#he shifts from east to west

[mournfulroses]

Margaret Atwood, from Paper Boat: Selected Poems; "He Shifts from East to West,"

[eclaire-went-bam]

idk if i'll get my thoughts out clearly bcs it's 2 am but

i've seen people talk about the different ways dutch has acted counter to his own beliefs in rdr2, especially as the main story progressed

like, dressing real "smart" (looking more at home in cities), progressively moving camp cliser to the (civilised) east instead of west, getting buddy-buddy or appealing to powerful people who kinda represents what he's supposed to resent, allowing strauss to loan shark desperates (how arthur literally describes it as a legal/"civilised" crime or something like that), enacting revenge

& on that revenge note, i don't think i've seen anyone really talk about colm o'driscoll's hanging outside of that lens. i think it had equally to do with not only showing his morals against vengeance slipping, as it does with visually showing how dutch keeps driving himself & the gang closer & closer to society/law at the very same time as He In Particular becomes more & more lawless

the writers could have chosen numerous different impactful ways to kill colm off, but symbolically speaking, i think there's a reason why they had dutch, sadie, & arthur blend in with saint denis civil society as an upper class citywoman & lawmen while watching colm die. dutch's gang always seemed more as a commune of misfits lead by a robin hood, at least at first, while what we know of colm's gang seems more in line with what we expect from the ugly sides of the old west (like micah). being irresponsible, sleeping around, killing random people, torturing, etc (& if i remember correctly, didn't dutch say they began to drift prior to killing colm's brother bcs of how much their ideals clashed??). So i mean. Dutch, blending in as a lawman, watched a microcosm in one person of the wild west die, at the hands of the law

i don't think this is the writers Literally saying dutch sides with the law now, that clearly isn't the case he Literally just killed himself after going all "our time is over john </22222" he definitely was unable to realise & accept it the way hosea had. but i do think it's a visual portrayal of a very real shift in his priorities/morals/however you wanna put it

yada yada micah also personifying the evils of the old west while also siding with the law whilst also obviously not being a lawful person there's a connection there to the rest if this idk maybe since dutch was already Gone by then he started to do that too to a less conscious or organised extent something something i'm too tired to make a full line of reasoning and i dont even know where i'd put it so like. So like.

[cjlouwho]

gimme buck and tommy meeting during a call and getting the chance to squeeze in a lil bantering and a goodbye smooch. i need it like i need air

“Well, fancy seeing you here.”

Buck turned around at the familiar voice, eyebrows furrowed in confusion even as the smile grew on his face. “Wha- I thought you were in the chopper?”

Tommy shook his head. “Parker's up there today. I may have asked if I could work ground ops when I heard the 118 was responding to the call too.”

It was a pretty intense fire that started on the roof of an apartment complex. With the wind, and the closeness of nearby buildings, there was worry it would spread fast if not quickly contained.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly. The building had been cleared and the fire was out. The crews from each department were now working on getting all their gear back in order so they could leave.

A blush rose on Buck's cheeks. “And why would you do that?”

“Oh, you know,” Tommy took a step closer to Buck, “I haven't seen Howie in a few weeks so I thought I'd catch u-”

Buck reached out and gave Tommy a playful push before he could finish the sentence. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Tommy laughed, face scrunching up tight. God, Buck loved that face.

“I wanted to see you, Evan,” he admitted. “It's been almost two weeks of opposite schedules. I'm about to file a report accusing the LAFD of being homophobic for keeping us apart.”

“I'd sign my name to it,” Buck agreed.

“So, not an overreaction?”

Buck moved even closer to Tommy. “If anything we should be doing more.”

Tommy's eyes moved to Buck's lips. “Anything specific in mind?”

“Guys, I'm seriously so close to throwing up,” Chimney interrupted, carrying the ax back to the truck. “Get a room.”

“In fifteen hours we will be in a room!” Buck yelled out to him, then quietly added for only Tommy to hear, “And we will not be leaving the room for forty-eight hours.”

Tommy smirked. “What if we get hungry?”

“Our lube is edible.”

“You know, Athena and I have made out between a firetruck or two,” Bobby mentioned as he passed by, patting Buck on the shoulder. “We leave in five.”

Years ago, Bobby would have been trying to steer Buck away from inappropriate workplace behavior, and maybe he still should be, but Buck had spent his last couple shifts becoming increasingly pouty. Plus, Tommy wasn't a one night- or, better yet, a one shift- stand. They were coming up on eight months together and apparently still couldn't get enough of each other.

Tommy would have laughed at the shocked look on Evan's face, but the go ahead from Bobby was all that he needed to be grabbing Evan's hand and leading him to a space between a fire truck and an ambulance. Tommy pushed him against the ambulance, brought his hands to Buck's waist, and practically smashed their lips together. Buck moaned, happily surprised as Tommy's tongue licked into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Tommy's shoulders, bringing him closer.

“Where were you?” Buck asked when they pulled apart for air.

“West stairwell. You?” Tommy kissed him again before he could give an answer.

“East, mmm, east stairwell,” he gasped, Tommy working his way down Buck's jaw to his neck. “God, Tommy. We just m- missed each other.”

“Hmm,” Tommy hummed against the top of his collarbone, the vibrations giving Buck chills. He had never even felt Tommy undo his turnout jacket for better access. “Seems like we did that for quite a few years.”

Tommy knew how Buck felt about all their missed connections. He'd spent so much time going over all the events throughout the years where they could have or should have met, or almost did meet. While Buck did get bummed that they didn't know each other all those years ago, the fact that they finally did meet at what seemed to be the perfect time for them both was one of his biggest turn ons.

He reached up and got ahold of Tommy's face, bringing him back to his lips. “I love you... so much,” he mumbled out between kisses.

“I love... you more.”

“Amazing what you can see when you've got a bird's eye view,” a voice rang out over the radio. Tommy pulled back from their kiss, and they both looked up at the chopper hovering above them, giving a wave. “Parker will never let me hear the end of this,” Tommy laughed out.

Buck rolled his eyes playfully, then pressed the button on his radio. “I'm sure it's beautiful. I hope you took pictures.”

A few seconds passed before Parker got back on the radio. “Oh, don't you worry about that,” he said, laughter evident in his voice. The helicopter began to move away from above them. “Pilot Parker heading back to Harbor Station.”

Buck was starting to lean back in when the radio came to life again.

“Captain Nash to Buckley, we're heading out in one minute. I repeat, heading out in one minute.”

“Got it, Cap,” Buck answered. “On my way.”

Tommy sighed, gazing deeply into Evan's eyes. “I'll see you soon, okay? Be safe.”

“Fifteen hours?”

Tommy ran his hands up and down Evan's waist, pressing a final kiss to his lips before they had to part ways. “Fifteen hours.”

[buckets-and-trees]

This look is so intense, so don't-give-a-fuck. It does darker things to me... And the hair is a bit messy. It got my muse spiraling down a bit of a dirty course of thought.

Title: Parking Lot Chem Characters/Pairings: raunchy!Bucky x curvy!female reader Word Count: 6.7k Summary: In a bit of a loser era, divorced, dirty, not giving much of a damn about anything, Bucky works a bit of an unconventional night shift that leaves him with a lot of time to kill.

Content Warnings: modern AU, hook up culture, explicit and rough smut, oral (male receiving)/deep throating, vaginal fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, objectification, naked vs. clothed imbalance, coercion, use of "baby" as a term of endearment, dacryphilia, praise, mild degradation (teasing/mean but not vicious), general dirty talk, slight innocence/ruining kink, implied cockwarming, cum play/marking, sex in a semi-public place

Author Notes: I moved to a new apartment in the spring, and I noticed kind of an interesting thing that happens on weeknights across the street from my place. It got my mind spinning, and months later, I'm finally playing with the concept.

Logistical Notes: My July entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the DEEP THROATING prompt and week 9 of Hot Bucky Summer using the WET AND MESSY prompt.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“Fuck,” he whispers in the dark. Desire and adrenaline rev in his veins at the sight of your headlights parking just where he’d told you to, across the street from the business park complex, in front of the residential apartments.

Bucky’s been working this job for six weeks, and it’s a joke, but it’s a decent-paying joke of a job. From 10pm until 6am, all he has to do is periodically drive a pick up truck around around the large parking lot that services the two business buildings to the north and south of the lot, make sure no one from the apartments across the street to the east or west side park in the lot overnight, and ticket and boot any cars if a resident or visitor is stupid enough to roll the dice and try. Yellow-amber flashing lights affixed to the roof of the truck’s cab, it’s Bucky’s responsibility to deter and keep things clear so that the employees for the companies housed at this business complex can show up and park free of cars, at least one potential hassle eliminated from their corporate working routine.

Eight hours of paid nearly-free time, unbothered by anyone or anything, in the quiet of the night.

He won’t work this job forever, but it sure as shit beats some of the other unappealing options after getting fired from his last job.

He’s read a lot of books sitting in this truck’s cab. He’s played a lot of games on his phone. He’s started putting in a lot of applications for other jobs and even a couple of masters programs. He’s too caught up on news, memes, and social media.

A couple of weeks ago he decided to download a couple of dating apps again, fish and see what’s out there. He’s been divorced for two years now, and Steve and Sam have been dropping hints that he should try and put himself out there again.

Last week he downloaded an app he saw mentioned by a couple of people in chats on the other dating apps - this one known for being a thinly veiled “dating” app full of people who might not be looking for a date so much as a bit of unattached fun.

He started talking to you two nights ago.

There really were plenty of people who were trying to use this particular app for legitimate dating.

But there were subtle signs, particular turns of phrase, avenues of conversation that you could test the waters with to uncover someone else who just wanted to quench some thirst.

And here you were.

Bucky shifts the truck from idle, and drives down the row of parking spaces, turns left to slowly drive down the north side, looking like he’s making one of his routine twice-an-hour laps around the lot, and then takes another left when he gets to the end. He flashes his headlights, and then he smiles as he sees you push open your door and slip out of the car.

“Fuck,” he moans, taking in the first sight of you.

You hastily look both ways - confirming that no one is coming down the road at this godforsaken time of night - then cross the street and step up to the curb just as Bucky pulls up next to you.

He reaches across to push the door open for you - a friendly gesture, certainly not a gentlemanly one, as there is nothing gentlemanly about his intentions toward you tonight.

“Hi,” you say, almost a little breathless. He assumes you must be a little nervous.

That’s cute.

He’s going to ruin you.

If you took any notice of the way he leers at you as you climb up into the cab with him, you would know, and you might hesitate or rethink this poor decision.

But you don’t.

And now the wolf has his prey.

He won’t harm you, but he’s certainly going to have his way with you.

"Hey there," Bucky replies, his voice a low rumble. "Glad you could make it."

You settle into the passenger seat, your eyes darting around the cab nervously. The air feels thick with anticipation. Bucky drinks in the sight of you - flushed cheeks, slightly disheveled hair, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying your excitement.

He puts the truck in drive and cruises slowly through the lot, amber lights still flashing above. "So," he drawls, "first time doing something like this?"

You nod, biting your lip. "Yeah, I've never... I mean, I don't usually..."

Bucky chuckles. You might be lying, but he thinks it’s probably true that you haven’t hooked up on this app before. If you made a habit of it, this probably would’ve happened the first night you started chatting.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You’re safe with me." His hand leaves the steering wheel, landing on your thigh. You inhale sharply at the contact, but don't pull away. And he’s not lying. You’re safe, but he plans to thoroughly ruin you before sunrise.

He feels your muscles tense under his palm, but you don't push him away. Instead, you ease into his touch ever so slightly. Bucky smirks, knowing he's got you right where he wants you. But he will play this out slowly.

"So," he says, his voice low and husky, "what you're hoping to get out of tonight."

You swallow hard, your eyes fixed on his hand on your thigh. "I… I'm not sure.” Then your eyes flicked back up to his. “I just knew I wanted to meet you."

Bucky's thumb begins to trace small circles on your leg, inching higher with each rotation. "That so? Well, I've got a few ideas of my own, if you're interested."

He feels the tiny shiver roll through your body, and he bites back a groan.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but tell me more about you. What’s a sweet thing like you needing a dating app for?” he asks, steering you into conversational waters. He wants you to get more comfortable with him, relaxed, so he can ultimately have you completely pliant for him.

You laugh nervously, a hint of self-deprecation in your voice. "Oh, you know. Work keeps me busy. I don't really get out much."

Bucky nods, his eyes still on the road as he steers the truck around another corner of the lot. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm in marketing," you reply, relaxing a bit as the conversation turns to safer ground. "It's interesting, but the hours can be long. What about you? Do you... always work nights like this?"

Bucky chuckles. "Nah, this is just temporary. Needed something to pay the bills while I figure out my next move."

His hand is still on your thigh, warm and heavy. He can tell you're acutely aware of it, of how his thumb continues its lazy circles, inching higher with each pass. Your breath catches as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot, and he stops with the circles, but leaves his hand there. He loves that you wore leggings. He can feel every movement of your muscles. You’re stupid for not knowing how intimate that is - or for underestimating how it would drive him wild. He continues to drive. He only needs to circle the lot every thirty to forty-five minutes, but he knows this driving is part of easing you further into this.

"So, marketing," Bucky muses, his voice a low rumble. "That must keep you on your toes. Always chasing the next trend, right?"

You give a small nod, your gaze flickering between his hand still resting on your thigh the unchanging view - familiar to him, but unfamiliar to you - as he continues to drive. "Yeah, it can be pretty intense. But I like the challenge."

Bucky hums in agreement, his eyes alternating between you and the road. "I bet you're good at it too. Reading people, figuring out what they want."

You laugh nervously. "I try. But clearly I'm not that good at reading situations, or I wouldn't be here."

Bucky's hand tightens slightly on your thigh. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. I think you read this situation perfectly."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with promise. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening.

"Just two people wanting to spend time together - nothing more complicated than that,” he reassures you. It’s not a lie. And then he leads you down a slew of safe paths of conversation. Your family, your roommates, where you went for college, places you’d like to travel, a bit about your social life. The more he asks, the more you open up. He clocks some of your responses, but he’s far more interested in how you’re feeling with him, the verbal and non-verbal cues he reads as the minutes turn into an hour. Twenty minutes into that hour, he’d been able to park in the middle of the lot, and you hadn’t batted an eye, completely at ease.

Occasionally your fingers fidget in your lap. Both of you have turned to angle your bodies toward the other. There’s no barrier between you - it’s a full bench seat across from driver to passenger side.

He decides to push things a little further.

"So, back to your marketing expertise?" he says, his voice low and smooth.

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’m not an expert. If I were an expert, I’d be driving a much better car already,” you laugh.

"No, no,” Bucky laughs along with you. “But you said you do have a pretty good job in your firm. Must mean you're… let’s say proficient at selling things? At... persuasion?"

You giggle nervously, maybe a little surprised at the turn of tactic. "I guess you could say that. Why do you ask?"

Bucky's hand slides up your thigh, just a fraction higher. "Just wondering what it might take to persuade you to do something a little... risky tonight."

Your breath hitches audibly. "What... what did you have in mind?"

He smirks, loving how eagerly you've taken his bait. "Well, we've got this whole parking lot to ourselves. No one around for hours. Seems a shame to waste such privacy.”

Another soft nervous laugh falls from your lips, and your eyes dart around. “I don’t know how private this is. We’re in the middle of an open parking lot.”

“Trust me, I’m the expert in this area, and no one is going to even come close to the cab of this truck.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, a mix of excitement and apprehension flickering across your face. "I... I'm not sure," you stammer, but your body language tells a different story. You've leaned in closer, your breath quickening.

Bucky's hand slides higher up your thigh, his fingers tracing patterns on the inside of your leg. "Come on, sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice low and persuasive. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

You bite your lip, clearly torn between desire and caution.

His other hand moves to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Bucky’s easy smile grows to a smirk. A few more cautious moments, and he knows you’ll be his. His hand slides even higher up your leg, fingertips just barely brushing the junction of your thighs. "How about we start with a kiss and see where things go from there?"

Your breath catches audibly, and for a moment, Bucky thinks you might refuse.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing," you murmur, even as you lean slightly into his touch.

"I know," Bucky says softly, his voice a low rumble. The wolf inside him is clawing at his chest to claim you, to ruin you, but he knows he can’t pounce yet. He needs you to ease completely into his trap.

Then you nod, almost imperceptibly. "Okay," you whisper.

Bucky's eyes darken with desire as he leans in, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours softly at first, giving you a final chance to pull away if you change your mind. But you don't. Instead, you press forward, deepening the kiss.

He groans low in his throat, his hand tightening on your thigh as the other slides to the back of your neck, gripping gently. The kiss quickly turns heated, all pretense of hesitation melting away as your lips move against each other hungrily.

Bucky's tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you eagerly grant it. As your tongues tangle, he shifts closer, using his grip at the nape of your neck to tilt your head, allowing him better access.

You whimper softly into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. He can feel the heat radiating between you. His hand on your thigh tightens, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. A soft whimper escapes you as his tongue slides against yours, and he can feel the last of your reservations melting away. Your hands, which had been fidgeting in your lap, now reach up to grip his shoulders.

As the kiss intensifies, Bucky's hand on your thigh inches higher, his fingers ghosting over your center through your leggings. You gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pushing forward to chase his touch.

He breaks the kiss, chuckling darkly. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" he teases.

"I... I'm sorry, I just..."

"Shh," Bucky soothes, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "Don't apologize. I like it."

Like is an understatement. He’s feral for it. For you.

He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to your neck. You tilt your head, giving him better access as he trails hot kisses down to your collarbone.

"God, you smell good," he murmurs against your skin, his stubble scratching deliciously as he nips at your pulse point.

You moan softly, your hands sliding into his hair. The sinful sound sends a jolt of desire straight through him. His other hand, still resting high on your thigh, begins to move with more purpose. He traces the seam of your leggings, feeling the heat radiating from your core.

"Bucky," you breathe, shuddering under his bold touch.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," Bucky murmurs against your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers continue their teasing exploration, tracing light patterns over the thin fabric of your leggings.

You whimper, your hips shifting restlessly. "I... I don't know," you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

Bucky chuckles darkly, nipping at your earlobe. "I think you do know. I think you knew exactly what you wanted when you agreed to meet me here. You just need a little... encouragement."

His hand slides higher, cupping you through your leggings. You gasp, your back arching as he applies pressure. "Is this what you want?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

"Yes," you moan, apparently unable to cling to the rest of your hesitation. "Please, Bucky."

He growls low in his throat, loving that he’s got you right where he wants you.

You dart forward, desperate to kiss him again, and he’s happy to provide you that distraction. One hand petting your pussy while you pant eagerly into the eager, open-mouthed kisses, he uses his other hand to unbuckle his jeans, undo the button, and lower the zipper. You’re so drawn in by his mouth and his ministrations on your clothed pussy, that you don’t even notice as he finally frees his raging hard cock.

With your attention fully captured by his skilled fingers and demanding mouth, Bucky takes the opportunity to guide your hand to his now exposed length. You gasp against his lips, pulling back slightly in surprise.

"What's wrong, sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Isn't this what you came here for?"

Your eyes are wide, darting between his face and where your hand now rests on his cock. "I... I didn't..."

"Shh," Bucky soothes, his free hand cupping your face. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." But even as he says this, his hips shift slightly, pressing his hardness more firmly into your palm.

You swallow hard, your breath coming in quick pants. For a moment, you hesitate, but then your hand wraps around him, stroking experimentally.

Bucky groans, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. "Right there. Just like that."

He draws your face back to his, and swallows you up in a wet kiss, his tongue fucking in and out of your mouth, stroking his tongue insistently against yours. He’s coaxing, reeling you back in, and he feels the fruits of his efforts as your hand strokes him with more fervor the longer he kisses you.

You’re lonely. He picked up on that, and he’s using it to his advantage. He’ll give you some of you want to get what he wants, as well.

Bucky breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to see you," he growls, his hand sliding up under your shirt. "Take this off for me."

You hesitate for just a moment before nodding, your fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt. Bucky helps you pull it over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes darken as they roam over your newly exposed skin.

“No bra?” he chuckles.

You bite your lip and your eyes dart down, away from his face.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, leaning in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Bucky's other hand continues its teasing exploration between your legs, the friction of your leggings adding to the delicious sensation. You're panting now, hips rocking against his.

"I want you to touch me," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You nod, your hand reaching for his cock again, but he catches your wrist, stopping you.

"Not like that," he growls. "I want your mouth on me."

Your eyes widen, darting between his face and his exposed cock.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he says, but the endearment drips off his tongue with cloying condescension, and he knows it, “You came out here at two am to meet up with a strange guy you only started talking to the night before last. You want to be used. Stop pretending like you’re going to resist. You’re going to let me do whatever the fuck I want with this body.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a wounded look in your eyes.

