's character, for me, is that he:

In the beginning he takes is very very personally when Priya and MC (and to a lesser extent Marisol) aren't interested in him. ((Granted he does 'grow' as a character throughout the season to be more confident, but still))

Treats Shannon and Jo and MC poorly when they're fighting amongst themselves for his attention

When he's in a relationship with MC, he finds it easy to do big romantic gestures for her, but then argues with her/gets irritated with her in domestic, day to day situations.

Number 1 has always bothered me because like Bobby, Rahim is insecure, and (though he copes with it better than Bobby) you can still see not 'clicking' with anyone wearing on him. He gets pessimistic, withdrawn, and kind of ghosts women who reject him. I don't think this is something that needs to be taken out of S2 (honestly none of these things should be, I love flawed characters), but it is a contrast with Kobi. When MC isn't interested in Kobi, despite him clearly being interested in her on the first and second day, he takes it in stride and refocuses on his relationship with Lexi. And then unlike Rahim, Kobi cultivates a healthy friendship with a woman that rejected him and doesn't dwell on the potential for romance.

And then for the second thing, it makes TOTAL sense to me that Rahim clams up and runs away during Jo/Shannon's blowout. He's very overwhelmed by having multiple choices, and it's not his JOB to mediate between women who are being viscous towards each other. But at the same time, he never has a scene where he really reassures MC that he’s still into her or apologizes for bringing Shannon back/kissing Jo. If MC isn’t involved, he never communicates his feelings to Shannon to give her a heads up that he doesn’t want to stay coupled nor does he stick up for Jo and tell Shannon to stop. He just sulks off if you confront him about it. The problem isn’t that he’s into Jo or that he chose someone when he and MC were split up, it’s that he didn’t communicate to any of the girls and seemingly didn’t care/pay attention enough to spare their feelings.

But Kobi. Kobi. *chefs kiss* Kobi. When MC is grafting onto him, it’s clear he’s not sure if he’s more into MC or Lexi, but instead of stringing them both along he clearly communicates where his head is at. Idk if I can find the screenshots I originally saw on Reddit, but he sets a boundary with MC from the get got. He takes great pains to reassure Lexi, and then if MC presses him about their relationship he sticks up for Lexi and honestly talks about what he's feeling and how their relationship is going. Even in episode 30 when he admits that Lexi was toxic af, he doesn't bash her or their relationship, just talks about the impact she had on the rest of the villa.

And then finally, Rahim really struggled to just be a 'friend' to anyone. His relationship with Noah was mostly because they could vibe and pretend they weren't in the villa, with Henrik he focused on tangible THINGS they could collaborate on, and with Gary it was all about lifting together. But he never really was emotionally intimate with anyone except Jo and MC, and even with MC he would vacillate between sharing his insecurities and then being embarrassed of her making a joke in a group setting or being jokingly flirtatious.

But Kobi's whole deal in S4 is forming healthy, supportive platonic relationships. I just. It feels deliberate. It feels like the writers are doing a re-do and taking the best elements of Rahim and then creating a character with better self-reflection and boundaries.

#litg s4

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highqueenofelfhame · 3 years ago

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rm day fifteen

super duper not my best work. i debated not even posting today but idk.. here it is. i won’t be posting tomorrow just so you guys know. kind of in my head about my writing lately and idk. really want to get bodyguard au for day seventeen posted but that kind of depends on if i can pull myself out of this funk about my writing. tw: brief mentions of miscarriage. not really anything else, i don’t think. masterlist // kofi // redbubble // etsy

Aelin stood in the middle of her brand new apartment, rolling her fingers into a loose fist and brushing them over her palms. Her hands were dry, compliments of spending a day carrying cardboard boxes into the studio in downtown Orynth. The last time she moved, there had only been excitement bubbling and boiling in her veins. This time it was just a lead pit sinking through her stomach and down into the floor.

Rowan had his hands on his hips, his t-shirt drenched with sweat. He, Aedion, and a couple of movers had spent the day lugging her furniture up to the second floor. Aedion himself had just left, running back to his own apartment he shared with his girlfriend on the other side of the city. It was just her and Rowan and a sea of boxes now.

“I don’t have the energy to unpack any of this today,” she sighed, sitting on the armrest of her couch. Twisting her mouth to the side and nibbling on her lip, she looked around the room. It was a mess and it was going to take ages to get in order the way she wanted to.

“You don’t start work for a week. Knowing you, it’ll be done well before then.” Aelin cracked a small smile, her lips barely quirking up at the corners. Rowan still stayed by the door, eyes darting from box to box. It was strange that none of his belongings were in any of them. They had lived together for the last four years, and had been dating for the last six. Yet not a single thing in any of these boxes or suitcases were his.

Aelin’s fingers began twisting together, gripping them hard until her skin felt more raw than it already did. Two months ago Aelin had accepted a massive job opportunity with the biggest publishing company in Erilea in Rifthold. Rowan had been traded to a football team in Wendlyn. It had taken days and days of talking about it until Rowan admitted he couldn’t stand in the way of her dreams. And she couldn’t stand in the way of his. Their relationship would falter with an ocean between them. Rowan’s schedule had always been rigorous, but it was easy when they shared a home. Two separate apartments on two separate continents… it just wouldn’t work. Not with how busy she would be, too.

When they’d finally decided to break up, it had been hard. Both of them had cried, and they’d spent the last few weeks savoring every single moment they had together. Neither of them were ready for this day, her moving day. Both of them were quiet on the drive, gripping each other’s hand like they were lifelines.

In truth, Rowan was her lifeline. Rowan was everything to her, and she knew she was everything to him. Even their friends had been devastated about the split, thinking it was a joke at first. When they’d announced it over dinner, everyone laughed. Until Aelin started crying, turning her face to hide behind Rowan’s shoulder. After they sat down and laid everything out for everyone, it was clear they were gutted. Rowan and Aelin were supposed to get married, have children. There had been countless days of talking about their eventual wedding, picking out names for their kids.

The pregnancy scared a year ago hadn’t even been much of a scare. When her period was late there was little panic. It was mostly excitement, the two of them falling into bed with laughter and hot kisses up and down each other’s bodies.

The miscarriage two months later had been devastating. Aelin had withdrawn so much into herself that only Rowan could pull her out of it. For days she stayed curled up in bed, hard sobs shaking her entire body. Tissues littered the bed and floor until Rowan picked them up, ensured she ate dinner, and then pulled her into his arms until she was able to sleep. After a few weeks, Rowan whispered promises of the chance to try again when she was ready. But the loss of the baby… It was hard to imagine going through that again. So they had decided to wait, maybe until after they were married.

But that wedding wasn’t going to happen. It had all gone to hell, and now Aelin was just trying to focus on how to breathe.

