#i need quarters. if i get some quarters i can even wash these sheets right away. wouldn’t that be something

[mildmayfoxe]

ok. i did NOT change my sheets tonight either but i DID put away a bunch of laundry which will make it easier to change my sheets tomorrow. and if i’m brave i’ll even do MORE laundry tomorrow. while i change the sheets

[eelnoise]

incandesce

zoro x afab!reader an: just some lovesick drabble because im weak in the knees for my big stinky boy. he's so cute and i wanna just snuggle w him so bad 🥺 cw: fluff :) wc: 1.1k @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @themushroomofdeath

The flash of the morning sun hits Zoro’s face like a white-hot light as he descends from the crow’s nest, freshly exhausted from training. Squinting in the daylight, he looks upon the deck below as it comes into clearer view – silhouettes of the crew fade into focus, and quickly does he scan the scene for a brief headcount. A slight warmth fills his chest, and not from the tide of day washing over the ship.

You’re not among them. You’re still asleep.

Zoro’s boots hit the deck with an audible thud, and heads turn to greet him. He offers a sleepy ‘good morning’ nod before heading right in the direction of the women’s quarters. No one stops him, nor are any words exchanged. They all know where he’s headed, just as they know why you tend to sleep in.

It isn’t often that he gets this opportunity – to join you for a nap. Most days he retires from the watch far earlier than any of the women awake, sometimes avoiding his own bed all together and simply napping in the nest. The odds are in his favor this time, and he means to take full advantage of the very limited time he can have with you. Only you.

No sooner does he creak the wooden door open that his heart skips a beat beneath his ribs. You’re there, just as he hoped you would be, softly snoozing beneath the sheets. Your hair is folded wildly about your face and the pillow beneath your head, and your lips are slightly parted with just a speck of drool glistening down your chin. Zoro can’t help but find you endearing, and seeing you in a deep, restful sleep does something to soften his stoicism. 

He almost can’t bring himself to wake you, as the sudden shift on the mattress always causes you to stir – though you’re never soured by it. Never once do you make him feel unwanted or loathsome, always welcoming into your arms or by your side when he needs you most.

And, while not the most affectionate man, Zoro relishes in the love you give him. The good-willed and honest devotion that you deem him worthy enough to receive makes his head spin. Somehow you had latched onto his sin-soaked soul, cleansing it in your soft, practiced hands and invigorating him in ways long forgotten.

Memories that ache - that wear him down with the weight of the past, present and beyond - they all seem to slip away when he’s next to you. You’re his anchor, reeling him back from the somber reverie that so frequently plays in his mind. A light that burns bright even in the darkest of places, and somehow he always finds his way back to you. Zoro knows that real worth is wordless, actions speaking emphatically over all else.

And you show him that worth.

His worth.

Zoro kicks off his boots, practically tiptoeing his way around the bed to it’s open side – and though he knows it’s fruitless, he does make an attempt to slide in next to you as carefully as he can manage to. And you stir – as if right on cue, the sudden weight pressing into the mattress that rolls you against his chest. 

A sleepy hum of acknowledgement befalls your lips, a small - yet simple - gesture of welcome to the man now aside you.

A hint of a smile etches into the cooks of his mouth as he returns the gesture with a hum of his own before curling his arm around your middle and burying his face into your hair and breathing in deeply. Your body is warm to the touch, and with it comes elation. Oftentimes he appreciates that you had cast the first stone, releasing him from the nigh-torturous, unknown feelings that he couldn’t possibly have navigated alone.

Zoro clings to you, as if magnetically attached around your body. His thumb drags along your tummy, up and down in a soothing yet natural response to being with you. He murmurs a throaty “Good mornin’” against your ear that makes you shiver with longing. Far too little do you get to indulge in his embrace, and though you’re not as tired as he is, you aim to enjoy the time regardless.

“Morning,” You reply, twisting your head just enough to see him and allowing your hand to fall atop his and entwining your fingers together. “How was watch?”