He chuckles and caresses your cheek. “Aw, you want it, too,” he coos. “You didn’t wear a bra, and I know you didn’t wear any panties either. When I peel these leggings off, your pussy is going to be bared and dripping and so eager for me.”

Your eyes flutter closed, but you don’t argue with him, and he guides you, hand on the back of your neck, to lean down into his lap. "Go on, sweet girl," he encourages. "Show me what a slut you want to be for me.”

Your breath catches. Bucky's words have struck a chord, and he can feel the mix of anticipation and nervousness in the air. It’s a heady thing, and he takes a deep breath as if he could inhale it. It makes his blood run hotter through his limbs.

With trembling hands, you lean the rest of the way in, your face hovering over his exposed cock.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his hand still firm on the back of your neck. "Open up for me."

You part your lips, and he feels your hot breath hovering at the head of his cock just a moment before you finally take him into your mouth. Bucky groans, his hips bucking slightly as your warm, wet mouth envelops him.

"Fuck," he hisses, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Good girl. Just like that."

You move slowly at first, getting used to the feel of him, mouthing at the head of his cock. But Bucky is impatient, using his hand, he guides you down more, urging you to take him deeper.

Bucky groans, his head falling back against the headrest as you start to work your tongue along his shaft.

"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Take more of me."

You comply, and Bucky's hips buck slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth. You gag a little, but quickly adjust, hollowing your cheeks, and he loves the feel of your soft, velvety mouth around his raging erection.

Bucky watches intently as you work your mouth over his cock, your lips stretched wide around his girth. The sight of you, eyes closed in concentration, cheeks hollowed as you suck, sends a jolt of pleasure through him. He can feel the wet heat of your tongue as it slides along the underside of his shaft, tracing the prominent vein there.

The wet heat of your mouth envelops Bucky, drawing a deep groan from his chest. Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive underside before you take him deeper. The tight suction of your lips as you bob your head sends jolts of pleasure through his body.

Bucky's fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your movements. "Yes, baby," he growls. "Take me deeper."

You comply, relaxing your throat to take more of his length. Bucky feels the head of his cock hit the back of your throat and he hisses in pleasure. Your gag reflex kicks in, causing you to sputter and drool. Saliva drips down his shaft, making obscene wet sounds as you continue to work him with your mouth.

"Fuck, you're making such a mess," Bucky groans, watching as your head bobs up and down in his lap. "Such a perfect little cocksucker."

He’s watched a lot of porn since his divorce, and even more these past weeks in the middle of the night in this truck, and this is so much better, but surpassing even his own expectations. Too long since he’d been with a woman.

“Take me deeper." Bucky's grip tightens as he guides you further down his shaft. Your throat constricts around him, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. He can feel every swallow, every twitch of your tongue as you struggle to accommodate his girth.

"That's it, baby," he groans, his hips bucking slightly. "Swallow all of me."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gag around him, but you don't pull away. Instead, you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder. Saliva continues to pool at the corners of your mouth, trickling down his length in glistening rivulets.

The sight of you, lips stretched wide and chin slick with spit, is almost too much for Bucky to bear. He watches, transfixed, as your head bobs up and down, your tongue swirling around his tip before diving back in. Your lips stretch wide around his girth, glistening with spit and precum.

Your nose brushes against his pelvis as you swallow around him, throat constricting deliciously. He feels the vibrations of your muffled moan around his shaft and it sends sparks of pleasure up his spine.

"Fuck," he growls. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. That, baby."

The pleasure builds, coiling tighter in Bucky's core with each bob of your head. He's close, so close, but he doesn't want to finish like this. Not when there's so much more he wants to do to you.

With a growl, he tugs your hair, pulling you off his cock. You gasp for air, lips swollen and glistening, a thin strand of saliva still connecting you to him. The sight nearly undoes him.

"Stand up," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

You comply, awkward and shaky on your feet in the confined space of the truck cab. Bucky's hands go to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings.

"These need to come off. Now."

You hesitate for just a moment, but the fire in Bucky's eyes brooks no argument. You shimmy them down with Bucky’s rough help, and true to what he said, you’re now fully naked and exposed to him. His smile is pleased, possessive, predatory as you sit back down on the seat of the cab.

Bucky's eyes rake over your newly exposed form, drinking in every curve and contour. He loves the sight of your pussy, bare, a thatch of curls, waiting and glistening with arousal. He licks his lips, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with lust. "So wet and ready for me already."

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers ghosting over your slick folds. You shiver at his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Please," you whisper, voice trembling with need.

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Please what, baby?"

You squirm under his intense gaze, cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "I... I want you to touch me."

"Oh, I'm going to do more than touch you," Bucky growls, suddenly pulling you into his lap. You gasp as you feel his hard cock pressing against your ass. "I'm going to ruin you."

His fingers find your clit, circling it with firm, deliberate strokes. You arch into his touch, a breathy moan escaping your lips. Bucky's other hand comes up to cup your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

"That's it," he growls in your ear. "Let me hear how much you want this."

You whimper, grinding down against his fingers. Your head falls back against his shoulder, exposing the long line of your neck. Bucky takes advantage, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.

His fingers move lower, teasing your entrance. You're so wet, his digits slide in easily, and you cry out at the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck, you're tight," Bucky groans, pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

You're panting now, rocking your hips to meet each thrust of his fingers. The cab of the truck is filled with the obscene sounds of your wet pussy and your desperate moans.

Bucky's fingers work you relentlessly, curling and stroking inside you as his thumb circles your clit. You're writhing in his lap, gasping and moaning as pleasure builds.

"Ride my fingers, baby. Show me how bad you want it."

"Bucky," you gasp, "I'm so close..."

He increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles as his fingers curl inside you.

"Please," you whimper, your head falling back against his shoulder again. "I need more."

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" Roughly, he pinches your nipple, making you jerk and cry out.

Bucky's skilled fingers continue their relentless assault, pumping in and out of your dripping pussy while his thumb works your clit. Your body trembles, teetering on the edge of release.

"You want more?" he taunts, his hot breath tickling your ear. "I'll give you more."

Suddenly, he adds a third finger, stretching you further. The additional fullness makes you gasp, your back arching as he drives his fingers deeper. His other hand leaves your breast, sliding down to spread your legs wider.

"Look at how wet you are," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Your pussy's practically weeping for me."

His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that makes you see stars. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly against his hand.

"I can feel how close you are,” he growls in your ear. “Your little cunt is clenching around my fingers."

His other hand returns to roughly knead your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple. The dual sensations send sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You're trembling in his lap, right on the edge of release.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, your hips rocking desperately against his hand.

"Please what?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me what you need."

"I need to come," you gasp. "Please, make me come."

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Oh, I'll make you come alright. I'll make you fucking gush for me."

He increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as his fingers curl inside you, seeking that special spot. When he finds it, you cry out, your back arching. Bucky's fingers continue to work you relentlessly, curling and stroking that spongy spot inside you as his thumb applies insistent pressure to your throbbing clit. He builds and builds his ministrations until you're a trembling, whimpering and writhing mess in his lap.

"Fucking perfect," he praises in your ear, his voice low and gravelly. Your desperate grinding is torturous to his cock, and he could explode just from rutting against you like this.

But Bucky doesn't let up. If anything, he increases the pressure, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a frantic pace.

"Don't stop," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Keep going. I know you've got more in you."

You're gasping, your hips jerking erratically, and then suddenly the orgasm rolls over you like a tidal wave, and there’s a surge of hunger that spurs him on. Your back arches sharply, pressing your breasts into his rough palms as you cry out, your voice echoing in the confined space of the truck cab.

Bucky only intensifies his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, harder, curling to hit that spot inside you with unerring accuracy. He’s seeking even more, pushing you impossibly higher, your body trembling uncontrollably in his lap.

"Oh god, oh god," you whimper and strain.

And still he works your body.

You try and squirm away, but he’s so much stronger than you, he easily keeps you in his lap. He moves his other hand down to your pussy so his right can focus fully on fucking in and out of your hole to molest your g-spot while his left zeroes in and demands more of your clit.

And then you cry for him from both ends, a sob escaping your mouth as your pussy gushes, spilling wetness over him, soaking his jeans and the seat beneath.

You slump, slack in his arms, but try to lean and move away and off his lap.

Bucky laughs, triumphant, and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you pressed to him. He presses a hot kiss to your neck. His other hand wipes the wetness over your thigh, making more of a mess.

“You’ve never squirted before, have you, baby?” he speaks low, directly into your ear.

“No,” you sniffle.

He nips the lobe of your ear and turns your head to face him. “Aw, did I make you cry?”

You close your eyes, and more tears trickle down your cheeks.

He slowly licks a stripe up your cheek, relishing the salty taste of your tears. It makes his cock twitch.

“I wonder what other firsts we can tick off for you.”

You shiver, and he squeezes around your middle. “It was overwhelming, wasn’t it?” he asks, and you nod, eyes still closed.

He kisses your cheek, and you let out a shuddery breath.

“But it felt good, didn’t it, baby?”

You open your eyes and bite your lip, then a small nod.

“Such a pretty slut for me,” he praises, and then he’s plundering your mouth again, and you turn your torso more to him. He plays more with the wet mess of gush and slick over your thighs.

Bucky sears your lips with his mouth, his tongue delving deep as he tastes you. You whimper into the kiss, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. His hands roam your body, kneading your breasts, trailing down your sides, gripping your hips.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, down your neck. You tilt your head, giving him better access as he sucks and nips at your pulse point. His stubble scratches deliciously against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs against your skin. "I could devour you all night."

His words make you shudder, and his chest rumbles in approval. Bucky's hands continue their exploration, one sliding up to cup your breast, the other dipping between your thighs to tease your still-sensitive folds.

You gasp as his fingers brush your clit, oversensitive and swollen. He chuckles darkly, circling the bundle of nerves with feather-light touches that have you squirming again in his lap.

Bucky's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he maneuvers you in the cramped space of the truck cab. "On your knees," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "I want you on your knees for me."

You comply, your body still trembling from your intense orgasms. The leather seat is cool against your flushed skin as you position yourself on all fours, facing the passenger side door. Bucky's large hands run down your spine, making you shiver. He runs his hands over the curve of your hips, down to your thighs, spreading them wider.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "So eager for my cock."

You whimper in response, pushing your hips back towards him. Bucky chuckles darkly, one hand coming down in a sharp smack on your ass. The sound echoes in the cab, and you gasp.

"Patience, baby," he teases, soothing the flesh he just spanked.

Bucky's hands knead your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to get a better view of your glistening folds.

"Such a pretty little thing," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "And all mine for the night."

He positions himself behind you. His cock, hard and thick, brushes against your inner thigh. You shudder in anticipation. He groans behind you, and then he pushes the blunt head, angry head of his cock against your entrance.

"You ready?" he asks, teasing you with just the tip.

You whimper, pressing back against him. "Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky grips your hips, pulling you back slightly. The head of his cock teases your entrance, sliding through your slick folds. You moan, pressing back against him, silently begging for more.

"Eager little slut," he chuckles darkly. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to give you exactly what you need."

Without further warning, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Fuck," Bucky groans, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So tight.”

Bucky's hands control your hips, squeezing tightly as he begins to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force of his thrusts rocks you forward, and you have to brace yourself against the passenger door to keep from hitting your head.

"Take my cock like the good little slut you are," he snarls.

Bucky leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he continues to pound into you. One hand snakes around to grope your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. The other slides down to rub circles on your clit.

"You like that, don't you?" he pants in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Like being used like a cheap whore in the back of a truck?"

You whimper in response, pushing back to meet his thrusts. The angle allows him to hit spots deeper inside you, drawing a groan from his chest. Has he ever been this deep in such a perfect pussy?

"Bucky," you gasp, "oh god, Bucky..."

"That's right, baby," Bucky growls, his hips snapping against yours relentlessly. "Say my name. Let me hear how much you love my cock."

He reaches around to the front of your pussy, fingers work your clit faster, matching the punishing pace of his thrusts. You're trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. The truck rocks with the force of his movements, the amber lights still flashing outside, casting an eerie glow over your writhing bodies.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Bucky groans, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight and wet for me. Such a perfect little fuck toy."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and he loves the way his words affect you as much as his actions do.

Bucky's other hand leaves your hip, sliding up to wrap around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, just holds you there, a silent threat that sends your heart racing, and he loves feeling how your pulse jumped at that.

"You gonna come for me again?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Gonna cream on my cock?”

You nod frantically, evidently unable to form words as he keeps pouring and overwhelming you with pleasure.

"Answer me," he demands, tightening his grip ever so slightly on your throat.

"Yes!" you gasp out. "Yes, I'm gonna come for you!"

"That's it," he growls, tightening his grip on your throat just slightly. "Let go. Come apart on my fat cock."

His words push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, your inner walls clenching around him as you cry out his name. Bucky groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy milks his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his thrusts becoming erratic. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his seed.

You both stay there for a moment, panting heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. Bucky's hand releases your throat, sliding down to rest on your heaving chest. He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, then slowly pulls out, eliciting a whimper from you at the loss.

He brings his hand down to your wet, messy folds, and you twitch at the feel of his fingers, clearly oversensitive. He hums, collecting some of the mixed spend slipping out of you, and he rubs it over your lower back. He doesn’t want you to forget what a dirty girl you’ve been for him.

Bucky helps you sit back up, pulling you onto his lap once more. You're both sticky with sweat and other fluids, the air in the truck cab heavy with the scent of sex. He brushes your hair back from your face, his touch gentle after the roughness of your encounter.

"You did so well, baby," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Such a good girl for me."

You shiver at his praise, nestling closer to his broad chest, your naked form cocooning against him, still fully clothed, only his cock ever coming unsheathed during all of that. He’s edging on a little too warm, but the coolness of the middle of the night helps. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against him. For a moment, there's just the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal and the faint hum of the truck's engine.

"We should probably get cleaned up," you say after a while, your voice slightly hoarse.

Bucky chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Probably," he agrees, but makes no move to let you go. Instead, his hand trails down your spine, making you arch into him. "But I'm not done with you yet, baby. The night's still young, and I've got plans for you."

You blink up at him, and he ducks in to peck at your lips.

“Let me just take another round of the lot, and then I’ll kiss you stupid, eat you out, and fuck you again.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he stops you with a quick kiss. He smiles when he pulls away and sees your eyes are falling hazy again. He strokes his hand up and down your spine, “Don’t worry, baby, you can stay right here in my lap while we drive.”

He leaves no room for protest, pulls the truck into gear, and goes for another round, looking forward to the rest of his shift.

Follow Up Piece: CAMARADERIE

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

Hi. Still with me? We made it!

I doubt the person who does this across the street from my window five nights a week is anything close to Bucky, but true story, someone's in this truck with the yellow flashing lights, and my mind wants it to be a dirty Bucky that I'd make the unwise decision to jump into a cab with.

[eratosmusings]

Loyalty (II)

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!reader

summary: your husband returns to consummate your marriage

warnings: adults only, all characters over 18, smut, oral (fem receiving), piv, arranged marriage, manipulation, abortion allusion (moon tea), lot of religious references

word count: 2.4k

previous chapter / dividers

Daemon takes more than an hour to return. Handmaids came in his absence. They take the pins from your hair, bring fresh water and fragranced soap for a quick wash before leaving you in a single shift made of silk. You pace the stone floor as it grows cold from the dying fire. Why has he not returned?

The fire dims and dims until it is no more than a low red glow in the hearth. The silk is frigid against your skin. It chafes against your breasts in a way that has you squirming. Your husband finally returns. It appears he too has bathed and changed. Gone is his embroidered jacket and red sleeves, replaced with a simple white shirt and a simple robe hanging off his shoulders. His hair is damp and a floral scent wafts from him as he approaches.

“I’d thought you’d be in bed,” he says. 

You attempt a smile, though you fear it appears more as a grimace. Guilt weighs too heavy on the corners of your lips. The wait was intolerable but as is knowing how imminent the act is. Knowing what you must do on the morrow. “Is that where you wish me to be, my prince?”

He frowns. “I had only meant I’d thought you’d be asleep.” His eyes dart over you, only to return to and linger where the peaks of your breasts stab into the shift. "Is that all they gave you to wear, jaesa?" He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “You must be freezing.” He pulls the robe from his shoulders and comes to drape it over your own. 

More kindness that you do not deserve. You bow your head. “Thank you, my prince.”

He tisks and turns his attention to the dying fire. “Such formality.” He lowers and begins to arrange new logs over the embers. “We are married now, you must call me something more fitting. Daemon would do well.” He takes a piece of kindling and allows it to catch fire before placing it on top. “Or dear husband, perhaps.” He looks back at you. “Valzȳrys if you’d like to truly capture my heart.”

“Valzȳrys?” It slips out before the rest of his words register as you meet his lilac gaze.

“Wonderful pronunciation,” he murmurs approvingly, standing. “It means husband in Valyrian.” The fire spreads, growing brighter and casting him in its warm glow. It strikes you, rather harshly, that Daemon Targaryen is unparalleled in his beauty. You've always thought him handsome, but in the light of a blaze he is breathtaking.

“I shall try to remember,” you say through the lump in your throat. If you can never allow him children, at least you will give him the allusion of a good, dutiful wife.

His head cocks appraisingly to the side. “Come.” Your feet obey. The warmth of the fire joins the heat beginning to prickle across your skin. His gaze is searching as you come to stand in front of him and you can’t tear your eyes away. “Why wait for me to return?”

Your brows furrow at the question. It’s answer so obvious. “We have yet to consummate our marriage.”

“I did not consummate my last.” His hand comes to toy with the collar of the robe. “I refused the bedding ceremony this evening.” There’s humor in his tone. “Perhaps I did not intend to bed you at all.”

You try to match his easy banter, though there's a tremor in your voice. "Perhaps the sun will rise in the west and set in the east."

He laughs and the sound sends a flutter through your chest. What a beautiful sound. "Do you think I as wanton as a whore?”

"No!" Your hands reach for him, taking hold of his arm. It is solid in your grasp.  "I am sorry, my prince, I did not intend offense."

He laughs again, eyes crinkling. "I merely jest. Your only offense is your continued use of ‘my prince.’”

"Valzȳrys," you offer with relief, letting go of his arm, “I shall do better.”

“My sweet wife,” his other hand comes to hold your face as the first continues to fidget with the robe, “so eager to please.”

Your lips part, but the words die as his fingers follow down the edge of the robe and brush the raised peak of your breast. The sensation, torturous and intoxicating, has you gasping. He takes the distraction as invitation and captures your mouth in a harsh, bruising kiss. Your fingers curl against the cloth of his shirt. Neither to push him away nor pull him closer, but to find a tether in the unfamiliar depths his touch has plunged you into.

He pulls back slowly. Lips plush, pupils blown wide. Hands cupping your breast, thumbs stroking the peaks. Overwhelming, sinful need steals your thoughts. Your eyes squeeze shut. You can't breathe. Your entire focus is on remaining standing. 

"Tell me, jaesa, have you ever touched yourself here before?"

Speech is too difficult. Your head shakes.

"Have you ever dreamt of it?"

Another shake. You had not known it could be used for pleasure. Air greets your lung like a knife when one of his touches disappears.

"How about here?" A hand dips under the hem of your shift, skims along your thighs.

You shake again.

His nose edges along your jaw. "Here? His fingers glide along the apex.

You jolt. No. Never. The words don't make it past your lips. They're trapped somewhere in the shock, the pleasure.

"No?" He speaks for you, his voice low, laced in fond mockery. "What a pure, untouched thing you are, jaesa." His mouth meets yours again. This time his kiss is slower. A whimper leaves you, unbidden, when his tongue sweeps against your bottom lip. His touch continues to move along your most intimate of places. It’s intoxicating.

He draws back, forehead pressing against yours. His breathing is heavy, matching yours. “Now I wish for you to be on the bed.” 

The air feels like ice as he steps away, leaving you bereft of his warmth. You turn, seeking the bed, and stumble forward. Your toe catches on the edge of a table. The pain is sharp and you nearly drop to the floor.

Daemon's arms wrap around you. "Careful."

His touch is maddening. "Yes, valzȳrys."

There's a sound that seems to stick in his throat. Your feet are no longer on the ground. "The bed, jaesa." A surprised giggle leaves as you fall back on the bed. It's plush, more so than your own. And warm. Daemon climbs over you, bracing his weight on his forearms. The firelight casts his features in a soft glow, giving the illusion of gentleness.

He presses his lips against yours, hungry. Your hands cling to his arms. A small moan vibrates from him. There's a firmness pressing into the apex of your thighs. The pressure is nearly as wonderful as his fingers had been. You arch towards him. He presses back.