“Fireheart,” he said softly, taking a few steps toward her. Aelin shook her head, lips pressing together in a thin line as she turned her head to look out the window. The Rifthold skyline gazed back at her, but she knew it would never be her home. Her home was standing in front of her, sweat glazed over his skin.

“I can’t do this.” The words came out in barely a whisper as Rowan knelt in front of her. She turned to look at him as he took her hands in his. She realized then that she was clammy, Rowan’s hands rough and warm against hers. Aelin’s were sticky and clammy, but she turned them over so he could lace them together. Knowing that it was likely the last time she would feel his hands like this against hers made her chest tight. So tight that it was painful, her ribs caving in on her body. Crushing her lungs and making all of this more unbearable than it was to begin with. Aelin had never felt pain like this before, pain that felt like it was crushing every part of her body.

“Do what?”

“Be without you. I don’t-” she exhaled, cheeks and lips puffing out as hot tears rolled down her face. It was the truth, laid out bare before them both. Rowan’s face crumpled, brows furrowing as he leaned forward to kiss her knuckles. “I don’t know how I’m going to do any of this without you. Life or… any of it. I just. I can’t.”

By the end of her rambling, her chest was heaving. The words came out between sharp and heavy gasps that she couldn’t stop. Her head was already pounding, it felt like her brain was pushing against the walls of her skull. If Rowan wasn’t holding her hands so steadily, they would be shaking as badly as the rest of her.

“I know, baby. I know.” His words were soft, a bit of a balm to her soul. Rowan’s lips pressed to her knuckles. It was just like him to be strong, to hold her together while she fell apart when she knew he was hurting, too.

She pulled her hands from his and held his face, shaky thumbs brushing away the tears that soaked his cheeks while she whispered, “I love you so much.”

“I love you. You have- Gods, Aelin. I will never stop loving you.”

“Maybe we can make it work,” she sniffed, wiping the snot from her nose. “Maybe we can figure it out.”

“You know it’s not going to work right now. As much as we are desperate for it to work, you know that right now it can’t.” Despite the way her heart collapsed in her chest, shattered into a hundred thousand pieces that couldn’t be put back together, she nodded. She knew that. They’d talked themselves in circles trying to figure out how it could.

There had been nights that Aelin had held Rowan while he cried himself to sleep, her fingers brushing through his silky hair to soothe him. It had happened more than once, and Aelin despised the thought of him crying himself to sleep at home, alone in his bed.

“I love you,” she said again, this time into his hair. Rowan’s arm’s wrapped around her waist, his head falling into her lap. Aelin laid over him, her nose against the back of his neck. She pressed several soft kisses there, her fingers roaming up and down his sides. His chest heaved, neck bumping into her face. Aelin knew he was trying not to do this, not to kneel before her and cry until they were both empty of tears.

“I could stay tonight.” Aelin wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he finally lifted his head, her arms sliding around his shoulders.

“It’s just going to make it harder.” No matter how badly she wanted it, it was the truth. Waking up together one more time would make it worse. This was hard enough as it was. Giving them an extra night only to have to do this again tomorrow, to keep pushing the last day… Aelin couldn’t let it happen.

“You need to go,” she whispered, her breath grazing over his face. Rowan nodded, knowing the truth, accepting the truth.

It was then that he stood, tugging Aelin to her feet. They walked to the door in silence. Tears streamed down their faces. It was like looking in a mirror, really. Seeing that grief all over his face and knowing that his soul was in just as much pain as her own.

Rowan pulled her to him, his lips finding the top of her head as he held her tightly. Aelin savored the scent of him, even the sweat. Her fingers dug into his back, twisting his t-shirt into her fists. They stood like that for a while, as close as they possibly could be before he finally tilted her head back to look at him.

“I love you. To whatever end, I love you.” And then he kissed her, soft and sweet. Each of them savoring this last moment that they would both hang onto forever.

“To whatever end,” she said, nodding her head. Rowan was the love of her life. She would love him to the ends of the earth and back, love him until her heart stopped beating.

With one last kiss to her lips, he pulled away, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He offered her a watery smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he opened the door and slipped out. As it snicked shut, Aelin sank down to the floor, her hands clutching her heart. Aelin had never felt this kind of pain, the kind that threatened to swallow her whole.

It was the textbook example of right person, wrong time. She just hoped the right time would come around eventually.

#rowaelin #rowan and aelin #aelin and rowaen #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fic #rowaelin angst #a bad day #angst #right person #wrong time #lovers #adult decisions #y'know?#tog #throne of glass #tog fanfiction #otp #throne of glass fanfiction

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drowningbydegrees · 4 years ago

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As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Read on AO3

He can’t remember the last time waking up was a remotely soothing experience. Geralt’s sleep muzzy mind has no other word for the body plastered against his front from shoulder to hip, the steady heartbeat against his palm where his hand is splayed out across someone’s chest. His nose is tucked against the nape of someone’s neck, and the scent is far too familiar to be jarring.

“Jaskier,” he rumbles quietly, his mouth miles ahead of the rest of him. The quiet, absent pleasure of waking up tangled with someone who smells sleepy and content and like they’re his leaves no room for reason. There’s no room for anything really, except to press a kiss to whatever patch of skin he can find, savoring the soft sigh it earns him.

Jaskier is… The night before rushes back to him, and Geralt almost jerks away, even though it would be entirely pointless to bother with that now. He cracks an eye open and is met with the disaster that Jaskier’s hair, mussed in the night by sleep, and by Geralt’s fingers buried in it before that. Even as worry begins to creep in, he sort of wants to do it again.

This isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. This probably isn’t even the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed. This is most definitely the first time they’ve done so with so little clothing between them, none to be exact. There’s only the blanket tucked around them both, warm and lovely and unexpectedly distressing.

Geralt isn’t sorry, per se. Jaskier’s chest rises and falls under Geralt’s palm in the slow rhythm of sleep. It’s the loveliest thing Geralt can remember waking up to, and therein lies the problem. An emotion fed only grows, and this unruly, sprawling affection is the worst offender. Stupidly, Geralt had thought getting this out of his system would quell it, but the longing reaches a fever pitch instead.

Jaskier is beautiful, all the more so for the way he shifts in his sleep, closing the gap Geralt has tried to put between them. Geralt could happily wake like this every day for the rest of his life, but it isn’t a fair thing to ask of someone who flits from one love to the next like a butterfly between flowers. He will not trap Jaskier in this just because he happens to be besotted. Somehow, the resolve not to try to keep this does nothing to ease the guilt welling up that he wants to in the first place.

Nothing Jaskier said the night before conveyed meaning beyond a playful desire to tumble into bed together. Moving the target now would only be cruel. He should be rolling out of bed, hastening them back to normal. He should be proving that this has done nothing to harm their friendship. It isn’t Jaskier’s fault, after all, the way Geralt wants to breathe him in and kiss him senseless and forget the rest of the world until the innkeeper boots them out.