“Same as ever.” He whispers into you, feeling that familiar tranquil serenity blossoming within him. Zoro squeezes your body against him and moves some of your hair out of your face to place a series of pecks to your cheek before trailing up to give you a soft, tender kiss to your lips. 

It hadn’t been easy, learning to love – but with you there, ready and willing to guide him at his chosen pace the whole way through his strained emotions. Not once in his life did he expect to feel this way, a man of action and ruthlessly devoted to his dream and to his course upon it. Zoro once saw life as just that – his own. A narrow pathway in hindsight, one fit enough for just himself at the end of all things.

Though now, the path had forked, widened, and along it do you walk beside him. Every decision, every step, every pinch of ash left in his wake has your name written upon it in dark, permanent ink. Zoro thinks with you in mind, acts with your face at the very forefront of his synapses. He’s grown to adore you, both body and soul.

Part of it terrifies him still. The thought of losing something more precious than words can explain dives deep into his core. In love, there is fear. Fear of loss, fear of weakness in life’s most pivotal moments, fear of losing one's sense of perception. 

Though, there’s also hope. Hope and happiness and support and all else that comes with devoting your very essence to another. Seeing you smile or laugh brings him a peace that borders on inexplicable. The feeling of your hand on his bids him well wishes, each kiss a reminder of sanctuary. Every tangle between the sheets when he makes love to you renders him spellbound - the saccharine, honeyed taste of your skin on his tongue mixed in with those sighs and coos of pleasure that only he can hear, a song that only he can make you belt, it makes Zoro’s head spin with just the thought.

To Zoro, you’re beyond compare. No single person in his life comes even toe-to-toe with you, and as you snuggle against him, he allows himself to feel vulnerable. You’re his safehaven, a blessing in disguise that nabs him by the heart and never fails to lull him into a rejuvenating respite. 

You’re home.

You’re his.

[forlorn-crows]

Rain Going into Heat, no one's around the abbey can't find anyone, he tries to shower but ends up masturbating using his tail, it's not enough, his heat is too strong, and by a miracle mountain comes in and see's how a mess rain is? Mounty being sweet to rain, Some gentle sex and praise ensues? plz ^^

butterssss. why is it always you that gets me in the sappy mountain mood.

also, an anon requested transmasc rain squirting. so. who am i to resist weaving that into this one?

hope you enjoy! a little hot, wet, sappy one to end the week with ♡

Rain’s in agony. Hot, wet, horny agony. The ghoul quarters have been deserted all day, unfortunate for a water ghoul whose heat decided to hit full force in the middle of an unassuming spring afternoon. With no one to quench his thirst, he’d retreated to the shower in an effort to calm that insatiable desire deep in his core.

Not even the coldest, iciest water he could get from the tap was enough. His hands felt too good against his scalp as he tipped back against the stream, fingers catching on the knots in his hair and making him gasp at the tension against his follicles.

It was all downhill from there, really; he can’t stop his hands from roaming over his face, down his neck, his chest. A twinge of pleasure shoots down his spine as his palms slide over his nipples, already stiff and sensitive. He’s tingling all the way to the tip of his tail, which is currently winding its way around his calf, squeezing the muscle lightly.

Rain’s chest heaves as his hands trail lower. He rests his forehead against the tile and palms his cunt, already slick and hot. His clit throbs against his fingers, and he nearly cries out as he presses down on its length. It’s quickly not enough; his tail snakes its way higher, the spade tip slotting itself in the apex of his inner thigh.

“F-fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, just as the leathery appendage teases his entrance. He drags it upwards, through the wetness coating his slit, and replaces his fingers with it, gasping at the rough texture against his clit. His hips buck into it of their own accord, knees almost buckling when he presses his palm over the spade.

It only takes a few half-hearted strokes before he’s cumming, fast and insistent. Rain braces himself against the tile, choking out a moan—the relief is instant, but fleeting. Slick drips from his folds onto the shower floor, the spray of cool water washing it away. He needs more than this, he needs to be filled, he needs, he needs.