Then he's gone. Your mouth falls open in protest, a small sound escaping. Daemon sits on the edge of the bed. He’s smug as he tugs off the simple shirt. He stands and drops his trousers, revealing more of his toned physique. Your cheeks burn. His member, juts up proudly. You swallow and avert your gaze. Surely, that cannot fit inside of you.

"Does my cock offend you?"

"No," you say quickly. "It is," your mouth sticks like you'd eaten too much honeyed bread, "large."

He laughs boisterously. "You will find, sweet wife, that it is a gift." He kneels back on the bed, his hands grasping at the hem of your shift. Your eyes snap up. His dance with mischief. "May I remove this?"

Your throat is dry. You nod. The fabric lifts. Your limbs move as they're told. You help him rid you of the silk. The air is cold.

"Beautiful."

Your body trembles under his gaze.

"Lie back."

Your body obeys. His hands slide down your thighs, pushing them apart. Then he is between your legs, kissing his way up your inner thigh. Your mind reels. No one had told you this part. When his mouth finally meets the place his fingers had toyed with earlier, you wonder how anyone could not enjoy this.

A gasp fills the air. Your hands fly to his head, tangling in his hair. Divinity lies between his teeth.

"I have decided," he whispers against your flesh, “that your taste is far better than any berry’s.”

Your hips roll of their own accord. He groans, his grip tightening on your thighs. Then he is back to licking. Your eyes screw shut and your hands grip tighter. There’s a pressure building. The tightness nearly unbearable.

"Valzȳrys," the plea is breathless. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but he must. 

He hums and the vibrations have you bucking. His mouth continues its silent prayers. Your eyes beg to close, but the glow of his lilac gaze refuses such a sin. He watches, equally as enraptured, as he pushes you higher and higher. Ecstasy. You cannot breathe, cannot move. His name, his title, every version of him, is on your tongue, begging. The pressure cracks your walls until they crumble and it is blasphemy that leaves your lips. A moment passes with the wave that follows and then another, your body trembling. The pleasure is slow to subside. His tongue has eased, but continues with languid strokes. Warmth tingles across all of you. His eyes have not given you leave.

Slowly his mouth leaves your sex. A whine leaves you at the loss. "Are you well, sweet wife?" His mouth glistens and the bed shifts as he crawls over you.

"Mhmm," you reply, letting your hands fall from his hair. More than well.

His lips curve, pleased, as they meet yours. They taste nothing near as sweet as a berry. Something presses against you. His member—his cock as he called it. His lips travel down your neck. "Are you ready?"

This is where the pain shall be. Perhaps so terrible it makes all you've done forgettable. There's no other reason you can think of that women would hate it after the pleasure you'd just received. But it is duty. At least, you must keep the appearance of it. You take a deep breath and nod. "Yes, Valzȳrys."

He presses forward and the stretch is uncomfortable. He pushes and a burn begins that makes you squirm. There's a pause."Forgive me," he breathes then his mouth returns to yours. A sharp, awful pain tears through you as his hips slam forward. Your vision blurs with the sting of tears. Your nails dig into his arms.

"The worst is over," he promises

You nod at his falsehood, still unable to see, and attempt to slow your breathing. It is for naught as the pain continues with the movement of his hips. The gods punishment for your sins, even the ones you've yet to truly commit. He whispers something that could be an apology and kisses the tears from your cheeks. You do not say anything. To suffer this for him is your duty.

"Breathe, jaesa. Just breathe."

You force yourself to match his rhythm. Breathing deep, his steady strokes begin to dull the ache. The tenseness in your muscles begin to release. There is some pleasure hidden beneath the discomfort.

"That's it," he encourages, his hand snaking between you.

You cry out as he circles his fingers sending a new wave of ecstasy through you. It spreads like Wildfire. You don't understand. It's supposed to be awful. How can it feel so wonderful?

"I am not a man of patience," he lets his forehead rest against yours, "but these sounds were worth the wait."

"Valzȳrys," your eyes shut and the pleasure builds. It drowns out any lingering discomfort. Only cries of prayers and profanities filling the room as his movements grow more erratic.

His breath stutters. It sounds as if he curses in Valyrian, though you cannot be sure. Then he stops, retreats, and leaves you painfully empty. Something warm and heavy falls across your stomach in thick strings. Your eyes open to his. Breathing ragged. Hair damp with sweat. He presses a kiss against your temple. "I shall bring the basin."

Your brow furrows. "Are we done?" Your body still tingles, tense again. Anticipation rather than pain.

His eyes crinkle but he says nothing, climbing from the bed. Your eyes stay glued to him. It's an enticing view. He returns to the bed with the basin in hand and sits beside where you lay. You know that the seed should sit for a while before it's cleaned away to ensure it takes. That's what the Septa had said. You do not repeat it to Daemon.

The rag is cold and your gasp at the contact leaves your husband issuing a humored apology. He wipes between your legs first, tinging the rag red, before cleaning the seed from your stomach in short, slow swipes. When satisfied, he sets the bowl on the floor and lays beside you. You wonder how you'll be able to sleep when your body still pulses with desire.

"Straddle my face."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Straddle my face," he repeats, "as if you were mounting a horse."

You think you understand the intention, but it seems unnecessarily dangerous. Could he not simply lie between your legs again? "But I will hurt you." Or suffocate him

"You will not."

He helps guide your leg across him, settling your knees on either side of his head. "Lower yourself, do not deny me your taste," he commands. His hands grip your thighs and you obey. He groans. The sound is muffled and then his mouth is back on your sex.

It is different. Not better, not worse, but different. Your body sings and hands fist in his hair. Your husband's tongue is skilled. A blessing instead of the curse you'd been told. For he has you quaking in only a few flicks. Pleasure courses through you like lightning. Yes, his years in pleasure houses were as divinely ordained as your years kneeling in the Sept. Your chest heaves as he coaxes out a final shudder.

When you can breathe again, he grins at you from between your thighs. The image deserves its own depiction in stained glass. "Now, I believe we are done."

any commentary & reblogs are appreciated! 🌺

join my taglist

[ineylesian]

— FELL ON BLACK DAYS

AVENTURINE X FEM! READER

AO3 | NAVIGATION

WORD COUNT — 9.5k

WARNINGS — spoilers for penacony’s storyline, enemies (??) to lovers, slowburn fr (it gets good i promise) mentions of genocide, mentions of child exploitation (not explicit), weapons & violence, smut, fem anatomy reader, sub!aventurine, mentions of traumatic events, one bed troupe

SUMMARY — Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — AHHH i love aventurine so much he made me write again <333 i will defend this man to the end of the earth i swear. also holy word vomit, this is officially my longest piece!!

“BREAKING NEWS: Reports incoming that the International Peace Corporation has been seen with an employee suspected of Avgin origin from the planet Sigonia-IV. All habitants from this world were thought to have been wiped out or lost to the galaxy, so the appearance of this mysterious individual has grasped the attention of–”

The broadcast slowly fades into the background, overtaken by the synth and snare of a song that lightly shakes the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes you’re better of dead–

“Oh, you think you’ll be an asset? You’ll have to learn to make tough decisions on the go here if you want to succeed, so tell me…”

There’s a gun in your hand, it’s pointing at your head–

“You want to help this clan? Help claim this world and rid it from the remaining filth that roams?”

There’s a piercing screech amidst the bar, the high pitched wail of the speaker blasting the music fighting against the volume. A few seconds pass before the song picks back up again, a few lyrics skimmed through.

Which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (How much do you need?)

In a West End town, a dead end world, The East End boys and the West End girls–

“...”

“Before your initiation, you must make a prayer to the winds and mountains. Do you swear to devote your thoughts and beliefs to them, and reclaim the glory of Sigonia-IV?”

We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past

Here today, built to last–

“I swear.”

The bass fades and you’re left standing amidst a crowd of chatting people, some high on buzz, others passed out beside the restroom. Your eyes slowly fix forward, coming to a halt as the masses shift in formation, curving in a circle around the biggest table in the casino. Lined with forest green felt and red chips, hands bang against the surface joined in a cry of frustration. 

“God damn it. This is rigged!” A player screams, hot-faced and teeth grit. “YOU!”

He stomps his way around the table, stopping at the dealer’s chair, failing to gain any attention despite the magnitude of his boots on the floor. In retaliation, the man takes a fistfull of the dealer’s hair, spinning him violently around and grabbing the collar around his neck.

Seldom have there been times where you didn’t see him in this sort of setting, a man with glasses that carried the same orange tint as the drink in his hand, die mounted between his fingers as he speaks with a wealthy patron. His words weave like velvet on a fine tailored suit as he invites you to play a game of chance, and before the game has even begun, you’ve lost.

His name is Aventurine, and, just as his reputation precedes him, the corners of his lips turn upward as you enter his field of view. He is never one to be down on luck.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the casino. The drinks have riled you up a bit too much, and I’m afraid you’re no longer sober enough to keep playing.”

The smell of outlandish alcohol hits your nose in a foul wave as he turns, rudely shrugging your hand off of his shoulder. 

“And who do you think you are? Protecting this weasel like that.” You take a step back as he advances, completely abandoning his grip on Aventurine as his gaze focuses on the emblem tailored to your shoulder. “You’re in on this scam too, aren’t you? Fuckin’ IPC, always looking to take money from people.” A sizable crowd has gathered at this point, and with that, guards are quick to stand at your side. You tilt your head to the side, extending a hand to gesture at the coat draped over his empty chair.

“You may gather your things and leave now, sir. Refusal to comply will result in you being forcibly removed.” 

A few more seconds of seething stares pass before he grumbles an insult toward you and rushes to gather his things, attempting to push the guards following him away. You sigh, turning to the dealer, who is now comfortable in his chair, feathered hat placed neatly on his lap as he shuffles the pool of cards pushed his way.

“Alright folks, now that’s over with, how about another–”

“Mr. Aventurine unfortunately won’t be able to join you all this round.” You quickly cut him off, laying the newly layered deck of cards onto the table. “May I have a word, please?”

The blonde takes a glance between you and the rest of the patrons at the table before nodding, allowing a charismatic smile to decorate his face as he slides the cards forward. 

“Of course. Miss Antonia, would you please find another dealer to step in for the remaining games?”

He gathers a kind nod from a nearby waitress, before turning to follow you outside of the casino. As the door opens, strong drafts of icy wind blow against your face, and you hear a shiver from behind.

“Sheesh, couldn’t we at least have talked inside? I didn’t come prepared to stand in the cold…”

You send a look his way, and Aventurine’s hands rise, lips pursed in faux apology. He pushes his glasses farther into his nose bridge as you lean against the casino’s exterior wall, shielding yourself from the chill. It’s clear he’s not taking you seriously, stifling out a yawn and rubbing his eyes before he even spares you a glance.

“Here to lecture me about the, wait…” His eyes suddenly narrow, honing in on your uniform. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, watching as he taps a few fingers against his forehead, thinking. The talisman of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department sits firmly laid into your uniform. A smoothly carved onyx, inferior to the cornerstone you know he possesses and certainly lacking in power. His eyes linger on the stone for a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head back up.

“Never seen that stone before..” He says after a few seconds, voice substantially lower. “What rank are you?”

His gaze is opaque, on guard. You resist the urge to bite your lip, figuring lying in this kind of situation wouldn’t be the best decision. Subconsciously, you bring a hand up to your stone, adjusting your coat flap before bringing it back down. 

“P39.”

His eyebrows form a sharp line, but his lips remain flat. The lens behind thick shades linger on the stone, burning into the lights that reflect off of the darkness. He’s never seen someone who isn’t a part of the Ten Cornerstones wear something like this, so who are you?

“If you’re here to try and convince me to do something, I’m not interested. I’ve had enough orders drilled into my head since I came to Jarilo-VI.”

His forefront is confident, but you can see the hand that lingers at his side, struggling to stay put. It reeks of mild uncertainty, and a lack of security. He doesn’t feel safe when he’s not in control.

“I’m here to tell you that your assignment’s changed.” Your response is straight and to the point. There’s no room to betray any underlying feelings of guilt you may have from years passed. “You’ll be with me and my team, we’re going to the Loufu in three days to sort some business out. I suggest you finish your deals here before we go.”

“Well then.” Aventurine clicks his tongue, mild annoyance riding the smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s acquaint ourselves then, shall we? You must know who I am, so please allow me the pleasure of returning the favor.”

A small passage of frosty air rises into the atmosphere as he breathes, hand extending in formality. You take it, slowly shaking, taking in the defensive rise of his shoulders. It seems he has zero tolerance for strangers.

“Nice to meet you, Aventurine. They call this stone the onyx.”

–

The Interastral Peace Corporation only takes workers to be strong-minded and just as toughly willed. In the Strategic Investment Department, greed is a virtue, and wanting nothing but it all is a prayer. Those who earn their spot as a cornerstone will stop at no means to chase their desires. 

Aventurine values risk, but he always loves to have control in his corner. Without control, the chips in his hands are of no use, and his bargains crumble beneath him. 

A gambler's true nightmare, sitting right between his eyes.

Your relation to him is a true mystery, despite all of the digging he’s been doing after arriving at the Loufu. Despite the numerous deals you’ve closed together, he still fails to know anything about you, other than the fact that you have quick wit and fascinating knowledge of the universe. He won’t dare approach you directly, his inhibitions are too high and he knows too little.

However, there’s something off about you and that stone of yours. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

“Does the IPC really need that many funds to perform a vitality check on the Sky-Faring Commission? From what I remember, this is nearly triple the amount of last year’s fee.”

“Well, Helm Master, from what our reports say, you had agreed to the accumulation of interest based on reports of safety in the Loufu. Based on recent events, there has been a substantial raise in alarm concerning the safety of the citizens here. We hope you can understand.”

Aventurine unfolds his hands, sliding a glossy black dossier over to the woman known as Yukong. After skimming over the first page of analysis, she sighs, and places her hand over the cover.

“Is it possible that we could touch bases on this later this week? I need time to look over these documents and discuss them with my team before making any decisions.”

Biting back a groan of exasperation, you nod, politely shaking her hand and bowing your head when she stands. What you thought was going to be a quick excursion of debt collecting had turned into two long weeks of debate, and you’re starting to lose sleep. After Yukong exits, you run a hand through your hair, allowing the flow from the outside to flood your ears..

You can admit, the place they chose is certainly impressive in its theatrics, blooming with tall fountains of pristine water and a live band of foxians playing classical music on a mahogany stage. 

After a few minutes of jotting down notes you find yourself leaning against the bar’s edge, elbows cool against smooth wood. Your thoughts swirl like the vibrato of the woman singing a cover of a local song in a language unknown to you, but it’s calming, and you begin to itch with the desire to order a drink.

The waiter polishing glasses near you seems to pick up on your wants, quietly gesturing with her hand that she’ll take your order.

“A Rose in Rain, please.”

She makes your drink at an astonishing speed, sliding the glass next to your hands with a smile. You stare at the royal blue liquid sitting at the rim, contemplating if the hangover will be worth it.

Aventurine eyes the finger that rests along the base of the glass, humming quietly to himself. He figures there’s no better way to get to know someone than through a few drinks.

“You gonna drink that or keep staring at it?”

You turn your head, watching as he slides onto the barstool next to you. He raises his three outer fingers, ordering a small glass of Wintry Garden before turning to face you.

It’s been a long month with the Cornerstone. His approach remains restricted, evident in his snippets of sarcasm that he still doesn’t trust you. Your situation is… unusual, so you tolerate it. However, there still lies a fear within that he’ll go deeper than what’s for his own good.

“Do you usually drink? Or are you afraid to spill your guts?”

His words drip with conviction, blindly accusing you with the corners of his mouth tilted upward. It’s been too long, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about you other than the stone you wear. He needs to flip this in his favor, fast.

Aventurine’s fingers drum against the bar’s edge as he picks up his drink, taking a small sip. The slight tilt of his head inclines you to start yours too, drinking half of the tall glass in one swig. His eyebrows raise in surprise when the drink hits the table, taking all but a few seconds to completely down the entirety of its contents, a resounding clink following.

When you don’t rush to finish your own drink, Aventurine chuckles, crossing his arms as he turns to face you fully. He’s eyeing you, daring smile plastered on his face.

“What, scared?”

He’s challenging you. And it works, since your drink is empty and you’re ordering a second round in a matter of seconds. Fizz sluggishly bubbles down your throat, followed by rich spots of thick, clear syrup.

A few drinks is all it takes for you to begin feeling lightheaded, pressing a palm into your eye to try and alleviate the nausea. Aventurine is at least 6 drinks in, setting down his next with an exaggerated sigh. Raising his hand for another, he lightly dings his glass against yours, the scent of redsunset sauce high on his breath.

“Let’s talk, Onyx.” He remarks, placing his hands on the table as the bartender comes over. “What’s the real deal with you? How come I haven’t seen you anywhere in the IPC and you show up in my faction one random day?”

You cough, attempting to clear your throat before you answer. It’s tough to keep your resolve with the amount of alcohol in your system.

“Maybe you’re just not perceptive enough, I’ve always been around.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like your answer. Another drink down.

“How many years have you worked for the IPC?”

“Almost 4 now.”

“What’s the entrance project that got you into the Strategy Department?”

You hesitate, and he grins, satisfied. This interrogation is going as planned.

“Well then? I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad, unless you’re more dangerous than you seem.”

It’s your turn to down a drink, wiping a small trace off of your chin as you think.

“Izumo.” You answer, short, watching as his fingers clasp tighter around the glass in his hand. Surprise.

“You really expect me to believe that?” He scoffs, a tinge of fire evident in his voice. “No one goes to Izumo any more, not after the slash.”

“You’d be surprised at the sheer amount of people that go to Magatsu no Morokami to uncover history. The IPC has their eyes set on valuable relics left behind from the war.”

He leans forward, dangerously close to your face. Past the thick orange lens of his aviators, you can see the irate spark in his eyes, alight with a plethora of shades you’ve never seen before.

“It’s not wise to lie to your superiors.”

You back away, sliding your card across the counter to the bartender. The moment Aventurine gets up to follow, you stop in your tracks, holding a small drive in his direction. You have some tricks up your sleeve, too.

“You’ll change your mind.”

He pauses, slightly bent over in a stupor of alcohol. 

“Best keep your cards close to your chest, Aventurine. Snooping in places you don’t belong bodes bad fortune.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Slowly, he takes the drive from your hand, leaning back onto the bar’s surface, eyebrows knit in thought. The world is suddenly too loud and amidst a flurry of harmonic bellows and blinding lights, you disappear. 

—

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGY INVESTMENT DEPARTMENT HQ | ONE MONTH LATER

“I guess I should apologize.”

Several weeks of absence. You look up from the papers on your desk, watching as Aventurine places your drive back on your desk. He straightens back up, waiting for you to respond.

“Understandable.” You answer, finalizing a document with a quick signature. “I would have had my apprehensions too.”

“Still do, but it’s better to work with someone you tolerate, right?”

You look up. He shrugs, eyeing the papers you have scattered around.

You had given him a flash drive with your report on Izumo, or, at least, a report on it. Sometimes things are left best buried. Still, Aventurine is certainly not stupid, and you know that. The final version of the report is vague and full of small incidents that contrast the planet’s true history There are inconsistencies, but he seems a little less hostile for the time being.

“Whatever you’re hiding from me, I intend to find out in due time. But I can’t do that if we’re at odds.” A hand is extended your way, held a little less straight and professional. “Let’s just try and hate each other a little less, huh?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you take his hand and shake it for the second time. Aventurine smiles at you, a little less pointedly, but still on guard.

“Friends it is, then.”

His grip tightens slightly at the proclamation, leaving your veins seared and eyes wavering. As if you just made a deal with the devil. Your gaze drags along the fancies of his coat, figuring this is just another gamble he’s won. Something closer to certain death; the passion for it intrigues you.

Sooner or later you’ll suffer the consequences of a lie, you tell yourself. There’s no good outcome when striking up an agreement with a gambler, especially one like Aventurine.

Especially when the gambler is holding a knife to your throat.

The blade is cool, barely holding back from your trachea. Leather gloves hold a fistfull of your hair, shoving you down onto the filing cabinet you were sifting through moments before. Your eyes dart around, only able to see the edge of his shoe pressing against your ankle and the papers you dropped scattered across the floor.

“Just as I thought we were getting along.” His spits, words slithering around your chest and settling around your neck. “It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.”

Confusion spreads across your features, and Aventurine scoffs. His shoe digs deeper into your achilles, and you stagger against the metal. 

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Your words come out choked, gasping for air against Aventurine’s hold.

“That man, the one you had a long conversation with at the meeting tonight? You two seemed to get along.” Aventurine’s breath runs short out of anger, grip scalding against your skin. “You know him, don’t you?”