“Geralt?” Jaskier startles the witcher from his worries, wriggling impossibly closer and laying a palm over his knuckles. “You okay?”

“Thinking,” Geralt replies vaguely.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Jaskier teases, still warm and lethargic with sleep. Geralt almost manages to take advantage of the levity of the moment and extricate himself, but before he can, Jaskier rolls over so they’re nearly nose to nose. His fingers cradle Geralt’s cheek and any attempt to escape now would just be graceless. “What about?”

Geralt doesn’t know how to answer, so he only hums noncommittally and hopes Jaskier will let it lie. Of course, Jaskier being Jaskier, does no such thing. He takes advantage of the change in positions to tangle his legs up with Geralt. “I can’t tell you to knock it off if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“We should get going.” Geralt tries once more to escape, frowning when Jaskier shows no sign of releasing him. It’s silly of course. Jaskier couldn’t hope to hold him here if Geralt was set on leaving. He just can’t actually make himself do it.

“Was it that bad a night?” It’s an easy opening, an invitation to stray back to their usual banter, but Geralt gets no further than a raised eyebrow before Jaskier is clasping a hand over the witcher’s mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that or I might have to smother you with a pillow and that’ll just be unfortunate for both of us.”

Right there, with Jaskier smiling at him, Geralt can almost believe they’re going to survive this. Almost, but almost still leaves a distance he cannot cross. As soon as Jaskier pulls his hand back from Geralt’s mouth, the witcher opens it. “They’re not going to let us sleep in forever.”

“They might if I convince them to let me play again this evening. We could move on tomorrow,” Jaskier ventures, but something in Geralt’s face must give him pause. “Oh do not look at me like that. The world isn’t going to end just because you stop to take a breath once in a while, Geralt.”

“That’s not…” Geralt starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are no words that convey the razor wire sensation of facing down the impermanence of Jaskier’s affections, of realizing how deeply his own feelings run far too late.

“Shh.” Geralt knew what to do with impulse, with Jaskier’s mouth crashing into his, with Jaskier’s hands scrabbling at him to shed his clothes. He doesn’t know what to do with the tender, intentional way Jaskier regards him this morning, lips pressing to the witcher’s brow and lingering afterwards. Does it mean something, or does Jaskier grant all his lovers this subdued, aimless devotion? Lust was so much simpler than this aching sort of affection that puts down roots even as Geralt tries to burn it away.

Geralt doesn’t precisely surrender, but he resigns himself to the lazy attention Jaskier is so determined to lavish on him. If he lets Jaskier turn him away later instead of now, there will be at least this one pleasant thing to remember. So he doesn’t complain at Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair, or the bard’s body pressed warmly to his. If every touch feels like a harbinger of their demise, it’s still hard to let go of.

He almost passes things off as okay, he thinks, until Jaskier kisses him. It’s a brief thing, immediately withdrawn. “Geralt?”

If realizing the hopeless situation he’s stumbled into was uncomfortable, the idea of talking about it is nothing short of torture.

“Well, you haven’t shoved me out of bed yet, so you’re not mad. Talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, his expression so openly concerned and affectionate, Geralt could scream.

“It’s no-” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shut him up with a theatrically sour look.

“I swear if you say nothing,” Jaskier threatens aimlessly, an easy smile on his lips, but underneath, Geralt can hear the way his anxious heart threatens to vibrate right out of his chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” Geralt admits because that, at least, is safe. It’s nothing about how he feels in relation to anything. It’s nothing about the want that simmers under the surface despite his guilt.

Jaskier’s brows scrunch in a way that would be endearing if the entire ordeal didn’t feel so fraught already. “I don’t think I follow. I mean, I know having a conversation isn’t your usual wheelhouse, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“Not. That.” Geralt bites the words out, tight and clipped while he gathers his frayed nerves enough to explain. “You’re not in the habit of keeping people. I don’t know what you want.”

For just a second, Jaskier looks like he’s been struck and Geralt wants desperately to take the whole thing back. But the bard’s expression smooths out and then twists up in a wry smile. “Of course I don’t. What would I even do? Drag someone else along on our travels?”

There’s a point Jaskier is making. It’s right there. He knows it is, but it eludes Geralt anyway. “You could have stayed somewhere if there was someone you wanted to stick around for.”

Jaskier laughs, just a giggle at first, and then so hard that even his efforts to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder do nothing to stifle it. “You are absolutely right. I could fall completely and utterly in love with someone and choose to stick around.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Geralt says flatly, staring at the far wall of their room. The urge to curl around Jaskier and forget the whole stupid conversation in strong, and maybe he’d have been better off doing that in the first place, but he doesn’t surrender to it.

“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I know, so these moments where you decide to be an absolute idiot happen to be hilarious,” Jaskier teases. The bard must take pity, because his palm slides to cradle Geralt’s jaw, and Jaskier puts himself right at eye level where the witcher can’t look away. “Don’t you realize? I fell in love with someone, and I chose to stick around. It happened ages ago.”

Geralt has long since given up on trying to anticipate what Jaskier will say to any given prompt, but that is… somehow not even on the same continent as anything he might have expected. “What?”

“You really are determined to make this as difficult and stressful for me as possible, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks. There’s a tightness around his eyes when he looks at Geralt, leaving the witcher with the awful realization that Jaskier must be flying as blind as he is. He’s probably as unsure of Geralt’s intent as Geralt is of his. And yet… “I chose you, you ridiculous man. I always choose you.”

That… that explains a lot, actually. Geralt swallows thickly as Jaskier’s nose bumps against his. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“Ah yes. ‘Hello my very dear emotionally… hampered witcher who will sometimes, on a very good day, admit that we are friends. Would it it complicate things overly much if I also happened to be completely, utterly in love with you?’” Jaskier huffs out a helpless, almost panicky sort of laugh. “Tell me Geralt, is there any time in the last few years where that would have gone well?”

Years? Now, confronted with the full force of it, Geralt isn’t sure how he even missed it last night, let alone for so long. Now that he knows it’s always been a bit painfully obvious. And much as he’d like to, he can’t really argue against Jaskier’s point that it probably wouldn’t have gone well to say so. “What changed?”

Jaskier sighs in that dramatic, overdone way he tends to when he’s being asked what he thinks is an exceedingly silly question. “You did.”

“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t comment and Jaskier doesn’t press for further conversation. It’s peaceful, this thing blossoming between them, now that his most immediate concerns have been silenced.

That Jaskier laid his heart on the line and asked for nothing back isn’t lost on Geralt though. The words catch and stick on his throat, so Geralt writes them into the tender way he traces the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his fingertips. He presses them against Jaskier’s lips, jaw, throat with lazy, lingering kisses.