Rain turns off the shower and retreats to his bed, collapsing on the sheets that still smell faintly of balsam and cedar.

Mountain.

Rain’s brain fogs as the scent envelops him, hands already roaming back down his body. Mountain. Mountain. Mountain. It’s like a chant in his mind as he touches himself, more frantic this time. The tip of his tail prods at his entrance, lithe fingers flying over his clit. He whines—high, desperate, frustrated. It’s not enough, not enough—

“Rainy? Finally finished up, thought we could—oh.” Mountain stops dead in his tracks in the doorway.

Rain jerks his head over at the intrusion. Mountain’s disheveled, physically worn out and dirty from working, presumably, in the greenhouse all day. His hair hangs in loose, damp tendrils around his face, the rest gathered into a low bun. There’s soil and sweat on his clothes; Rain can smell it across the room, the aroma mixed with notes that are uniquely Mountain, stronger than the ones left on his sheets.

He could scream at how beautiful the earth ghoul is just existing in the doorway.

“Mount, please,” Rain breathes, still working his fingers over his cunt. “It’s so strong, please, need it, please.” His eyes slip closed as another strong wave hits him, giving him a full-body shiver. He hears Mountain shuck his boots and jacket, hears the door click shut and the lock turn.

“Oh tadpole, you don’t know how much I need you right now.”

Rain gasps, forcing his eyes open to watch Mountain slink over to him, continuing to shed layers of clothing on the way.

“What a pretty sight; all for me, hm?”

Rain blushes and nods, worrying his bottom lip between his fangs. Mountain crawls onto the end of the bed, watching Rain with rapt attention. The setting sun outlines his nearly naked body, golden hues surrounding him like a halo. If Rain weren’t so desperate, he’d savor the sight for longer.

“Please, Mount, I’ve been waiting all day, I—”

The earth ghoul hushes him, smoothing his hands over his thighs and settling between his legs. “I’m here, tadpole. Let me make it better.” Mountain guides Rain’s hand and tail away from his cunt, kissing the cool, wet smoothness of Rain’s inner thighs. It makes the water ghoul groan with relief, back bowing off the bed and claws digging into the sheets.

“Beautiful,” Mountain mutters before flattening his tongue against Rain’s cunt, dragging it from his taint to the top of his clit. The earth ghoul practically sinks into him, groaning at Rain under his tongue. “Fuck, Rainy, you taste so good,” he rumbles, mouthing over the length of his clit with fervor.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop oh,” Rain cries, tossing his head back and forth and grasping the hair between Mountain’s horns, pulling him further in. Mountain moans at the touch, eyes fluttering as he presses his nose into Rain’s little curls. His tongue curls around the underside of his clit just so and Rain’s gone, cumming again with a sob, thighs and stomach spasming.

Mountain keeps his mouth on Rain’s cunt long enough to work him through it, but as soon as Rain stops shaking he’s crawling over him, pulling off his boxers and pressing close. The water ghoul licks at the spots of sweat behind his ears and the junction of his neck, salty, sweet, and Mountain.

The earth ghoul ruts against him, hot and hard against the hollow of his hip. Rain groans and rolls up to meet the slide of his cock.

“Unholy hell, need you inside me,” Rain gasps. Mountain moans into his neck, slipping his arms under Rain’s to curl along his shoulder blades. Rain tightens his arms around Mountain’s neck. “Just like this,” he says.

“Fuck, yeah, just like this,” Mountain echoes. It takes very little adjustment to align their hips, to get the tip of Mountain’s cock wet with Rain’s slick, to push inside him inch by inch until they’re both panting with it. Drunk on each other.

“Shit, raincloud.”

“Yes, yes, oh yes.”

Mountain slides their mouths together, licking into Rain’s mouth with a groan. His thrusts start slow and lazy, earning little gasps from Rain with each movement of his hips. But it’s quickly not enough for either of them. Rain wraps his legs around Mountain’s waist, heels digging lightly into his back. His clit throbs with each slide of the earth ghoul’s cock, and the press of his stomach against it has Rain keening. He’s so full and so loved.