You close your eyes, tracing the night’s events back several hours. You only recall shaking two men’s hands, one being the esteemed Doctor Ratio’s, and the other the reason why you were down in the IPCs archives. He was dressed nothing short of what a gentleman would wear, offering you many commending words as he spoke of the recent inflation concerning the astral economy. However, you didn’t miss the brilliant stone embedded in the shell of his tie, reflecting vibrant colors you’ve only seen once in your lifetime. And neither did he.

“Pretty stone isn’t it?.” Aventurine continues, pressing your hands against the wall you’re shoved against. “I’ve seen it a lot throughout my lifetime, but I’m sure you know that already. Silly me, forgetting how easy it is to conceal them.”

He reaches for your shoulder, and you push back, using the slightly stagger of his feet to grab the blade’s edge, violently smashing your head into his and spinning him around. His blade traded for your stone. 

“I’d like to know…” His fingers flip the stone around, taking in the colorless mass, like a void amidst the stars. With a quick swipe of his hand, a lighter is held to it, engulfing the black in a dance of pale fire. Aventurine shakes the rising smoke off of him after a few moments, and your eyes narrow.

“...Why you have this?”

Turquoise meteorite, a brilliant blue stone infused with veins of a green just as bright. A kind of beauty that could only be found on Sigonia, tailored in a way only an Avgin could. The crafter spoke of a tactic that could hide the stone’s true color, while keeping its spirit alive with you still. 

Blood drips from your hand, staining your clothes a deep crimson. Gritting your teeth together, you slice a sleeve of your dress shirt off, slowly wrapping it around the wound. 

Aventurine stands, still, fury riding his waterline. His glasses sit beside his feet, hues of purple and blue wavering in the dim light. His hand slowly clenches, in and out, smoothing the cooled piece over his palm.

“What now, Katican?” His voice is quiet, gently ricocheting off of concrete walls. “Came to settle one last score, fulfilling your dream of tracking down the last Avgin? Oh, I bet you’re itching to use that knife right now.”

You step to the side, shaking bloodstained papers off of your feet. The knife drops to the ground, scraping cruelty against the ground as you kick it to a corner far out of your reach. A sharp intake of breath follows, and he steps back.

“I’m no Katican.” Your tone is low, locking eyes with Aventurine, his gaze darts from the knife to you. “The stone was a gift from an Avgin I saved during the second extinction.”

The air is stale, prickling with fear as you pass. Aventurine stands tall, but you know all too well that his greatest fear has come alight in this very room. The thought of coming face to face with a Katican chases him in his nightmares each dusk, a terror looming over his head akin to a raging storm. For once, he’s speechless, completely dumbstruck, mind racing to comprehend all that you’ve bestowed upon him. So little said, yet so great a burden unveiled. 

You would be right in telling him that such information is better left buried. Yet Aventurine knows only how to shatter the destiny that calls for him, and monumental change has left in its wake.

He opens his mouth to speak, yet words fail him. The hand holding the stone sits slotted behind his back, holding on to it as he would a birthright. A piece of his past that would never bless him again, sitting in the shade of Sigonia’s darkest nights, mimicking a color that does not belong to it. He wants to scream, take his knife and shove it so hard into your chest that it comes out on the other side. 

“I am on your side, Aventurine. I always have been.”

After forcing himself to swallow, he straightens up, but you’re already gone.

Distantly, a heavy thud hits the floor.

–

TUMBLEWEED, SALSOTTO.

“I’m Daisy, here this morning with Tumbleweed’s daily weather report. As usual, there’s sun about. However, a rude awakening is coming at around 6pm, as a pretty hefty thunderstorm is coming our way. Make sure you carry your umbrellas! And remember, as our beloved Fleetworld Marc says, thunder only happens when it’s destined.”

Destiny. The word lingers in your head as a pang of hunger hits your insides. Placing your last suitcase beside your bed, you set off for your hotel room’s kitchen. Reaching over and opening a cabinet, you groan when it reveals itself to be empty. 

Shrugging your coat over your shoulders, you pocket your room card. However, when you open your door, you’re quick to step back, feeling your heart rate spike instantly in shock. 

“Uh…” You take a few short breaths, regaining your composure. “Can I help you?”

The man standing before you is no other than Aventurine, chin receding as he looks at you with evident confusion.

“Can I help you?” He retorts, flipping his hotel card up to the light. “This is my room.”

You pull the exact same card out of your pocket, and the two of you share looks of bewilderment. After reading over the numbers on your card for what felt like the 50th time, Aventurine sighs, long and drawn out. 

“Well, this isn’t what I imagined when the front desk told me they could fit a room in for me.”

“I’ll go ask–”

You’re cut off with a swift wave of his hand.

“Don’t bother, I already did. They’re fully booked for the next week.”

Before you know it, both Aventurine and his bags are heading into your… your room. Exhaling, you mutter a quiet “okay..” and follow him inside. However, he’s quick to stop you once you make it past the bathroom, exaggeratedly pointing toward the wall to your right.

“This has to be some kind of joke, right?” Aventurine laughs, pulling his glasses off as if attempting to see better. 

His gaze is fixed on the bed sitting across from you. The single bed, accompanied with a single nightstand and a TV. In that moment, you both share a second groan, and Aventurine palms his face.

“I’ll figure this out.”

In a matter of moments, he’s gone, suitcases set haphazardly on the ground beside you. After a few minutes of thought, you head to the bathroom, soaking your hands in cold water. A brief inhale follows the icy chill that drags over your face, and you silently curse destiny. 

A few hours pass before Aventurine returns, shirt slightly ruffled, annoyance clearly displayed upon his features. The click of boots melds into the soft step of socks as he enters the kitchen, and you silently pass a bowl of fried rice you had been able to scavenge from a local grocery store over. Running a hand through his hair, he nods your way, sliding into the stool across from you and stopping the bowl with his fingers.

“As you could have guessed, there are zero people in this whole building willing to switch rooms with us.”

“Ah, yeah. Tourists are usually snobby.”

A hum signifies his response. Silence encompasses the room as a blanket would, save the soft clangs of silverware on bowls. You fix your gaze on the granite countertops, following intricately woven lines of mixed stone and drawing patterns in each section you come across. Becoming so immersed in the cracks, you don’t even notice when Aventurine passes you twice, once with his bowl, and once without. Seconds turn into minutes as you stare at the sheet of stone, only taken away from thought when he returns to the table, dressed in a black set of silk pyjamas. 

“What’s your story?”

Your eyelashes flutter, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. Raising your head, you push the now cold rice to the side and glance at the man across from you, fingers interlocked in wait. 

You’re shocked at the simplicity of it. The lack of accusations are a breath of fresh air when it comes to his words, typically cold fronted and dripping with malice. You would expect him to be angry still, perhaps even worse, giving that you lied, but you can feel the genuine curiosity lingering within. He seems to want to understand.

“I joined the IPC when I was young, almost ten years ago.” You start, fighting the urge to snap away from his gaze. “In my second year, word was out that there was trouble on Sigonia. It was thought that the IPC had it under control, but everyone knew there was something else coming.”

You pause. Aventurine remains quiet, attentive.

“I took it upon myself to convince my superiors to send me to Sigonia, despite their warnings. But… the work we did there, it wasn’t enough. I could help no one under the bounds of the IPC, so I sought out the Katicans. No more bounds. I was on the inside, where I could do things my own way.”

“Such lovely people, weren’t they?” He questions, apathy leaking from deep within. “Didn’t have a single care in the world other than themselves. They wanted to see everything burn, the women, children.”

“I have never seen a deeper hatred than what lies within them.”

You stop, again, toying with your fingers. Aventurine’s silence beckons you to proceed.

“I could only help so many, and they all ended up dying anyway. There was no escaping them, they were ruthless.” Your voice trails off, shaking your head slightly at the recollection of dark days in the wasteland they call Sigonia. No horrors match the ones that took place there. “I couldn’t imagine what you went through, any of you. And still, you’re alive.”

A word softly chants in your head. Destiny.

“Ever since I was born, I knew what was made out for me was never good.” Aventurine says, a hint of irony in his voice. “I fell on black days without knowing what it was like to live on the other side, and it’s been like that since.”

Flashes of your past mix in with current thought. You remember them, the Avign children, clinging to scraps of life even when it was evident their lives would soon end. Their eyes, just as brilliant as his, drowned by crashing waves, yet afloat on the prayer of hope. You imagine Aventurine was just like them, and you understand. Anger breeds and it seethes.

“How do you control it?” Such a simple question, yet so many answers. 

“I put it all into risk. Every single last bit of it. I gambled, and I won.” His pointer finger gently hits the table, and he raises his hand to wave it through the air. “I survive, and I bet again.”

“A bold motto, I must say.”

A small smile graces his features, shrugging lightheartedly.

“Luck seems to be on my side.”

You look to the side at the sound of a crack, noticing that rain has started to fall. The sky is obscured by deep grays, and the rumble beckons you to the sliding door separating you from the balcony. The crash of drops on concrete is soothing to your ears, bestowing a peace upon your heart you’ve failed to find for a while now. The serenity thickens as Aventurine steps to your side, the hues in a ring of his eyes reflecting the storm outside.

“I didn’t rain much back then.” He muses, gaze following the slow drizzle of fallen streaks on the balcony’s edge. “A privilege I can keep alive, now that I see it so often.”

You look to the side, meeting Aventurine’s eyes halfway. The corners of his lips turn up as he looks past you, covering his mouth as he stifles a yawn.

“Almost forgot about the bed.” He laughs, running a hand over his lower face. “You can have it, I’ll be okay on the floor.”

“Absolutely not!” You counter, head tilting in defiance. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

“That would be extremely impolite of me.”

“As it would be for me…”

“Will you please just sleep on the bed?”

“I brought extra pillows! I’ll be more comfortable than you on the floor.”

Aventurine stops, sending you a half lidded look. You walk over to your suitcase, swiftly pulling the two large pillows you packed out, holding them at your sides. He walks over to you, snatching a pillow out from one of your arms before walking toward the bed.

“Or, how about this?” He shoves your pillow on top of the hotel provided one. “We put the extra pillows on the bed, and we both take a half.”

You purse your lips, and shrug in reason. After patting your pillow into place, you climb onto the bed, turning on your side to ensure you’re only taking up half of the bed. 

As you land on your other shoulder, you nearly touch noses with Aventurine. He chuckles, eyebrows raising in a teasing manner.

“It’s not often someone gets the chance to be this close to me.”

You groan, tugging the coarse blanket to your chest as you flip to your front. Stifling a few chuckles, Aventurine turns so his back is facing you.

Within a few minutes, quiet snores begin to drift through your ears. You sigh, and roll your eyes. And yet, only peace visits you in your dreams.

–

There have been few nights of your stay in Salsotto without rain. You’ve grown accustomed to the melodic pad of morning to the erratic roar of the night. This night is different, however, as dew is high in the air but the clouds of the afternoon are white, tainted with swirls of pink that bode better weather. 

You fumble with the pearls on your neck, carefully positioning them so they rest on your collarbone. All IPC events require a clearance of wear that is above the standard grade of formal, nothing short of extravagant, explaining the fine tailored suit you wear over your dress. Ivory on cream, a palette that bodes well when making business deals. 

Heels click on pavement, Tumbleweed’s National Museum in sight. Golden lights cast the establishment in an elegant glow, and the stream of classical cello welcomes your ears as you approach. Welcoming smiles are given your way as you enter the building, and you start a long night of shaking hands and business chatter with the esteemed mechanical aristocrat Screwllum. 

Leisure chats of the Genius Society’s next project flow in and out of wine chutes, with gentle opera joining new deals of funding. Another hand shake bodes your farewell to a philanthropist from the Herta Space Station, and you take a seat at one of the tables nearby, attempting to gather your thoughts. Sipping on a glass of sparkling rose, you start jotting down tonight’s business proposals onto your phone.

“Having fun?”

You look up, offering a smile toward your temporary hotelmate as you pull the chair next to you back.

“Was wondering when I’d run into you, Aventurine.” You say, clinking glasses with the blonde. “How many deals have you clinched tonight?”

“More than you, I bet.” You scrunch your nose, folding your arms after sliding your phone his way. Aventurine takes a look through your notes, smile expanding on his face as he progresses.

“...And it seems I would be right.” He exclaims, holding up two full hands. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the natural charm.”

“Mhm. Super natural, and not annoying at all.” You quip, earning a light jab in the shoulder.

Your past two weeks with Aventurine had proved to be an easier feat than you had thought. Beside the snoring (that you had learned to tune out), he had served as a good source of company, squandering your worries of lingering grudges as you spent more time around one another. You were grateful he had the will in his heart to see the reason behind what you had done, although you were a little surprised to see that he had forgiven you with such ease. 

Now, to you, he seemed to be an easy soul forced to carry burdens that were undeserving of him. 

“Hey.”

You’re roused from your thoughts by the gentle tap of Aventurine’s foot against your heel. He cocks his head, and you’re suddenly aware of the soft serenade filling the room, sung by an artist famous for this piece.

“Let’s get our minds off of business for a while. Care to dance?”

He straightens his jacket before standing up, beckoning you to do the same. You accept the hand outstretched, threatening to roll your eyes as Aventurine lays his other on your back, guiding you to the floor.

“Trying to show off?” 

Aventurine slowly spins you into a shroud of spotlight, laughing when your eyes go wide from the precision of his arms slowing you back down. 

“Of course.”

A look is shared between the two of you, and the dance begins. You recognize the piece, Seid Umschlungen, Millionen! (Be Embraced, You Millions!), and fall into a sort of waltz, slow, quick, slow. Your feet move in a symphony of chirping violin and cello vibrato, swirling carefully around other dancers as you step from box to box. 

The music quiets in a moment of repose, and you slow, winding your hands around his neck as you sway, in wait. 

“What’s with the long face?”

The question catches you off guard, as you weren’t aware that your thoughts had reflected off of your face. Lips pursing, you wonder whether taking the chance and ruining the moment is worth it, but the question nags deep within, festering like a cancer that will not cease until it is freed. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Strings echo and rise; Aventurine fits a hand behind your back before spinning you into dance. His eyebrows are furrowed lightly, as if your question had caught him off guard in some sort of way, but you both knew it was coming. Trust is an uncertain entity, not easily won or wagered, never certain in whether it’s attained or lost. Forgiveness is a trial for trust, and within inquiry lie a question of deeper truth that never made it to the surface

Do you hate me, Aventurine?

There have been many times in the passing days where you’ve been questioned about your time in Sigonia-IV. A test to determine whether your actions deserved merit. Recounting stories of countless lives you worked tirelessly to save at the risk of your own. Gallons of blood stained on your hands from the guilty, those whose karma ran the empty river beds of the desert red. 

So much, and yet nothing at all. It’s as if life is out to play some game of twisted fate, as you see all of the lives you could not save in the man right before you. The brand slightly hidden by his collar and wispy blonde, jewelry glittering at his wrists, irises that shine in the darkest of nights. Bewitching, yet so alive. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He says, after some time. “You did a brave thing, I would be a fool to condemn you for it.”

Elation. It’s the feather touch of his hands, graceful in the way they dip you, nearly stopping time as you lay suspended. Your eyes lock, and you nearly drown in the glow of lavender and maya that stare back. Slowly, you feel one of his hands leave your back, dipping in his suit pocket and coming to rest in your vision. 

“Their memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.”

You’re lifted to stand, and, amidst a rather slow spin, Aventurine pins the turquoise meteorite you’d thought was long gone onto the span of dress fabric above your chest. The resounding smile shared is trust.

You twirl and sink until the song comes to an end, stopping in a hold of hands and interlocked legs as orchestra is overtaken by voice. In the midst of fading spotlight, your breath evens out, and you find yourself following the gambler’s hand to escape the noise, elbows brushing on a balcony railing as you stare out into the fading daylight.

The sky is tinged with the baby blue of afternoon, arising into a deep interweave of violet and blush. A small, red casino chip flips between Aventurine’s fingers, rolling to sit between his pointer and thumb in short pauses.

“Got any tricks up your sleeve, gambler?”

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, invigorated by the rise of your lips, challenging, daring. The game you propose has risk, but what is life without taking leaps blind? Aventurine is sure he can see you now, after all.

With a flip of the chip and a wave of his hand, the red disappears, and a cool sensation lands firmly on your lips. His face is inches away from yours, fingers gently pressing against the chip that severs the distance between you.

“There are tricks to any risk, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

You raise your hand, sliding the chip from your mouth and palming it. When he doesn’t move, you tug on his collar, chin tilting upward to press your lips to his. The sensation is warm, gentle, as if you tread on ice that threatens to shatter. Honey sears your tongue, and you revel in the touch of his lips, soft as the velvet of his tie.

The moment is all too short, yet your mouth feels numb as you break away. In a moment of silence, you take the hand that sits lightly clamped around your wrist, sliding the chip in his palm and closing his fingers.

“I think I’ll be gambling a lot with you, Aventurine.”

His face moves closer, and you look down for a moment, noticing the hand that sits behind his back.

“I look forward to it.”

–

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGIC INVESTMENT HQ | TWO MONTHS LATER

Knock, knock.

“Coming.”

The door opens in fluid motion, revealing a room cast in gloom, tan shade, blinds drawn. 

“Hey, Aven.” You sigh, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. “Long day?”

“Long day.” He mirrors, offering to take the stack of papers off of your hands. You accept, slipping into the chair across from his desk. “Are you done for today?”

“Mhm.” 

Aventurine sits in his desk chair, shrugging the navy coat he sports onto the back. You stretch your arms behind your back, watching as deft hands undo the cross hatched tie representing the cornerstones from his collar. As he sets the piece down, his office phone starts to buzz, and he groans.

“Hello, this is Aventurine… Uh huh, what time?” He draws circles into ebony, holding the phone to his shoulder as he reaches for a notepad. However, as he clicks the pen in his hand, he nearly drops the phone, clearly startled. “Can you repeat that? Si- okay. I’m coming.”

In a flurry of movement, he stands, tie and coat snatched. 

“We have to go, right now.”

His tone is impatient, brimming with anxiety and unwilling to contest. You blink a few times before following him out of his office, grabbing his coat to hold onto as he fits his tie back to his shirt. The walk is silent, save a quiet “thank you” when you hand the coat over and the click of shoes on tile. Your nerves rise as you move, watching the way he frets with his gloves, tugging on the ends repeatedly. 

In a matter of minutes, you arrive at the boardroom of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, stopping at the edge of the table as Jade turns around, followed by a concerned looking Topaz.

“Ah, Aventurine. What a surprise, I was sure not to include your name in the list of attendees tonight.“She sends a look to the white haired cornerstone, before directing her gaze to you. “Unfortunately, ranks below P40 are prohibited from attending this meeting. Guards, please see her out.”

You push against the guard that seizes your wrist, but are unable to resist as more come to his aid. After having the door shoved in your face, you’re dragged to the hallway outside of the meeting hall, forced to sit in wait. 

30 minutes. Another 30. An hour before the doors open, with Aventurine first, Topaz following close behind. He rushes past you, eyes on the ground, gone within seconds. Concern etches your features as Topaz runs up to you, lips pursed in distress,

“Aventurine-” She pauses, hand on her chest as she catches her breath. “Please go after him. You’re the only one that he’ll see now, after what just happened.”

“What happened?”

At your inquiry, she shakes her head, nodding her head toward the direction Aventurine took off in.

“It’s best you hear it from him. But, please, go see him tonight, he needs someone who’s close to his heart.”

Worry is quick to seep into your features, but you nod. A quick visit to his office and you’re off, taking the next jet off of Pier Point, to Klimt Republic. Weaving through streets and bullet trails full of life, you arrive in the heart of Klimt just two hours later, standing on the penthouse floor of an apartment complex worth more than the entire block you’re on.

Knock, knock.

Silence. You hesitate, and knock again. 

The shuffling of feet hit the floor, and you wait in anticipation, hands firmly at your sides as the noise stops. After a few moments, the door slowly opens, and you sigh in relief.

Aventurine stands, slightly hunched against the doorframe, hair disheveled, eyes red and irritated.

“Aven, what happ-”

A pair of hands seize your wrist, tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you. 

“Not now.” Your eyes widen at the plea in his voice, whole with a basal need that makes your chest tighten. “Please, just, make me forget about it right now.”

He looms over you, yet the shadow he casts is the antonym of threatening. Fear reeks off of him like vodka, as tears brim on his waterline. The feeling spreads to your skin like wildfire, and you feel him shake as you take his face in your hands, breathing shallow and scared.

The first taste of his lips is sweet, but the salt of his tears is quick to sink in. Clumsy and trembling, your bodies rock and hit walls as you make your way to his bedroom. You throw his coat to the side as he does yours, pushing him down onto his bed as you break for air. 