“So tell me-” Jaskier starts, the words interrupted by a soft sigh as Geralt’s thumb skims the divot of his hip. It’s an unmistakably promising sound all by itself, even ignoring that delightful way Jaskier presses into the touch. He finishes his thought, but it’s unmistakably breathless. “What are you thinking now?”

The recognition that this isn’t some fluke settles warmly around him. This could be always. There are so few things a witcher really keeps, but for now he’s willing to entertain the notion that this might be one of them.

“I’m thinking…” Geralt mumbles against the side of Jaskier’s neck, delighting in the way the bard’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug. “That maybe we’ll leave tomorrow.”

#geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #gerlion #the witcher #my fic #They're both dumb and I love them #They may not have been remotely related to what I meant to write this month #But hey I posted stuff three days in a row and it's not even Nano month yet

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drarrily-we-row-along · 4 years ago

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Day 70: Patronus

"I'm doomed," Draco hissed at Pansy as they left the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. "The final is in less than a month! How could Higgins spring this on us?"

"Calm down," Pansy said.

"Calm down? Calm down?! Pansy, you recall that I have a dark mark don't you? The final is half of our grade! I'm going to fail."

She shook her head, "You're not going to fail," she informed him calmly. "You'll learn Draco, you have over three weeks."

"But I'm an ex-death eater," he whispered, as though anyone could ever forget. "Death eaters can't cast a patronus, you know that."

"That's not true," a voice behind them piped up, making Draco jump.

"For Circe's sake, Potter, stop sneaking around," he grumbled.

The other boy shrugged, "Sorry," he said unrepentantly, "Couldn't help but overhear what you were saying."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Oh, you just couldn't help it, huh?"

He flicked a careless grin at Draco, his dimple showing, and as always, Draco didn't know quite what to do with that. "I'm just saying that death eaters could cast a patronus."

"How would you know?" Draco asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Snape could cast one, and Merlin knows that you did far less horrific shite than he did," Potter replied as he sauntered past them and into the common room. "I could help you, if you want," he called over his shoulder before walking out of view.

Pansy opened her mouth and he cut her off, "Don't," he said, holding up a hand.

(Read more below the cut)

She cackled, "I bet there's a thing or two he could help you with."

"Why am I friends with you?" he groaned. "I'll figure it out myself," he added with a haughty sniff.

---------

A week and a half passed and Draco was no closer than he'd been the day she'd first assigned this task to them as part of their final. Draco sat in the library, pouring over textbooks that were supposed to help to teach you to cast one but none of them seemed to help.

"Hey," Potter said as he dropped into the chair across from Draco like they were friends or something. He'd been doing it since February and Draco still couldn't understand it. "How are you?"

"Awful," Draco replied with a groan. "I'm going to fail my Defense final and then I'm going to go to prison because passing all of my classes is part of my parole," he said, the words pouring out of his mouth without his consent. "And I never imagined that passing my classes would be a problem, but-"

"Draco," Potter said, his voice calm and unruffled, "Let me help you."

"You can't," he said shaking his head.

Potter tilted his head consideringly, "Maybe not but would it hurt to try? I've taught like over twenty other teens to do it," he added.

Draco bit his lip, what could it really hurt?

"Come on," Potter said, standing up and holding out a hand to pull Draco to his feet. "If it fails you can always come back and read through dusty books some more."

"Fine," he sighed, reaching out and taking Harry's hand, a thrill tingling up his arm at the contact.

Harry didn't let go right away as he started walking and Draco's heart tripped along inside of his chest as he stumbled after him.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked.

He released his hand but gave him a little smile, "we can't very well practice it in the library, can we?"

Then Harry took off running and Draco had no choice but to jog after him, spluttering indignantly. "Why are we running?"

"Because it feels good," Harry replied as he raced down the stairs and outside.

When they reached just the edge of the forest, where there weren't any signs of other students Potter stopped and took off his cloak, enlarged it, and laid down on it.

"What are you doing?"

Harry just patted the cloak beside him.

"Potter," he said, hands on his hips.

The other boy opened his eyes and said, "Trust the process. Come lay down."

With a sigh he laid down on the cloak and stared up at the sun peaking through the branches.

"Relax," Harry whispered, covering Draco's hand with his own.

Somehow, it soothed Draco and made him panic all at once but at least it wasn't the normal kind anxiety, it actually made him feel a weird sort of excited anticipation.

"Think of a happy memory," he murmured, "A really happy one that you can feel all the way down to your toes."

He was quiet, trying to think, "It's been a while since I've been that happy," he confessed.

Harry's hand squeezed his gently and he thought this was probably as happy a moment as any. He focused on the feelings in his body.

"When you're ready," Harry said a few minutes later, "we'll stand up and try to cast. You've already got the mechanics down, it's just about getting the feelings right."

Draco nodded, then pushed himself to his feet.

The other boy stood behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder, "Think of your happy moment," he murmured. "Let it fill you up."

He inhaled, thinking of the way Harry's body felt next to his, of the warmth of his hand, the tingles in the pit of his stomach; and then he cast. "Expecto Patronum," he said, circling his wand.

A thin, silvery mist appeared from the end of his wand and he stared at it in shock, "Did you-?" he started.

"Well done," Harry encouraged. "See. You can do it."

"Can you show me yours once?" he asked. "It would be helpful to see your technique," and while this was the truth, it wasn't the whole truth; mostly Draco was just curious to see Harry's patronus for himself.

Harry nodded slowly, "Just, don't tell anyone."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's changed," Harry replied "and I don't mind you knowing but I don't know quite what it means and I'd rather figure it out before the press catches wind of it."

"You don't have to show me," he ventured.

The other boy shook his head and took a deep breath "Expecto patronum," he said and his wand produced what appeared to be a fox of some sort. "Hermione thinks it's an arctic fox," Harry said as they watched it lope around the clearing.

"It's beautiful," Draco breathed.

"Thanks," Harry said with a little smile. "She tells me it's because I've become more withdrawn, that I had to be more reliant on myself," he shrugged.

"Do you miss your stag?"

He nodded, "It was nice to be connected to my mum and dad, you know? To have something in common with them."

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly.

Harry shrugged, "There must be a bigger reason," he said. "I hope, anyway." His fox dissipated and Harry turned to him, "Let's see yours again."

-------

Over the next two weeks, Draco's patronus charm got stronger, and once he thought he'd caught the glimpse of a what appeared to be a dog's nose, perhaps, but nothing more.

"The final's tomorrow," he told Harry as they laid out under the trees, "And I still haven't been able to conjure it. I'm going to fail."

"What's your happy memory?" Harry asked.

"What's your's?" Draco countered.

Harry hummed thoughtfully, "It changes," he said. "The first time I cast one it was of my mum's voice. I don't even know if it was a real memory of not," he added.

"What about the last one you cast?" Draco asked.

The other boy turned his head to look at Draco, "It was that you were giving me a chance," he confessed softly with a little smile. "Will you tell me yours?" he asked.

Draco bit his lip, "Just this," he whispered finally. "There's something about you that just," he trailed off, searching for the right descriptor, "Thrills me. And it used to be in all the wrong ways, but..." he trailed off feeling a little shy and embarrassed.

"But now it feels a little bit like flying," Harry whispered. "At least that's how it feels for me."

The corner of his mouth tipped up, "Me too."

Harry rolled onto his side, "Can I kiss you?"

Draco nodded up at him and Harry leaned down to press his mouth softly to Draco's, his fingers brushing the hair lightly back from his face.

He reached out and pulled the other boy a little closer, tilting his head to find a better angle. After a minute, he pulled back, "Wait a second," he said as he stood up and set himself up to cast. He let the kiss wash over him again in his memory, filling him up with boundless joy, and the silver mist came out thicker than ever before.

Harry stood up and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck. "Try again," he murmured.

Draco took a deep breath, feeling the heat radiating off of Harry's body. "Expecto Patronum!" he said once more and his patronus burst from the end of his wand.

He stared at it, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing.

Harry's breath caught as he leaned forward, pressing against Draco's back to get a closer look. "I hoped so," he said softly as Draco's little arctic fox trotted around them.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry said and his arctic fox appeared, making a beeline for Draco's.

Draco leaned back against Harry, "What does mean that they're the same?"

"My mum's and dad's were the same animal," he said, "and Snapes was the same as her's."

"What does it mean?" he asked again, he had his suspicions but he needed to hear Harry say it first.

Harry cleared his throat, "Well I don't want speak for you, but I think it means that at the very least, I'm in love with you."

Draco blinked, then turned himself around in Harry arms, "I think I'm in love with you, too," he confessed with a smile.

And this was only the start of the many, many ways that they would spend the rest of their lives making one another happy.

-----------

Thanks so much @oviovs, for the prompt! It's not quite established at the beginning but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thank you for all of the love and encouragement you leave on my little stories. <3

Day 69: Soaked | Day 71: Return

#100 days of drarry drabbles #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabble #Day 70 #Patronus #hogwarts 8th year

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bistevethor · 4 years ago

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Steve Rogers Fanfiction Recommendations

Happy birthday, Steve!

I know that there are some (a lot?) of steve fans who sometimes struggle to find fics focused on him, so I am here now putting a list of Steve fics. I was going to fics that I haven't seen recommended a lot and most of the ones on this post have less than 200 kudos only, but I end up putting everything (it's probably easier to put my bookmarks as public but well...). It's a massive list (over 100 fics?), so it's will be separated into several posts/reblogs.

Not all of them are from Steve's POV or even have him as the main 'main' character, but rest assured he played an important role and is featured heavily. Lots of these are friendship-focused but I categorized them. The shippy ones are mostly samsteve, thundershield, and some rare pairings because I don't venture to other ships a lot and when I did it's to the rare ones instead lol. Hopefully, any of you can find some gems from this list and these are as enjoyable or as good as I remembered. I'll continue to update it, hopefully, every time I find new ones.

Fics are under read more.

General

The Rocket's Red Glare

Steve was born on the Fourth of July (no joke), so a party is in order! Unfortunately, PTSD decides to rear its ugly head. Fortunately, Steve's got an entire team at his back to help him through it. And screaming goats.

an entry in the scrapbook of absurdity

In which Steve turns into a baby and bites people.

Baby Steve Adventures

Captain America gets hit by a spell during a battle. The rest of the Avengers look after him.

Do You Remember Being Happy? ('Cause I Sure Don't)

"Dragr," Thor called them. "Demons" Clint had said. "Thieves" is what Steve labels them as. AKA, the one where Steve is captured by creatures that feed off of happy memories, and the team is left to pick up the pieces. Post-Avengers.

In Search of (Bucky, Family, Home)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson

A week following the events of CATWS, Steve recruits Natasha and Sam to help find Bucky.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Do we need to recap again? You were shot three times, beaten near to death by an enhanced super soldier with a metal arm and then almost drowned. Yeah, your ass is going to need a few more days of healing time.”

The Truth When Captains Meet

Steve Rogers wakes up on an alien’s space ship being carried bridal style by Carol Danvers. As far as first meetings go, it’s memorable.

Irish Coffee

Pairings: Jessica Jones & Steve Rogers

Jessica runs into an incognito Cap at a cafe. They form an unlikely friendship of sorts.

The Lifetimes of Steve Rogers (Series)

What happens when Steve Rogers steps onto the quantum platform to return the Stones? Where does he go? What challenges does he find? Who does he meet? How many lifetimes can one man have?

Fifty-Two Pickup

Less than a week after the fall of the Triskelion, Steve Rogers is released from the hospital. Although his physical wounds are almost fully healed, other injuries need a bit more time, and some help from friends.

little kids get big so fast

Steve ends up having to take care of the deaged Defenders.

Grampa Steve's Bedtime Stories

If Mommy was away for work, then Morgan’s Grampa Steve came over to stay with her. He’d tuck her in, let her give Mommy a kiss on video chat, then hand her the picture of Daddy for his kiss. Once Daddy’s picture was back on the bookshelf, Grampa Steve would turn off the bedside lamp so that Miss Friday could cover the ceiling with stars, and ask Morgan what story she wanted to hear.

“Captain Steve, Grampa! Tell me Captain Steve!”

Grampa Steve sometimes read to her from books and other times watched a movie with her, but her favorite by far was when he told her Captain Steve’s Adventures Through the Multiverse.

On Camping Trips

Sam is more Hermione than Natasha is, and Steve doesn't want to be Harry.

Powerful

Steve loses the advantages of the super-soldier serum. This is not a tragedy.

His Dream

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

As if on cue, Steve cut him off with a loud sneeze.

"Yeah. Like that." Sam nodded. "And please sneeze into your elbow next time, dude. You could've just started an epidemic."

"Sorry. Allergies." Steve excused, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know it's allergies?" Sam asked, and Steve sighed, putting the ingredients together and solving the mystery of what the gas had actually done.

The answer wasn't ideal. "It feels like the seasonal allergies I had before. Before the serum- and I haven't had them since the serum."

Realization clicked in Sam's head.

"The gas de-serumed you."

Steve swallowed and nodded reluctantly.

OR: Steve gets temporarily de-serumed, with his height and stature staying the same but his immune system being as bad as it was before, and has to stay in the hospital to prevent a severe allergic reaction or illness. Sam stays with him the whole time, making sure he's not alone.

A Strange Encounter

Things have gone awry and Strange is injured. With no other options, he's called for assistance from Captain America and his team.

even if we're apart, i'll always be with you

Steve finds a dirty toy bear at an abandoned gas station, on the way back from a school trip. He brings him home.