Aventurine’s hair flows out around him as he falls onto the mattress, shrouding him as a halo would. You chase after him, littering his neck with soft bites that elicit soft groans from the skin beneath. You unbutton half of his shirt before diving for his collarbone, reveling in the whines that respond as you nip and bruise. 

His hands reach for your pants, and you stop him before he can reach for your panties. 

“Ah-ah, hands behind your head.” Your voice pools out smooth, running a hand down his shirt. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” 

Gently pinning his hands above him, you let go, and he complies. You reward him with a kiss, messy and careless, pulling a string of saliva between your lips when you leave them. Your free hand pushes hair out of his eyes while the other works on the zipper of his slacks, watching as his fingers lock together as you apply pressure.

A shudder leaves Aventurine’s lips as you pull his boxers down, hand gently running along the length of his dick. Teeth tug at lips as you spit on your hand, working at his cock while running your free fingers along your folds. His neck lifts up as your hands move faster, and you grin, choking the noises that threaten to spill from your mouth at the display before you.

A sight like heaven, an angel laid out for worship. Aventurine’s skin is coated in a soft sheen of sweat that shines in the dim light, hand laid over one eye whilst the other remains barely open. Under the mix of hues that resemble wild fields of flowers, blush coats his cheekbones, a light to the darkness that blooms on his neck. The vulnerability of it makes your heart soar, and you feel a fire ignite in the depths of your being that fails to stoke.

The hand that toys with your clit lifts, prodding at Aventurine’s mouth as you lower yourself on his cock. Muffled whines vibrate around your fingers, and you moan at the fullness that envelops you. You swirl your fingers in his mouth, biting on your cheek as his tongue wraps around them, sucking on the sweet taste of you. 

His hands abruptly reach up, fingers winding and tangling in hair as they pull you down, replacing fingers with lips. The sensation is hot, as if an unquenchable balm has set your skin alight. 

“Feel good?”

“What kind of- ughh- question is that?” 

You clench around him as if it's instinct, and Aventurine calls your name as he would a prayer. His moans are akin to song, divine in melody, alluring in a way that shuts your mind off from anything else but him. One of his hands leaves your hair, fingers clumsily clamping around your own, holding you like fine china. 

The stretch of his dick does little to quench the hunger within, you crave more, a devout worshiper crying a hymn of need. Your motion becomes erratic, a twist of limbs and friction that siphons tears that streak down your cheeks, falling to mix in with the sweat on your lover’s face.

“Gonna-” Aventurine chokes on his own words, eyes shut harshly as he blinks back ecstasy. “Cum.”

Your words are lost to you, only managing to groan in response as Aventurine pulls you back to him. His lips seal over yours in a searing kiss, arms winding around your back to hold you still as your orgasm shakes you. White light flashes through closed eyes as you spasm around his dick, mixing with the cum that leaks inside of you. 

The room is quiet, save the howling wind of night and the dance of unstable breath. Blankets shuffle as you drop to Aventurine’s side, allowing him to drape your discarded shirt over your bare chest. Time seems to cease as you meet his gaze, touch serene as the plains of distant worlds as he encourages you to come closer. You accept, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the warm fan of his breath over your nose.

“The IPC is funding a project to excavate Sigonia.” The silence breaks, peace shatters and your eyes snap open. “Turquoise meteorites are rare, so they’ll scrape the whole planet dry until every last piece is gone.”

Your face falls, corners of your lips pulling downward. Aventurine’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly already accepting the fate of the planet he calls home. He refuses to look your way, eyes focused somewhere past you, the sorrow spreads and leaks into your soul as it opens further. A place so full of hatred and loss, yet a place that he will never be able to let go of. It burrows within the deepest neurons, refusing to snap and forget.

“You have to say something, Aven.” You pull at his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.”

“The IPC doesn’t have time to listen to Avgin.” He sighs, hope stale on his breath. “Not even if it's the last one alive.”

You still, fingers falling to rest against his cheek. Aventurine’s eyes close, brows furrowing lightly against pale skin.

“Sigonia will fall, and only Kakavasha will remain.”

Defeat. It seems that what events occurred in that meeting room left no room for conversation. Guilt flows through your veins like it’s replaced the red, and your chest aches, latching onto the horror that no doubt holds sovereignty in his head.

Kakavasha. Blessed by the heavens yet cursed by the living world. Such a beautiful name that deserves no hell it endures. 

Amidst the quietude, Aventurine’s hand slithers under the blankets, latching onto your wrist. He traces skin, knuckles brushing against your own, coming to rest intertwined.

“Can we try something?”

You nod, and your hand is slowly lifted to the air, palm against palm between your chests. You’ve seen this motion back on Sigonia, yet it’s always remained distant to you, and the words echo in obscurity. 

“I’ll go through it once, and we can do it together.”

You nod, once more. Aventurine closes his eyes for a moment, reciting a prayer lost to you in time.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

A brief pause passes. You sigh in unison, and lock eyes. A voice whispers within the depths of your mind, and you smile.

The memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

As the last words drift off of your lips, you bend your fingers, slotting them between his. Aventurine shares your sentiment; hope flashed in the gentle smile that graces his lips. Your eyes wander, and notice that a single tear trails down his face, disappearing into his skin as it rolls.

Outside, you hear the crack of thunder. You pull Aventurine in, and in your clutch, the downpour begins.

–

Some months later…

The chatter of voices on the phone rouses you from sleep, rubbing a hand over your eyes in annoyance as you come to. Light spills through drawn curtains and open glass doors, filtering the room in hues of honey and hazel. 

“Mhm. Alright, I understand. Let’s schedule the interview for today.”

Songs of canaries and mourning doves flow through the air, and you sit up, raising a hand to block out the sun’s gaze. Aventurine sets his phone down on the bedside table, stifling a yawn with his hand. You roll onto your side, hand propped up onto your chin as you soak in the sight of your lover.

His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, bangs astray and cast into his eyes. Only the top button of his sleep shirt is buttoned, leaving lean, sun kissed skin on display. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you in for a kiss. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You hum, knowing full well tonight has been one of the worst nights you’ve slept yet. Aventurine sees right through you, but chooses to say nothing, opting to pull you forward so half of your body drapes over him.

Today Aventurine leaves for Penacony. And, seeing as he was called in for a meeting, he’s probably leaving even sooner now. 

He seems to read your thoughts, offering a comforting peck to the corner of your lips in apology. Your hands card through his hair, head resting against his collarbone. 

You have your apprehensions about Penacony, having heard whispers on the streets of mysterious disappearances of people in the world’s famous dreamscape. The IPC has had a limited number of run-ins with the family, leading you to assume a recent grounds of suspicion has arised, and Aventurine was chosen as the solution. In his eyes, it’s just another gamble of life or death.

You’re roused from your thoughts by a tap on your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His words do little to soothe you, but you listen regardless. “The risks I take are always foolproof.”

Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

His phone rings, and the two of you groan before he gets up and tells the person on the other line that he’s on his way. You watch from his side of the bed as he throws his clothes on, grabbing two packed suitcases from the side of the bed before bending over to give you a kiss. The touch of his lips is bittersweet, nearly taunting as it is over before it even begins. You peck him again, running a hand over his hairline to straighten his bangs.

“Be safe out there, Aven.”

He smiles, so radiant it rivals the sun and all that it shines on. You think yourself blessed to see it survive.

“I will. Luck is always on my side.”

And he leaves. You turn to the window, awaiting the rain.

[elizadraws]

Bulgarian Music in Studio Ghibli films

”Myth has it that Orpheus was born in what is now Bulgaria. It seemed to be fact, not myth, that his daughters are still singing there”

These words were written by the New York Times in the remote 1963 — the year in which the largest Bulgarian folk ensemble crossed the Iron Curtain to conquer an entire continent with its cosmic art.

The 1975 release of Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, a compilation album of modern arrangements of Bulgarian folk songs, further popularized Bulgarian music, and in 1977, a vinyl record featuring the folk song “Izlel ye Delyo Haydutin” (Eng: Come out rebel Delyo) began its journey aboard the Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 spacecrafts.

From this point on popularity from the West spread to the East, and Bulgarian folk music made it to the entertainment industry, including legendary Japanese anime films, like the cult cyberpunk “Ghost in the Shell” or the heartwarming Studio Ghibli features.

In this short article I write about two occasions of Bulgarian music playing in Studio Ghibli’s films.

The record that inspired the creation of “Only Yesterday”

“Only Yesterday” is a 1991 Japanese animated drama film written and directed by Isao Takahata, based on the 1982 manga of the same title by Hotaru Okamoto and Yuko Tone. Set in rural Japan, the film draws parallels with the peasant lifestyle present in Eastern Europe.

The original work is a compilation of short stories about 11-year-old Taeko’s daily life in 1966. Director Takahata had a hard time making it into a movie since the manga, told in the form of a memoir, has no plot to hold a feature. Together with producer Toshio Suzuki, they came up with the solution of bringing the narrator of the story, adult Taeko, into the movie. But there is a curious anecdote about how this idea came to mind.

Taeko picks safflower as the Bulgarian song “Malka moma dvori mete” plays in the background. © Studio Ghibli

In a 2021 interview with students from Sofia University St. Kliment Ohridski, producer Suzuki recounts how a record of Bulgarian songs performed by the children choir “Bodra Smyana”, introduced to him by director Takahata, inspired the creation of the movie. Moved by the cosmic voices of the children, they decided to make “Only Yesterday” a musical. He also recalls what a tiring process it was to acquire the rights to the music, but if you’ve seen the movie, I am sure you will agree that it was worth it; the haunting, beautiful songs with the pastoral images of farmers picking flowers contribute to one of the greatest scenes created in cinema.

Producer Suzuki showing the record that inspired the creation of ”Only Yesterday”. Source: Studio Ghibli’s Twitter

In “Only Yesterday”, we can hear two songs from the album Bulgarian Polyphony I by Philip Koutev Ensemble. The upbeat “Dilmano Dilbero” [Eng. beautiful Dilmana] sets a happy mood as the protagonist gets changed and ready to go on the field. As the scene shifts and Taeko starts narrating a sad story about the girls in the past picking safflower with their bare hands, the song and mood shift as well.

While the first song has a fast rhythm, with lyrics about pepper planting that can also be interpreted figuratively, the second one, “Malka Moma Dvori Mete” [Eng., a little girl sweeps the yard], is a ballad about a young girl who is forced into marriage but has never known true love.

Both compositions sing about life-cycle events like marriage and the regular coming of the harvests, with lyrics perfectly fitting the setting and plot of the movie, which makes me wonder if the filmmakers chose them by chance or if they had someone translate the words.

Bulgarian Cosmic Voices Enchanting Howl

“Howl’s Moving Castle” is a 2004 Japanese animated fantasy film written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, loosely based on the 1986 novel of the same name by British author Diana Wynne Jones. Set in a fictional kingdom the movie draws inspiration from various places in Europe. One of them being Bulgaria.

The story focuses on a young girl, named Sophie, magically transformed into an old woman, and a self-confident but emotionally unstable young wizard, Howl, living in a magical moving castle.

A sketch of a Star Child. Source: The Art of Howl’s Moving Castle

If you’ve seen the movie, you surely remember the scene when Madame Suliman ambushes Howl and tries to strip him of his magic powers. Star Children encircle him and his companions; their shadows grow big, dark and intimidating. They start dancing and chanting unintelligible magic words and are almost successful in their devilish act.

This scene, together with the music played in the background, have been a favourite of many fans of the film. Some even recount it giving them nightmares when they were children.

Star Children encircle Howl in an attempt to strip him of his magic powers. © Studio Ghibli

It turns out, however, that these aren’t any incantations, but the lyrics of a folk song. In Bulgarian. And a love song! Contrary to popular belief, the lyrics have nothing to do with magic and are actually about a boy taking his sweetheart, Dona, to the market to buy her new clothes. The excerpt used in the movie is very short and a bit altered from the original, but the words used go like this: Trendafilcheto, kalafercheto, Done mamino, translated as “the rose, the costmary, my darling Dona”.

I am planing a follow up article where I will post the translated lyrics together with a brief explanation on how they are related to the movies.

If you want to comment on or add something, I would love to hear!

Source

[cowboybeepboop]

My Dearest

“That was…” your voice trails off as you close your eyes sleepily.

“Incredible,” Javi finishes your sentence, his voice filled with satisfaction.

Pairing: Javier “Javi” Rivera x fem! Reader

Genre: smut but like with fluff as well

Word count: 3516

Summary: After reconnecting with Javi, you find yourself craving a much deeper connection.

a/n: Wrote this for my bestie bc he’s her twisters crush, but I can’t take him seriously without thinking of Hamilton 😭 also it was like so hard to even find a picture for this? Theres like no good pics of Anthony as Javi 😟 hope you enjoy!

Javi had successfully convinced you to join him, however you weren’t fully convinced this was such a great idea. Even seeing an overpass brought the memories back. The memories of running through the extreme winds, the metal digging into your skin, watching as Addy gets swept away by debris. Squeezing your eyes shut tight as a hand covers the leg that was cut.

“Hey, Y/N? Are you okay?” Javi’s hand covers your knee as he rubs gentle circles into the fabric.

“Mhm,” mustering up a smile, you open your eyes and turn to face him. “I’m okay.” He visibly relaxes as his lips curve into a warm smile. He begins to ramble and you tune him out, your eyes wander out the window once again, taking in the landscapes. The flat yellow-green terrain that seems endless, with the vast and open fields that stretch through the horizon. Clean yet musky air hits your nose as you take in deep slow breaths. On the edge of a field barbed-wire fencing lines the property with a barn and a lone windmill weathered by years of sun and wind exposure.

The truck comes to a stop at what appears to be a rest station, the lot is filled with storm-par vehicles, tourists, and storm chasers (who are only interested in the high of adrenaline). You follow Javi out of the car and he introduces you to his team. “So what do you think?” Your eyes were locked on the screen of his tablet. “Which storm should we follow?” Scott offers his opinion and you shoot Javi a pained expression.

“I think you should choose. It’s been a while.” The tablet feels heavy in your palms as you shift your weight between feet. His warm hand wraps around your shoulders with a reassuring squeeze.

“Y/N come on, you’ve got this,” his voice is smooth and gentle. Biting down on your lip you turn your back to the group of guys, walking away. Javi stops them from following you as he notices your need to be alone. He knew you needed a few moments alone, and as he and his team watched you, his eyes were always on you.

The breeze moves gently through the air, creating a soothing consistent rustle in the dry grass. Fluffy clouds dot the sky with the sunlight bathing everything in a warm, soft glow. The wind carries a refreshing, warm sensation. As it flows, it creates a gentle, rhythmic sound that’s soothing and tranquil. You pick up a dandelion, crushing the soft puffball of seeds between your fingers. The ripple of the breeze carries the seeds into the air.

Turning your back you head back over to Javi and the rest of storm par. “Let’s go west.” You hand Javi his tablet.

“The one to the east has much better numbers” Scott interrupts.

”But the conditions don’t feel right, the cap is too strong. It'll never break.” Scott narrows his eyes at you, a scowl finding its way to his lips.

“You heard her lets go.” Javi’s hand presses into the small of your back.

—————

Once you were facing the storm you freaked out, you couldn’t do it. You made Javi get back in and you drove further away. But instantly knew you fucked up, your stomach dropped as he yells out “We’re too far!”

The car came to a screeching halt as you freaked out and Javi let out a quick curse, his fingers gripping the door handle tight. ”What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration as he turned to look at you.

”I’m sorry Javi.. I don’t know what I was thinking,” you let go of the steering wheel putting your shaky hands on top of your thighs. “I didn’t mean to mess with your data collection.” Your voice trails off as you look down at your lap.

Javi let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he took a moment to calm down. He turned to face you fully, his gaze softening slightly.

"I know you didn't mean to, Y/N," he said, his voice still tinged with irritation, but with a hint of understanding. "But we can't just drive away like that. We need to get closer if we want any usable data."

You nod and hop out of the car, watching as the storm moves further away. Javi gets out to call Scott and you sigh. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath.

“Come on Y/N, we should head to the motel,” his voice rings out interrupting your thoughts. You respond with a nod and get into the passenger side of the truck.

You sigh as Javi pulls into the motel parking lot, “I’m really sorry. I just froze, I don’t know what happened.” He nods.

“No it’s okay, there’s always tomorrow.” he smiles reassuringly, “do you want to chill out here for a while? I mean i’d need to go shower and change first but..”

“Javi I’m real tired… But maybe we could watch tv in your room for a bit?” You fumble with the straps of your backpack as you look over at him.

Javi studied your face for a moment, seeing the exhaustion written all over it. He knew that you were hesitant about joining the group of tourists outside, and he didn’t press the issue.

“Yeah, we can do that,” he replied with a nod. “Let’s go up to my room and watch TV for a bit. You can rest there.”

”Okay, come on then,” you lace your arm into his as you follow his lead. Javi couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. He appreciated your closeness, and the way you sought comfort in him.

As you walked together towards his room, he couldn’t help but notice how tired you looked. He knew it had been a long day, and you needed to rest. You open the door with his key, you sigh softly as you let yourself in. Dropping your bag on the floor you stretch your arms out.

Javi follows you inside, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. The room feels cozy, the air slightly cool and crisp from the air conditioning.He walks over to the bed and takes a seat against the headboard, patting the space next to him on the mattress. “Come on, sit down and rest for a bit.”

You smile as you kick off your sneakers and plop onto the bed next to him. Finding your way into his arm cuddling against his chest and pressing your face against his shoulder. “I’ve missed this Javi..” your voice trails off as you turn the tv on.

Javi feels your warm body press against his as you cuddle into his chest, and his arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you closer. He can’t help but feel a sense of contentment at your words, and his heart skips a beat.

“I’ve missed this too,” he says quietly, his voice a gentle rumble against your ear. “It’s been too long.” You wrap an arm around his torso. Finding comfort in his familiar scent.

”What should we watch?” Your voice is gentle as you nuzzle your face into him. He runs a hand gently up and down your back, feeling the warmth and softness of your skin under his fingertips, you shiver from his touch.

“I don’t know, anything you want,” he replies, his voice soft and gentle. “Just pick something that doesn’t require too much thought.” He couldn’t help but feel a wave of comfort at your affectionate gesture. He adjusts his arm, pulling you even closer as he sinks back into the pillows, the warmth of your body against his own a soothing presence.

”Hmm,” you turn your body to face the tv flipping through the movies and shows, you finally decide on a random movie. Tossing the remote to the side you turn your attention back to Javi, repositioning yourself at his side. “I really missed you,” looking over at him you take the time to admire his face. You always did encourage him to cut his hair and damn does it look good on him. In the past 5 years you’ve forgotten just how handsome your friend truly is.

Javi feels your eyes on him as you reposition yourself at his side, and he can’t help but feel a wave of comfort and familiarity at your closeness. He looks down at you, feeling your gaze on his face, and he notices the way you’re studying him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers gently caressing your face. “I’ve missed you too,” he says softly, his eyes locked on yours. “More than you know.” you find a soft blush painting your cheeks as you were caught staring at him. You hope he doesn’t realize you were checking him out, the embarrassment send a chill through your body

”Your hair looks good like this,” you reach up to touch his soft curls, “I’m glad you finally cut it,” Javi notices the soft blush that creeps onto your cheeks as your fingers reach up to touch his hair, and he can’t help but smile at your words.

"Thanks,” he says with a small chuckle, tilting his head slightly to the side to give you better access to his hair. “I’m glad you like it.” He realizes how comfortable it feels having you by his side, just like old times.

”Of course I do, I always told you to cut it,” your hand moves down from his hair to his jaw, you brush your pointer finger over his jawline. “You look so handsome with short hair,” you whisper into his ear. Your words echo in his ears and he can feel a faint blush creeping onto his own cheeks at the compliment.

He turns his head slightly to look at you, feeling your warm breath in his ear. “You always did hate my longer hair,” he responds with a chuckle, his voice a bit huskier than usual. Your tongue flicks out to wet your bottom lip as you notice the closeness of his face to yours. A loud crack of thunder sounds outside the window but does little to distract you both.

“I love your curls..” your hand finds its way back into his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands as you softly pull at the dark locks. His eyes lock onto yours, his heartbeat quickening in his chest as he realizes how close your face is to his. He can feel the heat of your breath on his skin, and his body instinctively leans in closer to you.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he lets out a soft gasp at the sensation of your fingers in his hair. “Mm,” he murmurs, “You always know how to drive me crazy with that.” You smile sweetly while maneuvering yourself onto his lap.

”I know, that's why I do it,” you giggle softly while putting your free hand against his chest. Your weight settles on him with a pleasant sensation. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as his hands grip your hips.