As Long as You’re Not Tired Yet of Talking

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

When Steve Rogers tells her, “Don’t be a stranger,” as they’re all going their own ways after New York, it makes her want to laugh.

Draw/Breath

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Natasha like knowing what makes people tick. She likes knowing things, about her teammates and her coworkers and herself. Oddly enough, sometimes other people like knowing her too.

AKA: Natasha wants to know why Steve isn’t drawing anymore, and takes the long way round to get her answer. Because why not.

With Magic We Do Fly

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers

In Civil War we see Wanda fling Steve into the air with her magic. They must have practiced that, right?

Que Wanda throwing Steve against a wall. Many times.

Just Like We Practiced

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers

Steve had said, in the movie when he asked Wanda to lift him into the building, "Just like we practiced." But just how did they come up with the idea of her lifting people with her powers, and putting them up somewhere like an escalator? Perhaps it was because Wanda accidentally sent a certain tall, blond Avenger face-first into the floor once and he decided he would help her learn to utilize this as a confidence building exercise. Natasha keeps an eye, Thor and Sam help build the training grounds, and Wanda has found her new home. Takes place between AGE OF ULTRON and CIVIL WAR.

Black and White but Red and Blue

They're watching black and white film reels, but Steve sees them in colour.

"My shield may be black and white but it was red and blue. Just like the blue sky under which red blood was spilled. Like Bucky's blue eyes and Peggy's red lips..."

The Road Warriors

Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff

It wasn't pretty, but somehow the four of them managed to make it through two years on the run.

We'll Fix It

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Steve has a hard time after his battle with The Winter Soldier and isn't sure what to do with himself. After not seeing him for a week, Natasha finally shows up to his apartment unannounced to figure out how they can get back to work. There is some crying involved.

From Here On Out

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

The Accords, the search for Bucky, the fight at the airport ... In a world where nothing will ever be the same, sometimes the road to rebuilding trust and friendship is a little rockier than it should be.

AKA, the story of Steve & Natasha and how they got to where they are.

Set post-Civil War but pre-Infinity War.

I have this breath and I hold it tight

Parings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Vision

Steve finally goes to Wanda’s tiny room and taps on the doorframe, although it’s hardly necessary, with the slightly warped floorboards creaking under his feet. “Hey,” he says. “Got a minute?”

Wanda's been a little withdrawn since Steve broke everyone out of the Raft. She's had a lot to think about.

to you.

Pairings: Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff & Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff & Tony Stark

It's Wanda's birthday today. She's not sure how to feel.

New Love

Pairings: Diana (Wonder Woman) & Steve Rogers

Near the end of World War II, Diana Prince finds herself attempting to reconnect to her long-gone, beloved Steve Trevor. However, she comes across Steve Rogers instead.

Sharing Life (And Canned Green Beans)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

It’s Thanksgiving, and Steve is hiding in the second living room on the 8th floor of the penthouse apartments with a can of green beans.

I'm Fine

Steve slowly began to realize that the problem with being a national icon, a hero, and a role model, is that somehow, he became more than human. He become a symbol, not a person. So when he becomes increasingly unhappy, deeply depressed, and utterly adrift in a world where he doesn't belong, the loneliness and isolation are unbearable. How could anyone believe that an iconic hero like himself was really just an ordinary kid from Brooklyn, dying inside because everything he'd gained still wasn't enough to replace everything he'd lost? How could he possibly bring himself to bleed on the ones he loves? So he tells himself the same lie over and over, hoping one day, he'll believe it.

dogpile

"My dog ate my mission report" An injured Steve remembers something he has to do. Unabashed Steve and dogs fluff. "Didn't peg you for a pet guy." "Allergies."

Alone In This World (Together)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson

“We’re fugitives,” Steve said finally. “It might never get better.”

“The world’s always going to need saving," Sam replied. "We’re still Avengers. No one can take that away from us.” Then, like they hadn't been having an entire conversation before, “So when do we leave?”

“Once night falls.”

Do we have any idea where she is?”

“No.” Steve took a sip of his coffee. “But I know where she’ll be.”

it gets the worst at night

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Here's how it goes: Natasha sometimes shares a bed with Steve. It's not what it sounds like.

(In which there are Colombian drug lords, awkward boners, cuddly super-soldiers and the Avengers are all giant dorks.)

Shelter

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

Sam and Steve, right after the fall of SHIELD.

Princely Bickering

Pairings: Jane Foster/Thor, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Jane Foster, Steve Rogers & Thor

Steve allows Sam to lean up and inspect his head for bruises and blood. He then checks out Steve’s eyes. ‘Do you know where you are?’ Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t be an ass, Cap, apparently you can break.’ ‘London, England, chasing apparently useless Hydra intel despite having about five hundred international arrest warrants out for us because we’re just that stupid,’ says Steve. Sam pats him - gently - on the shoulder. Life on the run isn't easy, especially not after an injury. Fortunately Steve still has a few allies left.

And The Seconds Tick Down

AU of Civil War. How the world ended in twenty steps when Steve died.

"Grant" and "Francis" Go Shopping

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Steve and Clint both have holiday shopping to do for their family of choice, so they make a day trip to an outlet mall, have a few heart to hearts, use some coupons, buy a bunch of presents, and eventually get through their shopping lists.

A Tune Without Words

Pairings: Jane Foster/Thor, Steve Rogers & Thor, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

As he and Sam prepare to begin searching for Bucky, Steve gets various offers of help—some more unexpected than others.

Purpose

Tony Stark wins the fight in Siberia completely by accident.

Steve Rogers does not resist his arrest as he is taken to the Raft.

Sam Wilson, T'Challa, and Pepper Potts pick up the pieces.

Full of Wounds and Still Standing on my Feet

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff

The five times Steve looked out for Wanda, and one time Wanda decided someone needed to look out for Steve.

Three Awakenings

The first three times that Steve Rogers woke up during his first twenty-four hours in the twenty-first century.

Making Your Own Future

Characters: Steve Rogers, Diana Prince, Steve Trevor Five times -- plus one -- that Diana Prince and Steve Rogers encountered one another.

Better Living Through Pizza

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Steve takes some time off from soldiering and Avengering to get his head on straight, and Clint is assigned to keep an eye on him, because apparently SHIELD believes in the blind leading the blind. Steve really needs a hobby, since modern television shows baffle him, but Clint keeps bringing him DVDs and pizza.

Five Times Clint Barton Spoke with Steve Rogers about Growing Old and the One Time He Didn't.

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

When Steve Rogers reappeared from the past as an old man, there was a lot of catching up to do. Clint Barton made sure nobody got left behind.

Hammer's Totally Heavy-Handed and Incompetent Revenge

"So, at the end of IM2, Justin Hammer swears revenge on Pepper. He waits until Tony and Rhodey are halfway across the world to launch his attack.