He can’t help but smile at your words, his eyes locked on your fingers as they rest against his chest. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice low and playful. “Just trying to drive me wild, hmm?”

”Always,” you whisper into his ear as you begin to pepper kisses from his temple to his jawline. Javi lets out an involuntary moan as your lips brush against his skin. The feeling of your kisses against him sends a wave of pleasure through his body, and his fingers grip your hips tighter.

He tilts his head back slightly, giving you better access to his skin, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as he lets out a soft exhale. “You’re so cruel,” he husks out, his voice shaky with suppressed desire.

”But you love it, don’t you?” You tease softly before your lips connect with his neck once more. You move toward his collarbone and begin sucking soft hickies into his tanned skin. He lets out a soft moan feeling a sense of pure ecstasy at the sensation of your mouth on his skin.

He tilts his head back once more, exposing more of his neck to you, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “God, yes I love it,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly. “You know I love it.” his hands still gripping your hips tightly as he tries to reign in the growing heat between you. The sensation of your touch combined with the knowledge that you were marking him up causes a pang of desire to shoot through his body.

You pull back admiring the pinkish marks you left upon his skin. Your hands move to the sides of his face as you run your thumbs over his cheek bones. “Are you going to make a move? Or keep letting me have full control?”

Javi looks at you with dark, lust-filled eyes as you pull back he can feel the heat radiating off of his body and he knows that he's moments from snapping.

But the sound of your question, spoken with a hint of challenge, makes him pause for a moment. He raises an eyebrow at you and lets out a low chuckle.

“You really want me to, don’t you?” he asks, his voice deep and ragged as he leans closer, his hands now gripping your waist with a newfound possessiveness.

You begin to move your hips, grinding against him, feeling his hardness through your pants. Your breath quickens as you kiss him, hands owing to his hair, your lips demanding and insistent.

Javi groans into your mouth, his hands sliding from your waist to your hips as he guides your movements. “That’s it, just like that baby.”

As you increase the pace, Javi’s hands move to your thighs, squeezing the sensitive flesh as he thrust upward to meet your motions. “You feel so good, darling. Let me hear you.” His hand rasps the back of your head leaning it to the side as he presses sloppy kisses to your cheek.

You moan as the pleasure builds inside of you, your head falling back as you give into the sensations “Javi.. oh god…”, he slides you off his lap. Pulling you away from your orgasm, your eyebrows furrow in confusion as he lays you down on your back.

”What was that for?” You whine a little, his fingers swiftly unbutton your shorts. He pulls them off of your legs, his lips connect with the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

“I want to hear you scream.” He encourages, his voice rough with desire. He pushes your legs apart as he slides your panties off next, groaning at the sight of your wet pussy. His lips connect with your tender clit, swirling circles around it with his warm tongue.

Your back arches off the bed as you tightly grip ahold of the sheets. Loud moans leaving your parted lips, your face contorting in pleasure. As if on cue, the storm outside intensifies, the wind howling and the rain pounding giants the window.

He moves you off the bed as he lays against it, lifting your body up to hover over his lips. You moan, gripping a hold of the headboard, biting down on the wood to muffle your cries.

Your hips buck as his tongue working its magic, his hands holding your thighs apart while devouring you. He moans, the sound vibrating against your sensitive leash, his arms pulling you closer, plunging his fingers into your wet heat.

”Oh god, Javi! Right there!” You gasp as his fingers find your sweet spot, your walls clenching around him. He smiles against you, his tongue never stopping its relentless assault. He adds a third finger, stretching and filling you as he feels your orgasm building.

Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips bucking wildly as you ride his face. Javi suckled your clit as his fingers curled inside you, sending you over the edge. You moan his name “I’m gonna cum“ squeezing your thighs around his head as you become more and more sensitive, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, your body trembling your release washes over you, your juices coating his fingers and mouth.

“Oh god, Javi!” The pleasure becomes too much, you push his forehead gently as you try to squirm away, yet he holds your hips against his lips. After he finishes licking up your cum, he releases your body. You slide off his face, straddling his hips once again.

Javi takes your lips in a possessive kiss as you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling his body against yours. He holds you tight, his hands moving up to cup your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your sensitive nipples.

As you come down from your high, you rest your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his. “It’s my turn now.” You tease. His eyes darken with desire as he moves his hands to the button of his jeans.

Your eyes widen as you see the bulge in his pants, a mix of anticipation and lust fluttering in your stomach. He pulls you into another passionate kiss, his hands moving to yours.

Javi lowers your hands to his belt, your breath hitches as you undo the buckle. Your fingers moving to his fly, sliding the zipper down. As you pull his jeans and boxers down, his hard length springs free, thick and veined, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You bite your look, looking up at him with desire.

“You like what you see, babe?” Javi murmures, his voice thick with need as he slides his hand in your hair. You nod, glancing down at his cock. You reach out wrapping your hand around him, feeling his head and smoothness.

Javi groans, his head falls back as you begin to stroke him, your movements slow and exploratory. “Fuck, just like that… feels so good.” You lean forward, your tongue darting out to taste the salty drop of pre-cum on the tip.

“Oh damn!” Javi cries out, his hips bucking as your warm, wet mouth closing around him. You take your time, your lips and tongue working him over, savoring the taste and feel of him in your mouth.

He clenches the bedsheets, his body rigid as he tries to hold back, wanting to prolong the moment. “Y/N, I’m not gonna last if you keep this up” with a final, deep suck, you release him, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock.

You position yourself above his dick, your eyes heavy-lidded as you reach down, guiding I’m to your entrance. Javi groans as he pushes inside of you, your warmth enveloping him and your muscles clenching around his shaft.

“Oh god, you feel so good,” you moan, throwing your head back as he begins to move, his hips snapping as he thrusts into you.

Javi’s eyes roll back as he feels the tightness of you around him, your wet heat drawing him in. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight..” finding a rhythm, he begins to move faster, his hands grasping your hips as he pushes into you, your flesh slapping together.

You meet his thrusts, your nails raking down his back as the pleasure builds inside you once more. “Fuck Javi! I’m gonna cum again!” Your walls clench around him, your juices flowing as you cry out, your body shaking with the force of your release.

Unable to hold back any longer, Javi surrenders to the pleasure, his hips snapping faster as he chases his own release. “Y/N, I’m cumming!” He buries his face in your nape as he fills you, his release coating your insides as he thrusts into you. Your bodies joined in the ultimate act of pleasure.

As both of your breathing slows, you collapse beside him. He pulls you close, your sweat-dampened bodies sticking together. He wraps his arm around your shoulders as he keeps your body tight against his, seeming as if he’s afraid to let you go.

You smile, tracing patterns on his chest as you snuggle into his side, wrapping your leg around his thigh. “That was…” your voice trails off as you close your eyes sleepily.

“Incredible,” Javi finishes your sentence, his voice filled with satisfaction. With a content sigh, you press a gentle kiss to his chest, the sound of the storm outside a gentle lullaby as you drift off to sleep, safe and satisfied in Javi’s arms.

Your shared passion had healed old wounds, the storm outside a reflection of the tempestuous desires that had been released, leaving only peace and contentment in its wake.

[247-diaperboy]

Friends house

Story of high school friends reunited after several years of not seeing each other.

Max had been my best friend when i was young. We stayed friends all though eliminatory school and high school. After graduation, we went our separate ways.  He went to college on the west coast and i went to college on the east coast. 

He went to school studying to work in cooperate finance. He wanted to be a cooperate vice president of finance for a big compony. He was ambitious and determined. I had a feeling that he would succeed. 

I went to law school and graduated from law school. I prepared for my bar exam.  I decided to start my own law firm.  It was silly but I wanted to try to make a go of it. I actually kept my day job. Just in case. 

My law firm did take off. I was able to get clients. I developed a reputation. I was still young and could make a life for myself. I would have money. I had a purpose. That was what i wanted.  

Max too was going up the letter. He got a job in an accounting department at a fairly well-known company.  He was able to move up to mid-level management.  Then he was offered vice president of finance after his predecessor was moved up in position.  

We had tried to keep in touch after we graduated. We had for a little while. We talked on the phone and email.  Then we got busy and had our own lives. We tried to keep in touch, but it did not work. 

It seemed we had moved on. We were in a different place. Our lives no longer intertwined. Over time we were fine with it. We were so fine with it that we did not notice that we were apart. It was not a major factor in our lives. 

I made a comment on his social media page. He wrote a response.  I followed up with a response of my own.  Then he commented.  We ended up having a long conversation on his wall. The conversation moved from his social media page wall to messenger. We had quite the online conversation. It went on and on for quite some time.  

After a time, I got a call. I answered my phone.  “Hello this is matt. I said. "Matty its Max.” he said. I was thrilled to hear from him. We ended up talking on the phone for an hour in a half. It was like old times. 

We ended up talking on the phone back and forth. we had numerous phone calls. He had suggested that i come visit him and stay over for a week or so. I did not think that he would really happen. I was pretty sure that he did not think it would happen either. I said, sure that sounds great. We did continue to talk about it.it seemed like a pipe dream. It hardly sounded like something that would really happen.  

He kept talking to me about coming to visit him. Over time it became a real possibility. We decided that we were really going to do it. We made arrangement for me to come see him for ten days. I would stay with him in his home. 

I held out my enthusiasm at first. I refused to get excited. Then as we cemented our plans, I got more and more excited.  Then as i got closer to my vacation, I got really excited.  I wanted to see Max again.  I knew that Max wanted to see me. 

I worked my last day before my vacation. I had packed though out the week. After I completed my last shift before the vacation, I went home and finished up the packing. I went to bed and the next day I got ready to go. 

A friend of mine drove me to the airport. I was there in plenty of time. Until I actually boarded the plane, I still did not totally feel that it was real. As the plane neared the airport near Max, I knew that indeed this was really going to happen. 

The plane touched down. We were allowed to disembark. We got up from the plane. I was exhilarated as I departed from the aircraft. I looked for my friend. After a few seconds of canvassing the area, I found him. 

I walked over to him. I gave him a great big hug. I got in his car, and we headed to his house. We arrived. He took out his grill. We got caught up on what we had doing.  We reminisced about our crazy activities as a kid. We laughed a lot. 

It was like no time had passed. We both had a lot of fun. I was enjoying myself. I could tell that he was as well. 

After a long day of hanging out and catching up, we were both tired. We both decided to call it a night. 

“Hey, I am going to have you stay in the guest room. It is the first bedroom up the stairs to your right. Max said. “Oh ok. Sounds good. I answered. “I have another request. I was taken a back. I had no idea what this ‘request’ was. “What is this request? “I asked. 

“I want you to wear a diaper to bed. “A diaper?” I asked. “Yes. I waterproofed the bed but just as a precaution, I want you to wear one. I was totally shocked. I was not expecting that. 

“A diaper? Really max! I have not had a problem with bed wetting sense i was eight. I don't have any problem with incontinence. I assured him. 

“I remember your issues when you were younger. I have not seen you in a while. I think it is a wise precaution knowing your history Matty.

I did not want to fight with him over this. This was his house. I agreed. We went upstairs.  He took out a diaper.  I pulled down my pants.  I took off my underwear. I laid on my back on the bed. He put a diaper under my bum. Max pulled the diaper up between my legs and fastened the tapes. As strange as it may sound, I slept great.

I woke up. I had not peed myself. I hoped maybe I would convince him that I am fully potty trained and wearing a diaper is really not necessary.  I woke up and went downstairs. He was making breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” he asked. “I slept great. I told him. I noticed he was wearing a diaper. I asked why are you wearing a diaper?

I wear diapers at night now.  It feels so good.  Did you soil yourself?” he asked. “No i did not. “I said. 

“You should. It feels so good. “He said. I was stunned. After breakfast he asked me to help him take off his diaper.  We went to his room. I took off his diaper. It was really wet. I threw it away. 

He told me it would be a shame to waste a diaper.  He told me to pee myself.  I tried and tried. I could not do it. He told me to relax. He told me to picture a toilet.  He told me to tell my brain it was ok to let go. Finally, the urine leaked out. It felt weird. It also felt good. I liked it.

 That night he suggested we sleep in the same bed. I liked that idea.  We laid in bed.

Neither of us was gay.  We both liked girls.  We had had girlfriends.  We were both busy with careers, so we were not dating as of late. We were one of those friendship where we made people wonder. We did not care. 

We hung out all week. We played basketball. We ran together. We watched tv and movies together. At one time he leaned on me. I put my arm around him.

One night we cuddled.  I hated when the vacation was over. He came to visit me a few months later. We continue to correspond.  I started to wear diapers at night.  I wet my diaper at night. I wore regular underwear in the day. I never had an issue.  However now I had an entire stock of diapers in my bedroom.

Max and I kept in touch.  He started his own compony in my town. Eventually we decided to move in together. We sleep in the same bed.  Are we a couple?  It is not clearly defined at least not yet. 

[mama2bears]

Matters Of The Heart

This was a request messaged to me by @lonewolf830. I am going to try to drag this out and make a little longer story out of your idea. I hope you like the direction it goes!

Pairings: Scott/F.Reader(Scott is an ass), future Tyler/F.Reader

Warnings: A few swear words. Tornado damage. (Future Chapters will have Whump, hurt/comfort, and angst.) Inaccurate weather stuff

Summary: You are new to Storm Par and Tyler Owens is already chasing you. Scott has already asked you out on a date and warned you against Tyler, so you brush off Tyler, believing everything Scott has told you. However, when you are put in danger, it's always Tyler running to your rescue. You begin to wonder if maybe Tyler isn't all that bad after all.

Chapter 1

You were standing in the parking lot, gazing out over the horizon at the building storm clouds. The wind gently blew though your hair. A large group of storm chasers were gathering in preparation for the upcoming expected tornado outbreak across Oklahoma. This was your first day on the job with the Storm Par company. Your job was to track the storm's location and they were to follow it, gather information, and for reason's you didn't yet understand, you were suppose to help get property information on the places that got destroyed.

The sudden blare of country music filled the air along with the roar of an engine. You look up to see a red Dodge Ram pull in followed by a van and RV. A guy in a white cowboy hat and sun glasses gets out as a crowd surround the truck.

“If you feel it....” he yelled.

“CHASE IT!!!” the crowd yells back.

“I said IF YOU FEEL IT....” He yelled a little louder and the crowd responded with “CHASE IT!”

You watched for a few moments as he was laughing and signing autographs as he posed for photos.

“Alright you tornado nerds!” a woman yelled from the RV, holding some shirts up. Everyone flocked to her with money in hand.

You shook your wondering what kind of crazy that group of storm chasers were, and why did it seem like everyone loved them so much. The wind shifted and you turned your attention back to the sky.

“Hey. I'm Tyler. You new to chasing?” a deep voice came from behind.

You turned to see the guy in the white cowboy hat that was just surrounded by a group of fans. You couldn't help but notice the sparkle in his green eyes when he took off his glasses, or the way he smiled, the stumbled face.

“Yeah, first day.” you gave him a soft smile, “I am Y/N.” you extend a hand to him.

His rough callused hand felt strong and warm, yet tender as he shook your hand, “What team you with?” he asked.

“Storm Par.”

“Oh...them.” Tyler rolled his eyes. “You can do better then that, you know.”

“What's wrong with Storm Par? They seem like a really nice company, and the pay is great.”

“Y/N! Let's go!” Scott, your partner barked from across the parking lot.

“Well, gotta go.” you gave Tyler another smile. “It was really nice to meet you. You seem to have quite the following.”

“I do.” he nodded and tipped his cowboy hat at you, “Nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

Standing there, he watched you walk away, his eyes following the movement of your butt swaying. 'Hope to see you again soon.' he thought to himself.

“Hey.” you call to Scott as you get in the truck, “Looks like we need to head west.”

“What the hell were you doing talking to Owens?” Scott yelled, causing you to jump.

“Owens? His name was Tyler.” you say, a bit startled, “He was just being nice, introducing himself.”

“Tyler OWENS is his name, and he's nothing but trouble. Stay away from him.” Scott muttered, looking at the data on the laptop you held. “You sure about the west? I think the East holds more promise.” he muttered.

“Go west. Trust me.” you smile at him.

“Fine. West it is. But if you're wrong, it's your ass. Not mine.” He sped out of the parking lot.

“Come on. Let's go.” Tyler jumped into the truck, seeing the same thing you just had. “We're going west.”

“What's so wrong with Tyler?” you ask once on the road.

“He's Mr. YouTube star. He sells merch to make a buck off of everyone. He's got a new girl every night it seems. He thinks he's some Mr. Big shot, better then everyone else. He reels you in with that Mr. Nice Guy act and then he uses you for whatever you're good for and tosses you out like trash.”

“Oh.” you are taken aback by Scott's harsh words. Tyler didn't come across as that type of person from your first meeting, but...that was one meeting. He was selling stuff and he did have a large following. You could believe what Scott was telling you. After all, Scott had been doing this for several years and probably knew Tyler a lot better then you would have from just a quick meeting. “Thanks for the warning.” you gave a smile to Scott.

“Oh come on, you didn't actually fall for his act? Did you?” Scott looked over at you with a look of disbelief.

“Well...I mean...he wasn't bad to look at and he was nice.” you grin with a shrug.

“Really, Y/N? I thought you were smarter then that.”

“Make a right here.” you say. “I was just going off my first impression. I am sure I would have figured him out pretty quickly on my own...but seriously, thank you for the warning. I can avoid that heartbreak.”

Scott pulls off to the right and follows a dirt road. “Avoid him all together. He's bad news.” he muttered, “Hey, if you want to go out and have a good time, let me know. I'll take you out. I am not a womanizer like he is.”

“Oh, is that so?” you grin, “You mean to tell me someone as nice looking as you doesn't have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.” Scott shook his head, “Not many girls want to go chasing after tornadoes.” he shoots you a look, his eyes seemly undressing you and he grins, “What you say, sweetie? Go out with me tonight?”

You shrug, “Okay, sure. If it's not against company policy or anything.”

“Not at all.” Scott grins, “We'll go down to the Reno bar tonight. It's right down the road from the hotel. Sound good?”

“Sure...” you start to say and then scream, “SCOTT! WATCH OUT!”

Music blasts from the speakers as Tyler's red Dodge Ram cuts you off. He is yelling something at you, but over the music and Scott cussing, you can't hear what it is...you don't really care at the moment.

“Asshole!” Scott was yelling as he fought to get the truck back on the road.

Suddenly, Tyler turned his truck sideways, blocking your path.

“What the HELL man!” Scott rolls down his window yelling.

“TURN AROUND! It's an EF 5 up ahead! Check your data again. You can't drive THAT truck into an EF5! I wouldn't drive MY truck into one. TURN AROUND!” Tyler yelled.

“Fuck you man!” Scott tried to drive around but Tyler pulled forward, bumping into the white Storm Par truck.

“Listen, if you want to get yourself killed, go for it! But don't be taking her into that!” Tyler yelled, his eyes locking on yours. “Y/N, check the data. Am I right?”

You frantically punch the keys on the laptop refreshing the screen. “Oh my God.” you gasp. “Scott, he's right. It's MASSIVE! We gotta turn around.”

“Fine...Whatever.” Scott turns the truck around and glares at you, “Why the hell did you tell me to go this way if it's an EF5! YOU told me to turn right. I did that!”

“It wasn't that big when I checked it last! It just blew up!” you try to defend yourself. This was a great first impression. “Sorry.” you muttered.

“Just...pay more attention next time.” he said.

“I will.” you mutter, refreshing the feed again on the laptop, “Looks like the tornado is moving to the west. It's out of the town now. We should go back there and see if we can be of any help. I can't imagine the destruction..”

Scott pulls the truck into a parking lot and glares at you, “If you are going to work with Storm Par, you've got to understand time is money. We don't get paid to help people. We get paid for the storm data, we get paid for the property data...we don't get paid to help. That's someone else's job...not ours.”

You nod and he turns around heading back into town. As you drive though, you see houses and businesses completely leveled. You notice Tyler's truck parked among the rumble and he was climbing over a destroyed house calling for what you guessed was a dog. The woman from the RV was selling stuff from the back of it and another girl was walking around with food and water, passing them out.

It looked like they were helping, but you also could see what Scott said about them selling stuff was true.

“It's all a show.” Scott's voice cuts into your thoughts. “They brag about how much they help so they can get more money from their followers and more people will want to buy shirts. They aren't really helping, they're only promoting themselves.” he scoffed.

You sigh as he stops the truck, “Here. Go give our card to everyone who's lost their home or business. Tell them we make cash offers for their properties. Get information from all who are interested and then run some numbers for us. See what the property value is and make sure we find out what kind of insurance they have.”

“Scott, are you sure this is the right time for that? I mean, they JUST lost everything...should we really be swooping in offering to buy whatever they have left?” you frown. Your heart broke for these people and this idea just wasn't sitting right with you.

“It's our job. It's what we do.” Scott sighed, “Seriously Y/N. I thought you were excited about this job! So far all you've done was almost got us killed and complained! If we don't get to them now someone else will and we will lose out on that money.”

“Alright. You're right. I am sorry. I am just trying to learn this job.” you sigh and get out of the truck, walking up to a lady and introducing yourself. She was in tears. “I am so sorry. If you need anything, call us at Storm Par.” you give her a hug. “Did you have insurance on the house?”

“No.” the woman cried shaking her head.

“I am so sorry.” your heart broke for her, “Storm Par would be willing to make a cash offer on your land. If that's the road you want to take, give us a call.”

“Okay.” she mumbled, and walked away calling for her cat.

“Hey, Y/N...close call there.” Tyler jogged up to your side. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Thank you. For stopping us. It's my fault, I should have been paying attention.”

Tyler frowned, “It's not your fault. That storm just exploded. We were following it too. It didn't look that big and then wham, all of a sudden it was a monster. Once you guys got turned around we drove on into town to try to warn as many people as possible and get them into shelter.”

You nod, “And sell your brand, I see.”

“What's that suppose to mean?” Tyler frowned.

“Don't worry. Scott told me all about you and what you do.” you turn and walk away in a huff.

“Did he also tell you what Storm Par is all about?” Tyler yelled after you.

“Hey there, beautiful.” Scott runs up to you after seeing that you were talking to Tyler, “Is he bothering you again?”

“Nothing I can't handle.” you smile at Scott, “I am really sorry I messed things up before.”

“It's okay. It's your first day. You'll learn. What did you find out on the properties?” he asked.

“That lady there has no insurance. I gave her a card and told her Storm Par would be interested.”

“Good girl. See, you're getting it.” Scott pulls you into a hug and looks back to see Tyler glaring at him. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, “I am looking forward to our date tonight.”

You blush slightly as Scott winks at you and jogs back to the truck.

“Hey, you want water or food or anything?” A girl asks. You recognize her as one of the people on Tyler's crew. “No, I am good. I am not giving you any money.”

“It's not about the money. We give away food and water when we get to a disaster scene. That's why we sell the merchandise. We sell to those who are able to afford to buy it. We give to those who can not. We give away almost as many shirts as we sell. The money we get from the sales goes to buy food and water for the victims and volunteers helping.”

“Oh. I had heard something different.” you say, “I am still okay. We've got stuff back in the truck and I am heading there to run some numbers for them.”

“Okay, whatever. If you change your mind come on over. We have plenty.” she walked away, handing out a sandwich and water to the woman you spoke to earlier.

You walk slowly back to the truck and get in, hearing Scott talking to someone on the phone about buying properties and who didn't have good insurance and those who did. Scott hanged up and gave you smile. “Let's go get something to eat.”

“I don't think that's a great idea right now.” you say, looking at the radar. “Look, this cell to the south is looking bad.”

Scott glances at it and shrugs, “I've seen worse. Let's go. I am hungry.”

Tyler looks at the sky to the south and watches as Scott turns and heads directly into the oncoming storm.

“Shit.” he muttered, then turned and waved at his team. “I'll be back in a bit.” he called and ran to his truck, firing it up and taking off after you and Scott. He didn't care if Scott wanted to get himself killed, but he'd be damned if he was going to let you be put in danger because of it.

[ytmanzwhore]

Chase It - 2

read chapter one here

summary: nellie meets the so called tornado wrangler

warnings: none

AN: tagging my one friend who asked to be notified :) also if these seem split up weird it's because they're written for wattpad so some chapters may seem like abrupt endings. lemme know your thoughts! @stillhere197

Javi and Kate had somehow gotten the biggest burst of luck Nellie had seen in her nursing career, somehow convincing Nellie's supervisor to give her three shifts off after her next shift, so she could come with them on their chase. Nellie grumbled under her breath for a bit in the back of the car as they drove to meet up with the rest of Javi's team. 

"This is fancy as hell," Nellie said under her breath as she looked at the car she was sitting in, and all the new gear. "Javi how are you getting all this capital?"

"Storm Par has investors,"  he said simply as the three of them pulled up to a familiar sight Nellie had grown up on. A old school truck stop with small groups of people preparing to go chase some storms. As Javi pulled to a stop, Nellie's chest got a little tight as she felt for the first time what she was actually doing today. She was chasing for the first time in five years. 

The slam of doors knocked her from her stupor, and she jumped out of the car and followed Kate and Javi to a group of men. "Alright team," Javi gathered the group. "You guys have all heard me talk about Kate, and Nellie. The two of them have some of the best instincts I know, they're the best. And yall won't miss working with a better team. We've got PhDs from NASA, FEMA, NWS."

"And no women," Nellie said with a head tilt as Javi stumbled over his sentence.

"Well, my partner here went to MIT, not Muskogee State," Javi clapped the tall brunette on the shoulder. "But he makes up for it with his beautiful personality." Scott deapanned them with a smile.

"Likely," Nellie murmured as she turned her gaze away from the men and towards the skies. Javi and Scott's next words were cut off by a red truck coming screeching in the lot with the windows down and the music blaring. The amateurs in the lot began to frenzy as the trucks passed, and Nellie raised a brow as a brunette man leaned out of the window with a camera. 

"Are they filming?" Nellie asked in surprise as the man taunted Scott and the PhD's with a grin as he drove by. 

"Who are they?" Kate asked.

"Chasers out of Arkansas," Javi informed them with a frown. 

"Hillbillies with a youtube channel," Scott said. And with that, the group watched as the truck was thrown into park and a crowd formed as a big Stetson came through the open door and a tall blonde stood on the running boards.

"How you feeling Ty?" the camera man turned the lens to the blonde. 

"Feeling good Boone," the man smirked cockily. "And if you feel it?"

"Chase it!" the crowd yelled back.

"I said, if you feel it?"

"Chase it!" Nellie burst into laughter as she watched the spectacle in front of her.

"That's Tyler Owens," Javi told the girls as Nellie kept giggling, making eye contact with the blonde man, Tyler. Feeling his stare even through his dark sunglasses as he tipped his hat. She tipped her imaginary Stetson right back at him as Javi carried on. "Calls himself a Tornado Wrangler."

"A tornado what?" Nellie questioned as she watched as their van was opened and merch began to flow. "This is hysterical."

Javi pulled up a tablet, pulling some data for Kate to look at. Nellie let the blonde take the data, while she began walking to the open area next to the stop. Nellie heard Javi shoo off the crowd while she began to look at the sky. Looking East then West, taking a deep breath and getting that tingly feeling she hadn't let herself give into in five years. 

She leaned down to the grass, grabbing a dandelion for her and Kate, letting the petals fall as they looked at the sky. 

"You know I used to do that," Tyler said as he approached the two newcomers, talking to both of them but unable to keep his eyes off the petite red head who he was captivated by. "Compare the wind direction to cloud movement. Get a feel for the shear. Sometimes the old ways are better than the new."

Tyler watched both of them, carrying on when he didn't get a response. "Where yall in from?"

"New York," Kate said crisply, and Nellie chose not to answer. 

"You're a long way from home City Girls," Tyler smirked, watching Nellie in confusion as she snickered. "So yall working with Storm Par?"

"Tyler," they were interruppted by a British man approaching them. "Do we know which storm we're chasing yet?"

"Well, why don't we ask these two-" Tyler paused, fishing for their names. 

"Nellie," the red head smiled kindly as she reached out to shake the Brit's hand. "This is Kate. We're your city girls."

"Hi Nellie," Tyler smirked. "Kate. I'm Tyler."

"Oh we couldn't miss that, with the t shirts, it's a little hard," Nellie smiled sweetly as Kate grinned. 

"I'm Ben, a reporter," the Brit stuck his hand out to Kate. "I'm writing a piece on american storm chasing and Tyler's letting me ride along with him."

"Ben just had to promise to only write good things about me," Tyler grinned. 

"Good luck with that," Kate said and turned around.

"Might have to dig deep Ben," Nellie giggled as she turned on the heel of her boot.

"Hold on," Tyler called out. "You didn't say where we're going. If we go West we double our chances. East? High risk, high reward."

"Go for the reward," Kate advised as Nellie shook her head and kept walking. "Wouldn't want Ben to think you're boring."

"Boring's not usually a problem for me," Tyler said as Kate followed Nellie.

"But humility apparently is!" Nellie called over her shoulder, offering Tyler and Ben a sweet smile and a finger wave as she approached Javi and Scott.

"We're going West," Nellie said to the boys, Kate catching up with her. 

"Cell to the East has better numbers," Scott protested.

"Doesn't feel right," Kate shook her head. 

"Yeah, cap's too strong," Nellie agreed. "Won't ever break." Scott sighed as Javi rallied the troops and everyone got back in the trucks. 

[mournfulroses]

Margaret Atwood, from Paper Boat: Selected Poems; "He Shifts from East to West,"

[novaursa]

Legacy (of the east and the west)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how some things are different from the canon. Any diviation from the books/show you notice is on purpose.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: drawing the lines

- Next part: winds of winter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxifics @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The quiet of the late morning filled the chamber in Dragonstone, the distant crashing of waves against the rocky shores serving as a soothing backdrop. Daenerys Targaryen sat near the tall, arched windows, holding Maelor in her lap. The boy, with his silver-gold curls and curious violet eyes, grasped at her braid, babbling softly in his innocent wonder. Across the room, you knelt beside Damon, who was occupied with a small wooden lion and dragon toy, his young mind lost in the imagined battles between the creatures.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you watched your eldest. “Rhaegar would have loved to see this,” you said, your tone thoughtful, almost wistful.

Daenerys glanced up from Maelor, curiosity flickering in her gaze. “Our brother,” she said softly, testing the weight of the words. “Viserys spoke of him, but I was too young to remember much. What was he like?”

You leaned back slightly, your eyes distant as you gathered your thoughts. “He was everything a Targaryen prince was supposed to be. Noble, kind, and burdened with the weight of prophecy. He was… driven by the idea that he had a role to play, a destiny to fulfill.”

Daenerys tilted her head, gently brushing her fingers through Maelor’s soft curls. “He believed in the prophecies, then.”

You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you recalled your brother. “Yes. He studied them obsessively. He thought himself the prince that was promised—or that his children might be. It gave him purpose, but it also consumed him. Everything he did, he believed was for the good of the realm, even when it hurt those he loved.”

Daenerys was silent for a moment, her gaze thoughtful as she watched Maelor squirm in her arms, reaching for the delicate silver chain around her neck. “And yet, his choices led to so much death. So much pain.”

Your expression turned somber, and you let out a quiet sigh. “He was not perfect. None of us are. But he believed in something greater than himself, and in the end, that belief was his undoing.”

Daenerys shifted her gaze to Damon, who was now engrossed in his toys, his laughter ringing softly in the chamber. “It’s strange to think of him as a father. To imagine him holding a child, playing with them as you do with yours.”

A faint smile crossed your lips. “He would have been a wonderful father. He adored his son, Aegon, and he would have doted on his daughter as well.” Your voice softened, tinged with sorrow. “But fate had other plans.”

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of lost family hanging between you both. After a moment, Daenerys broke the quiet, her voice lower, almost hesitant. “I, too, know what it is to lose a child.”

You looked at her sharply, your expression softening as you saw the pain flicker in her gaze.

“My son, Rhaego,” Daenerys continued, her voice steady but filled with quiet anguish. “He was to be my strength, my legacy. But the gods—or the fates—saw fit to take him from me before he could even draw breath.”

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry, Daenerys. No mother should have to endure such pain.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced away, her fingers brushing against Maelor’s tiny hand as he played with the silver chain around her neck. “The loss nearly broke me. And the sorcery used to save Drogo... it left me unable to bear children. I will never have another.”

Your heart ached for her, and you squeezed her arm gently. “Daenerys…”

She turned back to you, her expression resolute despite the sorrow in her eyes. “If you would support me, sister, if you would stand beside me in my claim to the Iron Throne, I would name one of your sons my heir. They are Targaryens by blood, and they deserve to carry our legacy.”

You blinked, taken aback by the declaration. For a moment, you said nothing, your gaze flickering to Damon and Maelor. The thought of either of your boys being thrust into the chaos of rulership, the weight of the Iron Throne bearing down on their young shoulders, sent a shiver through you.

“I wouldn’t want that for them,” you said softly but firmly, meeting Daenerys’s gaze. “The Iron Throne is not a gift—it’s a death sentence. It has taken so much from all of us. I will not let it take my sons.”

Daenerys’s expression faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “But they are Targaryens. They are part of the legacy we were born to uphold.”

You shook your head gently. “They are children, Daenerys. They deserve to grow up without the burden of a throne weighing on their shoulders. I want them to laugh, to play, to live.”

For a moment, Daenerys looked as though she might argue, but then she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I understand your fears. But our family’s legacy must live on, one way or another.”

You offered her a faint smile, your tone softening. “Our legacy will live on, Daenerys. But it doesn’t have to be through the Iron Throne. There are other ways to honor our family, to ensure that the world remembers us.”

Daenerys nodded slowly, her gaze returning to Maelor, who had begun to doze off in her arms, his tiny hands clutching her braid. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said quietly, though her tone was tinged with uncertainty.

The quiet clink of wine goblets echoed in the chamber as Tyrion poured himself another drink, the rich Dornish red catching the glow of the hearth. Across the table, Jaime leaned back in his chair, his golden hand resting idly on the armrest while his remaining hand toyed with the stem of his goblet.

“I must say,” Tyrion began, swirling the wine thoughtfully, “Father appears to have grown soft in his old age. The Tywin Lannister I remember wouldn’t have allowed Daenerys Targaryen or her band of merry foreign invaders to so much as set foot on these shores.”

Jaime arched a brow, his tone dry. “Soft? I’m sure he’d love to hear you say that. Go on, Tyrion. March into his study and tell him. I’ll make sure there’s a maester nearby for when he decides to rearrange your face.”

Tyrion smirked, tipping his goblet toward Jaime in mock toast. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare. But you can’t deny it, brother. The old lion is different. Less... ferocious, perhaps?”

Jaime took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze distant for a moment. “It’s not softness,” he said finally, his tone quieter. “It’s her.”

Tyrion tilted his head, intrigued. “Her? Do elaborate.”

Jaime gestured vaguely with his goblet. “Our stepmother. The dragon who sleeps beside him and gives him heirs. She tempers him in ways I don’t think even he realizes.”

Tyrion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his smirk widened. “Ah, the infamous second Lady Lannister. The last I saw of her was under rather... unique circumstances.”

Jaime’s brows furrowed slightly. “Unique how?”

Tyrion shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “The night you freed me, remember? I couldn’t resist sneaking one last look at dear Father before I made my escape. I found him in her chambers, fast asleep. And there she was, curled beside him like some Valyrian myth. And Damon—tiny little Damon—snug in his cradle near the bed. Quite the domestic scene.”

Jaime let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re lucky he didn’t wake up and catch you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale,” Tyrion agreed, though his tone was far from serious. “Still, it was fascinating. Father, the great Tywin Lannister, sleeping soundly and sharing chambers with a Targaryen woman and a newborn. Who would have thought?”

Jaime’s expression turned more thoughtful, his fingers tapping lightly against his goblet. “She changed him. Or maybe she reminded him of something he’d long forgotten. Father’s always been about legacy, power, control. But with her... it’s different.”

“How poetic,” Tyrion quipped, though his tone was less biting than usual. “The dragon queen tames the lion. Tell me, does she breathe fire in her sleep?”

Jaime shot him a warning glance, but there was no real malice behind it. “You should be careful how you speak about her, Tyrion. She’s earned her place here.”

Tyrion studied his brother for a moment, his smirk fading slightly. “You respect her.”

“I do,” Jaime admitted, his tone firm. “She’s strong, clever, and loyal. She’s given Father something none of us could—a chance to build something that lasts. And for all her Targaryen fire, she’s... kind, in her way.”

Tyrion took another sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful. “Kindness and Tywin Lannister. There’s a combination I never thought I’d see.”

Jaime chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s not as strange as you think. She balances him, even if he’d never admit it. And Damon... Maelor... they’ve softened him in ways I didn’t think possible.”

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, his mismatched eyes glinting with curiosity. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To see him as a father again. Not just our father, but their father. Do you think he loves them?”

Jaime’s expression turned serious, his tone certain. “I do. As much as Tywin Lannister is capable of love, he loves them. He’s different with them than he was with us. More patient. More... human.”

Tyrion let out a quiet laugh, though it lacked his usual bite. “What a world we live in. Tywin Lannister, the lion tamed by a dragon and her brood. If only Mother could see this.”

Jaime’s gaze darkened slightly at the mention of their mother, but he said nothing, taking another sip of his wine. The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, the weight of shared history filling the space.

Finally, Tyrion spoke again, his voice softer. “Do you think she understands?”

Jaime frowned. “Understands what?”

“About what Father’s done. To her family. To ours. Does she carry the weight of it, or has she convinced herself that love can erase the blood he’s spilled?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but his tone was calm. “She understands. She carries it. But she also believes in moving forward. She’s not blind to what Father is, but she chooses to stand beside him, knowing what they’ve built together.”

Tyrion nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “A dragon and a lion. Quite the tale for the bards, isn’t it?”

Jaime smirked faintly, raising his goblet. “It is. But we’re still in the middle of the story.”

Tyrion raised his goblet in return, his smirk returning. “Here’s to hoping it doesn’t end in fire and blood.”

Jaime clinked his goblet against Tyrion’s, though there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

Daenerys Targaryen, unflinching and determined, stepped into the room where Tywin Lannister awaited her. He stood near a table scattered with maps and letters, the weight of his command visible in every deliberate movement. His back was turned to her as she entered, but she knew he was aware of her presence.

“Lord Tywin,” Daenerys said, her voice steady but sharp.

Tywin straightened, turning slowly to face her. His gaze was cold, calculating, and unyielding—a lion sizing up its prey. “Daenerys Targaryen,” he replied, his tone clipped. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Daenerys stepped closer. “I wanted to speak with you. Alone. Without my sister, without your councilors. Just us.”

Tywin arched a brow but gestured to a nearby chair. “Then speak.”

Daenerys remained standing, her hands clasped in front of her as she regarded him carefully. “You are the man responsible for so much of my family’s pain. For the deaths of my brother’s children, for the destruction of our house. And now you stand here, married to my sister, the mother of your children.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t waver. “You’ve come to blame me for the past, then. I’ve no intention of apologizing for doing what needed to be done.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrowed. “What needed to be done? You slaughtered innocents. You betrayed your king. You destroyed the Targaryen dynasty.”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly. “Aerys destroyed himself long before I made my move. He was a madman, a danger to the realm. The Targaryen dynasty wasn’t destroyed by me, Daenerys. It was undone by your father’s madness and your brother’s arrogance.”

Her voice rose slightly, her anger flaring. “And yet you sought to profit from that madness. You married your daughter to Robert Baratheon, the man who led the rebellion.”

Tywin took a step closer, his presence looming. “And I preserved my house in the process. House Lannister stands because I made the hard choices your father was too weak to make.”

Daenerys flinched slightly but stood her ground. “You betrayed us.”

“I did what was necessary to ensure stability,” Tywin countered, his voice calm but firm. “And your sister—your sister is alive because of me.”

Daenerys blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Why bring this up now?”

Tywin’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained authoritative. “After Robert’s Rebellion, the realm demanded blood. Every Targaryen, dead or captured. I ensured your sister was neither. I made a deal with House Stark, placing her in the North under their protection. She was safe because of me.”

Daenerys’s jaw tightened, her emotions a storm of anger and confusion. “And you later married her. Was that part of your grand plan as well? To take a Targaryen bride and tie her to your house?”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver. “I married her because she is strong, intelligent, and loyal. She has given me sons who will inherit a world I have built with my own hands.”

For a moment, Daenerys faltered. There was something in his tone, a quiet reverence that made her pause. “You speak of her... differently. With respect.”

Tywin’s expression turned reflective, his voice dropping slightly. “Your sister is a woman unlike any other. She understands the weight of duty, the cost of sacrifice. She has borne much, yet she endures. Aerys made a mistake refusing to give her hand to me when I proposed it years ago. Perhaps things would have been different if he had.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened, her mind reeling at the revelation. “You sought her hand before all of this?”

“I did,” Tywin said plainly. “She was young, but I saw the potential in her. Aerys refused, of course. Said no Lannister was fit to marry a Targaryen. His arrogance knew no bounds.”

Daenerys struggled to process his words. “And now you claim her as your own. You, the man who betrayed my family.”

Tywin’s voice hardened again. “I claim her because she chose me. I didn’t force her hand. She stands with me because she understands the realities of the world in a way you do not.”