Unfortunately for him, thanks to SHIELD, Iron Man and War Machine aren't the only superheroes in Pepper's rolladex. Steve thinks Pepper's just swell and doesn't take too kindly to somebody trying to hurt her."

Cue badass!Steve and competent!Pepper

Fan Mail

Steve starts getting his fan mail and receives an invitation to the prom. Written for a prompt at the Avengers kink meme. It was a great prompt, and so much fun to write and get feedback for!

Prom. Steve 'Grandpa Iceberg' Rogers at a 21st-century high school prom. "This isn't happening. This whole conversation is just an elaborate practical joke. Bruce really just has orders for widgets or something."

Bruce waved the printouts at him. "Fraid not. I don't really do practical jokes. Messing with other people's moods just seems. I don't know. Karmically unwise."

Mascot

Steve runs. People see Steve run. Steve gets adopted by the neighbourhood he runs through every week day morning. He finds this confusing. Tony finds it amusing.

Locks Not Replaced

Tony angsts back at Avengers' HQ, Ross is a bully and Steve makes sure he doesn't get away with it. In other words, there is much regret, a bit on the philosophy of locks, adventure and far too many Robin Hood metaphors.

woof

For a prompt on the avengers kinkmeme: "...something different happens when Steve gets Dr Erskine's serum plus the Vita ray treatment... Steve does get taller and stronger, but when the first full moon hits, he turns into a big friendly looking dog. Yes, he's a weredog, not a werewolf."

Mission: Baby

Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

The Asset finds himself in charge of the care of a small baby, but somehow he knows—he has to protect the baby from all harm, whatever the cost.

14 Tracks

Pairings: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Avengers Team 14 tracks from Steve's iPod and how they got on there.

Life Will Rattle Your Bones

Pairings: Erik Lehnsherr & Steve Rogers

Captain America and the Howling Commandos find Schmidt sooner than they thought... wait, what do you mean this is a *different* Schmidt?

In war-torn Germany, the paths of Steve Rogers and Erik Lehnsherr cross, part, and cross again.

come build me up

Pairings: Sharon Carter & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

“Do you ever feel like -- like you joined up because you wanted to do good. You wanted to do the right thing but somewhere along the way, you just lost the whole fucking plot.”

“All of the time.”

Or: the one where Captain America and Agent 13 give long distance friendship a whirl.

Down in the Worn Out Place Again

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff

“You don't look a day over 85, Captain,” Wanda says.

Natasha smiles, just barely, and nudges Steve with her elbow. “She makes jokes now.”

(Post AoU, stories about friendship.)

Satellites

Characters: Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Nick Fury Pairings: Natasha Romanov & Steve Rogers, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

In the immediate aftermath of SHIELD's collapse and Steve's plunge into the Potomac, Natasha considers her place in the world. Also the fact that Steve is depressing.

Timeless Classics

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team Five An undetermined number of times (six, apparently) Steve unexpectedly got the reference (sort of), and one time everyone discovered something new together.

you just wait and see

Pairings: Rocket Raccoon & Steve Rogers

“Thor said you’re the captain.” Rogers says, his voice distant, sad smile growing into a sadder grin. “Tough job.”

The Small Hours

Pairings: Steve Rogers & T'Challa, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

"I'm not getting him back, am I." The words were flatly delivered – not a question so much as fatigued resignation. "We will do everything we can to help him," T'Challa quietly replied, but he wouldn't lie, not about this. Not to a fellow warrior he respected on and off the field of battle. "The possibility does exist, however, that the triggers are permanent."

The Man We All Remember From the Newsreels

Still getting used to the twenty-first century, Steve comforts himself with memories of long-gone friends. But Howard Stark, the man Steve remembers, is nothing like the man he sees in the newsreels.

we're all choir boys at best

Characters: Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm

You are totally getting laid tonight. "Please stop talking." You hijacked my brain first, this is totally not my fault.

Epistaxis

Steve doesn't worry the first time he gets a bloody nose that won't quit. But when it happens a second, third, fourth... He, and his teammates, start to get concerned.

You Close Your Eyes and the Glory Fades

His body isn’t his own, he knows that, knew before the procedure that everything would change. That was the easiest thing to wrap his head around, actually, the physical changes. He’s used to his body betraying him, so this is just another thing to learn his way around. But the colors of everything, even the sliver of blue sky he could see, craning his head at the tiny window, look different.

Looking For Answers (From The Great Beyond)

After the Battle of New York is over, and Loki and the tesseract are returned to Asgard, Steve takes a road trip across the country, and tries to figure out what he wants to do next.

Mourning the Future

Steve's ties to the past and the future are pretty tenuous, and the serum ensures he lives in an eternal present state of ever-youthful vigour. When an old war buddy gets handed his last marching orders, Steve has to wonder if everyone will eventually leave.

Riviera Life

Sam and Steve have been traversing Europe looking for Bucky. Not everyone is convinced it isn’t an open invitation road trip.

Voluntary Bros.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm

"Dude, you could be twins, they tested you before they defrosted you to see if you were a clone or something, or if he was a clone," Clint said.

"I want to talk to him, I think. I mean, a girl threw her latte at me last week for not calling her back and this dude felt me up at an art gallery yesterday," Steve said.

Two Brooklynites and One Big Apple

Pairings: Miles Morales & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

“You did good out there today,” Captain America said, brushing a layer of detritus from his unfathomably broad shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” replied Miles, fingergunning with one hand as he sent a web rope fwipping off into the distance with the other, catapulting himself away at tremendous speed.

... in which two superheroes battle with bad guys, embark on community art lessons, and a friendship forms along the way.

Battle Fatigue

Steve thought he was doing okay. Things weren't going great, but they were fine, manageable even, and then suddenly they weren't.

We Become New Yorkers (or: Five Times Steve Rogers Looked For Home, and One Time Home Found Him)

New York is a million cities at the same time. This is how Steve found his.

A beautiful day in the neighborhood

In which Steve and Peter learn that the best way to get through a bad situation is together. And to avoid collapsing buildings. And that concussions are terrible, terrible things.

Leviticus 25

"You want to save Bucky Barnes? You are going to have to put your own house in order first because he is going to need a rock to cling to. You are not ready to be that rock for him. You owe it to him -- and more importantly, you owe it to yourself -- to figure things out, figure out how you can be happy in this time and place, whether or not Barnes is with you."

Strike

Sometimes the road to recovery involves bowling. Conveniently, so does the one to the Grand Canyon.

Conversation in Wakanda

“I have been told that you had the privilege to share a training session with some of our Dora Milaje,” T’Challa says. “May I ask how it went?”

“Well,” the Captain huffs. “There’s no polite way to say it: I had my ass handed to me. Repeatedly.”

He sounds and looks utterly delighted.