Daenerys’s hands balled into fists at her sides, her voice biting. “You think me naive?”

“I think you see the world as you want it to be,” Tywin replied. “Not as it is.”

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, two powerful figures standing on opposite sides of history and ambition. Finally, Daenerys broke the quiet, her voice quieter but no less determined. “I came here to find allies, not to reopen old wounds.”

Tywin tilted his head slightly. “And yet here you stand, letting those wounds guide you. If you want to lead, Daenerys, you must let the past be what it is: a lesson, not a shackle.”

She turned to leave, her shoulders rigid as she processed his words. At the door, she paused, glancing back at him. “You speak of lessons, Lord Tywin. Perhaps you should heed them yourself.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Tywin alone once more. He watched her go, his expression unreadable, before returning to his maps. The fire crackled softly in the silence, a quiet reminder of the unrelenting forces shaping their world.

The stone corridors of Dragonstone echoed with the sound of tiny, hurried footsteps. Damon, with his silver-gold curls bouncing as he ran, darted around a corner, clutching a small wooden dragon in one hand and laughing to himself. Behind him, a group of Lannister guards rushed in pursuit, their armor clanking with every step.

“Careful, my lord!” one of the guards called, his voice tinged with both panic and frustration. “You shouldn’t be running off like this!”

Damon giggled, clearly enjoying his escapade. The toddler’s energy was boundless, and he was far too swift for the heavily armored men chasing after him.

As Damon rounded another corner, he suddenly stopped short. Standing in his path was Grey Worm, clad in his polished Unsullied armor, his spear resting lightly in his hand. The warrior raised an eyebrow at the sight of the small boy barreling toward him.

Damon tilted his head, staring up at Grey Worm with wide, curious eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice high and inquisitive.

Grey Worm lowered his spear slightly, his stoic expression softening just a fraction. “I am Grey Worm,” he replied, his voice calm and measured.

Damon blinked, his gaze traveling over the armor and the spear. “You have a big stick,” he said matter-of-factly, pointing at the weapon.

Grey Worm’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “It is not a stick. It is a spear.”

Damon’s eyes lit up with interest. “Spear! Can I have one?”

The guards finally caught up, panting as they came to a halt behind Damon. “My lord, you cannot just run off like that,” one of them scolded gently, though his tone was more exasperated than angry.

Damon ignored them, his attention fully focused on Grey Worm. “Can I see your spear?” he asked, holding up his wooden dragon in exchange. “I’ll trade you this.”

Grey Worm glanced at the guards, who looked mortified, then back at Damon. “It is not a toy, little one,” he said, his voice still calm.

Damon frowned, clearly unimpressed by the refusal. “But I’m big! I’m three!” He held up three fingers proudly.

The guards shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to handle the situation. One of them stepped forward. “Apologies, Commander Grey Worm. The young lord has a... lively spirit.”

Grey Worm nodded slightly but kept his gaze on Damon. “Lively spirit is good. It is the spirit of a warrior.”

Damon’s frown melted into a wide grin. “I’m a warrior! Like my papa!”

One of the guards suppressed a smile, muttering under his breath, “Just like his father, indeed.”

Grey Worm crouched slightly to meet Damon’s eye level. “A warrior listens to those who protect him,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of authority. “Will you listen?”

Damon hesitated, his small brows furrowing as he considered the words. Then he nodded solemnly. “I’ll listen. But only if you let me touch the spear.”

The guards exchanged glances, unsure whether to intervene, but Grey Worm extended the spear cautiously, holding it firm as Damon reached out with both hands to touch the shaft. The boy’s face lit up with excitement as his small fingers ran along the smooth wood.

“It’s so big!” Damon exclaimed, looking up at Grey Worm in awe.

Grey Worm straightened, his usual stoicism returning. “And heavy. You will need to grow strong to carry one.”

“I will! I eat all my porridge!” Damon declared confidently.

One of the guards stepped forward, bowing slightly to Grey Worm. “Commander, we appreciate your patience. We’ll take the young lord back to his mother now.”

Grey Worm nodded curtly. “Keep him safe.”

Damon pouted as the guards gently ushered him away. “Bye, Grey Worm!” he called, waving his wooden dragon in farewell. “Next time, I’ll show you my dragon!”

Grey Worm inclined his head slightly, watching as the boy was led away. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned back toward his duties, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

As the guards led Damon back toward the family chambers, one muttered to his comrade, “That boy’s going to be trouble when he’s older.”

The other chuckled softly. “He already is.”

The cool sea breeze swept over the battlements of Dragonstone, carrying with it the tang of salt and the distant cries of gulls. The night sky was clear, the stars glittering above as you and Tywin walked side by side, your steps measured against the stone as you spoke of weighty matters.

“We should consider leaving Dragonstone,” you suggested, your tone thoughtful but firm. “Let Daenerys remain here. She could be a useful ally against the threat in the North.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver as he replied, his voice calm but edged with steel. “You would have us abandon this place to her? A woman who brings foreign invaders to our shores and claims a throne she has no right to? I think not.”

You sighed, glancing out over the black waves crashing below. “She’s my sister, Tywin. Whatever she has done, whatever her intentions, there is value in her presence here. The North faces a threat unlike any we’ve ever known. The dead march. Daenerys could help us, with her dragons, her army.”

Tywin stopped, turning to face you fully. His green eyes were cold and calculating as they bore into yours. “And what happens when the threat from the North is dealt with? Do you believe she will simply stay on Dragonstone, content to rule over nothing? She will turn her attention south, to King’s Landing, to the Iron Throne.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “And do you think keeping her here, under your watch, will stop her from harboring those ambitions? She is determined, Tywin, but she’s not reckless. If we work with her instead of against her, we might stand a better chance of controlling the outcome.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words. The silence between you stretched, filled only by the distant crash of waves and the faint murmur of guards patrolling nearby.

“She is a foreign invader,” Tywin said finally, his voice low but unyielding. “And a Targaryen, no less. The realm will never accept her as its queen. And even if it did, I will not allow her to undermine everything I have built.”

You stepped closer, your tone softening but remaining firm. “What you’ve built, Tywin, is fragile. The realm is fractured, and winter is here. The North is barely held together, the Riverlands are still in chaos, and now the dead march beyond the Wall. Daenerys may not be someone you or I would choose, but she has resources we cannot ignore.”

He looked away briefly, his gaze sweeping over the darkened expanse of the sea. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, almost contemplative. “She would betray us the moment it suited her. You know this as well as I do.”

You hesitated, your expression softening. “Perhaps. But perhaps not. She has suffered as we have. She’s lost her family, her home. I believe she wants more than just power, Tywin. She wants to belong, to rebuild what was taken from her.”

Tywin scoffed faintly, though it lacked his usual venom. “And what of your sons? Damon and Maelor. Would you risk their future by allowing her to remain?”

Your gaze hardened slightly at the mention of your children, but you kept your voice steady. “I would risk nothing. If she becomes a threat, we deal with her. But if she proves an ally, think of what we could achieve. The North needs our help, Tywin. If we turn our backs on them, we doom not just ourselves, but the realm.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “You are asking me to gamble with everything I have built. Everything I have secured for our family.”

“I am asking you to see reason,” you countered gently. “To think beyond banners and bloodlines. The world is changing, Tywin. If we don’t change with it, we will be swept away.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Finally, he turned back to you, his green eyes piercing but less cold. “I will consider it.”

You smiled faintly, placing a hand on his arm. “That’s all I ask.”

He didn’t reply, but his hand covered yours briefly, a rare moment of quiet affection in the midst of so much uncertainty. Together, you turned back toward the keep, the weight of the realm’s future pressing heavily on both your shoulders.

[remyfire]

S9E2 "Letters" // Margaret Atwood, "He Shifts from East to West" // S9E18 "Blood Brothers"

[magical-reid]

Ricochet (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky x Fem! Reader

Slow Burn/ Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 1.3K

Part 1

Summary: Bucky and the reader's relationship starts off rocky, marked by tension, mistrust, and bickering, especially due to their shared past with Hydra. However, over time, their interactions soften as they begin to understand each other better, with moments of respect, mutual concern, and subtle attraction emerging amid their fiery exchanges.

Bucky’s POV

“That was good,” I said, surprising myself as much as her.

She froze mid-punch, glancing at me with raised brows. “Did you just give me a compliment, Barnes? Should I write this down somewhere?”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

She grinned—an honest, unguarded grin that hit me harder than any punch she’d thrown so far. I had to look away, focusing on wrapping the tape around my hand.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” she asked after a moment.

I glanced at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“With me,” she clarified, planting her hands on her hips. “You act like I’m the enemy every time we’re in the same room. But in the field, you’ve got my back like we’ve been partners for years. So what is it? Do you hate me, or are you just confused?”

Her words hit too close to home. I didn’t know how to answer, so I went with the truth.

“Maybe a little of both.”

Reader’s POV

His words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortably honest.

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it.

“Why?” I asked quietly.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I’ve seen what Hydra does to people. What it turns them into. And no matter how much you tell yourself you’re past it, it’s always there.” He paused, his gaze meeting mine. “It’s not about hating you. It’s about not trusting you.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t choose Hydra. They took everything from me—my family, my life. They made me into something I never wanted to be.”

His eyes softened, but only slightly. “That doesn’t mean it’s gone.”

“And what about you?” I countered, stepping closer. “You’re telling me you’ve erased every piece of them from your head? That there’s nothing left of the Winter Soldier?”

His jaw tightened, and I knew I’d hit a nerve.

“Exactly,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “That’s why I don’t trust myself either.”

Bucky’s POV

She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, she stepped even closer, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten.

“We’re not so different, Barnes,” she said quietly. “You and me? We’re both just trying to figure out how to live with what they did to us. And maybe…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Maybe we could stop making it harder for each other.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. She wasn’t wrong, but admitting it felt too much like surrender.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, the closest I could get to agreeing.

Her lips quirked into a small, almost-smile. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I couldn’t help it—I chuckled. It was soft, barely there, but the sound surprised us both.

“Don’t get used to it,” I said gruffly, echoing my earlier words.

But for the first time, I wondered what it would be like if she did.

The Next Mission

Reader’s POV

Something shifted after that night in the training room. Bucky was still grumpy, still snarky, but the edge of his anger had dulled. He didn’t snap as much, didn’t brush me off as often.

He even started calling me by my name instead of “new girl.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me hope.

That hope was tested during our next mission. We were tasked with retrieving stolen Stark tech from a heavily guarded Hydra base—classic Avengers work. But things went south when we triggered an alarm.

“We need to split up,” Sam said over the comms. “Y/N, Bucky, take the west wing. Wanda and I will handle the east.”

“Got it,” I replied, glancing at Bucky. He gave a curt nod, and we moved as one, slipping into the shadows.

The west wing was a maze of narrow corridors and locked doors, but we moved efficiently, clearing the area room by room. Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

Bucky’s POV

The explosion came out of nowhere.

One minute we were sweeping the corridor, the next I was on the floor, ears ringing, debris raining down around us.

“Y/N!” I shouted, my voice barely audible over the chaos.

“I’m fine!” she called back, coughing as she pushed herself up from the rubble.

Relief flooded through me, but it was short-lived. Footsteps echoed down the hall, fast and heavy. Reinforcements.

“Can you fight?” I asked, hauling her to her feet.

Her glare was answer enough. “What do you think?”

We fell into a defensive stance, back to back, as the soldiers rounded the corner. They came at us hard and fast, but we were faster. I focused on the ones with guns, trusting her to handle the rest.

She was good. Better than I’d given her credit for.

But then I saw it—the soldier creeping up behind her, blade glinting in the dim light.

“Y/N, duck!”

She dropped instantly, and I lunged, driving my metal fist into the soldier’s chest. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Thanks,” she said, breathless but steady.

I nodded, scanning the corridor for more threats. “Let’s finish this.”

Reader’s POV

By the time we secured the stolen tech and regrouped with the others, I was sore, exhausted, and more than a little bruised. But we’d done it.

On the flight back to the Tower, I leaned my head against the wall, letting the hum of the engines lull me into a half-doze.

“Hey.”

I opened my eyes to find Bucky standing over me, an ice pack in his hand.

“For your shoulder,” he said, nodding toward the spot where a Hydra soldier had landed a nasty hit.

I blinked, surprised. “Thanks.”

He sat down across from me, his expression unreadable. “You did good out there.”

The words were so unexpected that I almost didn’t know how to respond.

“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” I said, smiling slightly.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the tension between us replaced by something softer. Something almost comfortable.

And for the first time since I’d arrived at the Tower, I thought maybe—just maybe—I’d found a place where I belonged.

Bucky’s POV

I didn’t want to admit it, but she was growing on me.

Y/N was tough, smart, and—God help me—funny. She didn’t back down, didn’t let me push her away. And somewhere along the line, I’d stopped wanting to.

She was right—we weren’t so different. And maybe, just maybe, we didn’t have to do this alone.

But letting her in? Trusting her? That was a risk I wasn’t sure I was ready to take.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

Part 3

[parkersbliss]

Hi hi!! i love ur writing it’s so comforting like a cup of cocoa! I had this random idea where the reader is like “man i want kisses” referring to the chocolate and keegan’s in the vicinity and is like “Yeah? C’mere” and theyre not rly together but theyre rly close friends who secretly have a thing for each other but they’re both oblivious and keegan just likes throwing teases👉👈

oh my god I love you??? and yes, yes, yes!!! I LOVE MY HUSBAND RAHHH

IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES

PAIRING: KEEGAN RUSS x F!Reader WARNINGS: none, just a bit angsty, passive suicidal thoughts if you squint?? A/N: not sure how this is both fluff and angst guys but I love him

Masterlist | Taglist | Requesting (open for cod!)

Keegan was, in all honesty, a simple kind of guy. There was little to be known about him and little to be revealed. He was quiet and stoic, but not in a rude way. In fact, you’re sure you’ve never met someone as kind and thoughtful as him. The words he didn’t speak were revealed in his actions. So, if he didn’t say that he thought highly of you, it was obvious in the little nods he gave you during missions. If he didn’t say he cared for you, you could tell by the way he always checked over his shoulder for you. And if he never said I love you, it was certainly questionable by the hand at the small of your back or the lingering looks from across the room. 

Yes, Keegan was a simple kind of guy, but your relationship was not. 

Then again, wouldn’t it be kind of selfish to be concerned about minuscule things like that when you were literally living in a war zone? That’s what you told yourself when his arm slung around you on the couch. It was resting on the sofa, barely touching you, not even pulling you closer but a silent nudge of possessiveness. 

A relationship with Keegan didn’t matter if America was blown up. Again. 

You turn the slightest bit to get a good look at him as he chats idly with Merrick about something. He’s a good friend. 

That’s all. 

They’re talking about food or lack of it — the special things that is. When ODIN struck and destroyed the West Coast, it didn’t leave room for disagreement. There were no family-owned restaurants, local coffee shops, or candy corner stores anymore. People were too busy fighting for their lives or relocating themselves to the East. Not that you ate very well being part of a task force. You ate some MREs when in the field and whatever scraps they had back on base. 

“All this food talk is making me hungry,” Merrick said, pushing himself off the couch. “Y’all want anything?”

“You mean the various dehydrated and freeze-dried things in the pantry?” You asked, referencing the conversation they were just having. 

Merrick laughs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Then pass.”

He walks into the kitchen, leaving you and Keegan on the couch. 

He shifts to face you. “What do you miss most?”

You sigh, thinking back to all the flavors and sensations of good food. The twinge of pineapple lingering in your mouth, the deep umami of a good Japanese soup, the delicate sweetness of a French pastry. ODIN made you yearn deeply for things you had previously overlooked. It wasn’t just food. It was family, friendships, driving down the California coast, and late-night ball games. All of it is irreplaceably gone. Then there was Keegan, who took away all that yearning, that desire from decades ago, and molded it into some long-lasting nostalgia. With him, the only thing you cared for was him against you. A hand on your back, a lingering of lips on your forehead. Forget the food, the people, the things that made human life alive. Keegan did that just fine for you. “I miss a lot of things,” You finally said. 

He nods, fingers drumming against the leather of the sofa. “I miss Chicago deep-dish pizza.”

“That’s really specific.” 

“Yeah,” He agrees. “Well, I grew up there — the suburbs.” He’s got this look in his eyes and you can practically see the memories replaying in his mind. His lip twitches upward slightly, a smile. “It was like a Friday night staple after school. Cruise on over, grab a slice or a whole pie.” 

“I’ve never had it,” You admitted with a shy smile. “Like real authentic deep dish.” 

“Really?” Keegan asked. 

“Yeah. There wasn’t much around me, growing up like restaurants. And it was too much of a hassle to drive into the city for it.” 

His fingers brush your shoulder, tentatively before jerking back. “If we ever make it to the East Coast or something, I’ll find somewhere to take you.” 

“And if I don’t like it?” 

“You will.” 

You go to respond but then Merrick is yelling from the kitchen, asking where the salt is. You push off the couch, feet padding across the tile. “Here,” You said, opening up a cabinet and handing him the shaker. 

He has an embarrassed look on his face, probably just having overlooked it. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” In the corner of your eye, you see it. A familiar brown container of Hershey’s cocoa powder. God, what would you do for chocolate again? Your mind spins with familiar memories that were a lifetime ago now. 

Your family celebrating a birthday with a chocolate cake. Layers of frosting greeted with a soft, pliant, cake that was the perfect blend of cocoa. 

The warm mug of hot cocoa, steaming in your hands as you continue to drink it anyway as your sibling giggles. 

Past Valentine’s Day accompanied by heart boxes of exotic chocolate. The boy didn’t last, but the chocolate did.

The stocking above the fireplace was filled with Hershey's kisses an hour before gifts took place so they wouldn’t melt. A family tradition you had forgotten about. Mind lost to war, torment, and other memories that you didn’t want to hold. 

You turn to see Keegan on the couch, an answer to his previous question finally forming in your head. “Kisses,” You blurted. “I want kisses.” 

Keegan’s brows shoot up. His head tilts, soft black hair falling over his forehead. Were you asking him to help? He wasn’t mad about that, really. Honestly, his heart had probably jumped up 10 beats, his pacemaker cells firing a little faster. He didn’t know what that meant, didn’t want to. He was comfortable with how things were, how you were. Always the girl to cover his six, always the person he’d want to. Perhaps the only person he really trusted. Was it years of friendships or something more that caused that? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t care to go investigating the answer. 

Keegan was simple. He liked your smile, he liked the giggles that would spill from your lips, the way your eyes sparkled and burned with a fire no one could extinguish. He did things that would cause those small instances to happen. So ifgiving you kisses would produce a smile, a giggle, well why not? 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “C’mere then.” 

You don’t. You stand there, lips parted as you try to process his words. There’s a stillness in the room, more prominent than when you were holding a sniper in your hand. Something that’s warning you to back off and yet urging you to step closer. 

Your feet move themselves, eventually, carrying you to the spot next to Keegan. Familiar irises of topaz search yours, a hand on the couch perching on your shoulder. The heat radiates off of it, converting itself into a blossoming warmth in your cheeks. 

He’s not moving forward, you’re not moving back. 

Friends. 

What bullshit that’s always been. 

“The chocolate,” you whispered. “I meant the chocolate.” 

His hand inches closer to your face. “Oh, yeah?” He’s being an asshole, cocky, watching the way your breathing stutters. “We don’t have such luxuries anymore.” 

“I know,” you breathed. 

“Don’t really have much else to offer,” He said, hand coming to your cheek as he swipes across it. 

He’s not talking about chocolate or food. You know what this is truly about. There wasn’t much left for either of you to offer each other. There was no promise to stay together in a war-wrecked world, no guarantee you could wake up the next day, no rings to signify a marriage. 

No chocolate kisses on Valentine’s Day, or expensive vacations for anniversaries. 

All you had was each other. 

“It’s enough,” You assure him, grabbing his other hand. “I don’t need anything else.” 

He inches closer. “And if tomorrow never comes?” 

Tomorrow could be damned if it meant one moment with Keegan. None of it mattered if you had him. If his hand held yours, his lips tasted you, his warmth against your chest. 

You didn’t need tomorrow. 

“All I need is today.” 

His lips solace, safety, refuge on yours. He’s exactly how you imagined he would be. A surge of electricity rushing through you, a spark of life, a reason to keep going. Your other hand grabs his head, pushing him closer. There’s no questioning tomorrow as long as he stays right here. You didn’t need to question anything when your mind was consumed only by Keegan, and his body slotted against your, hands everywhere and nowhere. He’s feverish, kissing you like there is no tomorrow. 

Because, truthfully, there might not be. 

So consider his lips a promise, that if there wasn’t tomorrow, he loved you today. 

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

Keegan Taglist: @trxpslxt