Contact Light

Everyone thought computers would be the thing that really blew Steve's mind about the 21st century. They were wrong. When he finds out that he missed the moon landing, it's the start of an ongoing obsession with space that maybe involves Neil deGrasse Tyson, Twitter, and Star Trek marathons.

Twenty-Two

“This is Lucky,” Clint said when a dog got between him and Natasha. Lucky’s vest was bright, like desert mornings and night explosions.

“Does he help?” Natasha asked.

Clint pressed his hands flat on the counter behind him. “He saved my life.”

Natasha looked at Steve, her expression fierce. Steve resisted the urge to yank down his sleeves. Instead, he dug his nails into the puckered skin on his forearms.

AKA An AU in which Steve is a veteran just trying to survive (or not).

Gray

Peter doesn't expect Steve to show up at his house one night when he gets home from school. He also doesn't expect to have a long conversation with him, and choose to be on his side instead.

We're Happy, Free, Confused, and Lonely at the Same Time.

"Tony isn't sure, but he *thinks* Steve Rogers is going to try and argue with him about not being a kid, while wrapped up in a fluffy blanket and plaid pyjama pants watching a Disney movie. Tony really hopes that is the case. The Captain America voice looses all affect when wrapped up in that blanket and Tony can't wait to inform him as such." - The one where Tony realises that Captain America and Steve Rogers are not the same person, and Steve is so much younger then he thought.

This Isn't A Love Song, This Isn't A Fable

Steve's not OK with people's perception of Captain America, no matter what he says or how much he pretends otherwise. It's like no one in this time period realizes that there's more to him than a spangly outfit. And yes, he's including the Avengers in that. ... or, the one where everything's all right, until it's not.

it's safe here in our new world

Post TWS. In which Natasha and Steve go shopping, have Thursday night movie nights, and learn that Natasha loves to platonically kiss Steve. Which is good, because Steve loves being platonically kissed by Natasha.

Shadowboxing

Pairings: Matt Murdock & Steve Rogers

It doesn’t matter how many times you fall – what matters most is how many times you get back up. Steve Rogers knew this lesson far too well and it was one Matt Murdock had endured all his life. With both men at their lowest, could a chance friendship bring each of them to their feet again?

Everybody Eats When They Come to My House

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

“You’ll ruin your dinner,” Sam says, gesturing with Steve with his spatula.

i fear for the calendar; its days are numbered

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

Before she goes off the grid, Natasha gives Steve her phone number. He’s honored that he’s the only one to be trusted with it, but quickly learns that she spends most of her free time texting him Dad jokes.

Status Quo Ante

Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

A tale in which Sam suspects he should be used to this by now, for values of 'this' that involve certain folks he hangs out with and situations he finds himself in, Team Cap becomes Team Ex-Cap becomes TBD, and nobody but Clint really wants to know what happened to Scott Lang's GI Joes. (Sam Wilson from the final scene to the mid-credits scene.)

The Glass Parade

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

Steve thinks that he’s seen Natasha be at least three different people in the short time he’s known her, and he isn’t sure which one is real.

In which the most confusing part of the future is how much Steve has in common with Natasha, and the fact that she seems dead-set on being his friend.

Still Life

Steve Rogers and a very modern form of art therapy. (The one where Steve draws himself out of despair and into some notoriety when his cartoons hit the internet, but he's still not allowed to look at Tumblr without an okay from Pepper.)

Selective Service

The serum's given Steve a lot, but it hasn't taken anything away from him. Not even the things he never wanted in the first place.

I'm a Hustler, Baby

Steve Rogers has a talent for pool--and for making others believe he's terrible at it.

The Healing Properties of Felt-Tip Pens

Rapid healing has worked wonders on Steve Rogers' body, but occasionally it really screws with his head. In the aftermath of torture, Bruce Banner helps Steve to reconcile mind and body.

If I Die Before I Wake

It's his job, as their leader, to endure the sadistic focus of their captor, and that is the one thought that carries Steve through.

Even Gods Do

Captain America doesn't have a good relationship with sleep anymore. Also, he's not a toy.

Under My Skin

Written for a prompt on avengerkink: I want to see something where, for whatever reason, Steve's accelerated healing turns out to be a bad thing. Something where the faster healing is making things worse. I would prefer something other than the standard, super-healing allows for more torture without death. “He's lucky – to have the serum, to have you all.” Tony wasn't sure about that first part. When one faced death and destruction every day on the job, there were many advantages to having a healing factor...and a great many disadvantages as well.

A Glossary of the 21st Century

Pairings: pre-Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov

Steve's sick of not understanding what's going on, and the team are not all that helpful, so he starts keeping an illustrated notebook for further research. With the help of wiki, google and Logan he starts to settle in and find his place in the twenty-first century.

Blanket Gift Policy

“You didn’t,” Bucky said, with no real hope of being contradicted. Clint shrugged helplessly and passed him the large, soft bundle wrapped in shiny purple foil.

“Sorry.” Tony covered his eyes with one hand.

“I’m getting a migraine.”

“So,” Bruce said wearily, “counting Clint, me, Bucky, Tony, and Sam, that brings it up to five.”

“Excuse you, mine’s not a blanket,” Sam said. “Mine’s a slanket. Big difference.”

Bucky resisted the urge to throw the whole heap of parcels at Sam’s head. “Because it has sleeves? It’s still a blanket, Wilson. They’re all blankets. Even Thor’s direct-from-Asgard raven gift delivery was a cloak, which just means it’s a blanket with a strap. We all got Steve a goddamn blanket.”

One Tin Soldier

Written for a prompt at avengerkink: Because really, under any other circumstances, why would they follow him when he's some guy who's younger than the rest of them (time as a Capsicle aside), who goes around wearing that spangly outfit, who's not even used to the modern world? Why Steve Rogers, rather than a Norse god or the CEO of Stark Industries or anyone else?

“Love is for children,” she'd said, but respect knew no such bounds. The five times the Avengers accepted Steve as their leader, and the one time they followed without question.

and if there's life we'll see it

Steve is instantly taken with this idea of having the picture of the person calling you flash on your screen when they ring your cell.

Secure Your Own Oxygen Mask (Before Assisting Others)

Steve keeps going, because they need him. Being Captain America - having the serum - is a responsibility and a privilege he takes seriously, and he won't waste it by sitting around resting in the middle of a crisis. But then the work is over, and the original victims of the crisis aren't the only ones needing looking after.

Way of the Eagle

Clint introduces Steve to kung-fu movies. Things escalate quickly.

Walking Wounded

In the aftermath of the battle against the Chitauri, Steve's doing just fine. Until he's not. Fortunately, Thor is a perfect mother-hen, Tony makes decent back-up, JARVIS is a genius, and Soap Operas are life-changing. (Or, Post-Shawarma Feels.)

#steve rogers #fic rec #pro steve rogers #i guess i'll tag the ships #samsteve #thundershield

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