Mountain’s thrusts speed up in no time—he can’t help it, he’s been looking forward to seeing Rain all day, and to walk in on him in full-blown heat . . . well, it completely derailed his original plan of snuggling up in front of a movie with lots of junk food. But, this? This is infinitely better. The way Rain clenches around him, wet and writhing, has Mountain panting against the shell of his ear, chasing that blinding desire.

Rain’s shaking, chanting Mountain’s name like an unholy prayer. The earth ghoul repeatedly hits that spot just inside him, pressing as close as he can with each thrust, putting dizzying pressure on his clit. And all at once Mountain’s slipping his arms lower to wrap around his waist, forcing his back to arch as he goes as deep as he can, staying there and grinding in quick little motions.

“Oh, Mount, that’s it, that’s—I’m—” Rain can’t finish his sentence, because he’s choking on his words as he cums with a shout, thighs squeezing Mountain’s sides as he squirts onto his stomach. He feels like he’s never going to stop, warm slick drooling down the side of Mountain’s cock and coating both of their thighs.

“Fuck, Rain, oh Satanas,” Mountain whines, his own orgasm ripping through his core as Rain clenches around him. It’s endless bliss for them both, bodies shaking and twitching against one another as they hold each other close.

They come down panting into fevered flesh, hands roaming anywhere they can touch—soothing, caressing. Rain heaves a shaky breath beneath Mountain, little tears escaping the corners of his eyes.

“I’m here, tadpole, I’m here,” Mountain soothes, wiping away the droplets. Rain smiles into it, laughing a little at himself.

“Thank you.  Oh, fucking thank you, Mount.��� The sentence makes Mountain’s heart swell, and he presses close, nosing into Rain’s still-damp hair.

“I love you. Endlessly.” Rain mumbles an I love you, too, pulling him as close as inhumanly possible.

Mountain trills, rubbing his face into the water ghoul’s neck affectionately. “Come on, let’s take a bath. Relax for a while, hm?”

Rain sighs, content. “Okay.”

[jarondont]

Waiting for Love (part 2)

[The journey did not go as planned...]

Part 2: Circe

Things went downhill quickly. It all seemed like a blur to Odysseus — Ismarus, the lotus eaters, Polyphemus, Athena’s departure ��

Polites. Odysseus’s eyes moistened at the thought of him.

And on top of all that, Poseidon was after him.

When would this nightmare end?

Odysseus wiped his eyes and sighed, gazing out over the wine-dark sea. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. Ithaca had been right there. His kingdom had been right there.

Penelope had been right there, just a few days ago.

He had been so close to a peaceful life. But his crew just had to open the bag of winds. Now he was once again so far away from home, this time with no idea of how to get back.

But he would try. Even if it would take an eternity.

He silently requested Penelope to hold out for some more, then followed Eurylochus to land.

•••

Odysseus was used to close calls with death. But this one … this one felt different. Sure, Circe had turned out to be helpful in the end, but for a little while, Odysseus had been scared.

Really scared.

But not for his life. He was afraid she’d force him to do the unthinkable — turn his back on Penelope and give in to Circe’s pleasure.

He had made it out in one piece, but he felt as if someone had picked him up, shook him violently, and then slammed him back down on the ground. His senses were on high alert all during their journey to the Underworld.

“Get some rest, Captain,” Eurylochus would advise him.

But Odysseus refused. “You know what happened the last time I failed to keep my eyes open.”

So Odysseus thought of something else to do — something he should have been doing a lot more over his journey.

He opened a drawer back in his quarters, and picking up a blank sheet, he started to write.

Dearest love of mine, Forgive me for taking this much time to get home. I should have heeded the wind god’s warnings and kept a closer eye on the bag. Indeed, I tried to, but sleep won me over. I will not give up yet, however. I will see you again. But that is not what I need to tell you about. See, after escaping the god of tides, we washed up on the island of Aeaea, home of the witch Circe and her nymphs. After Eurylochus went with some of the crew to take a look around the island, only he returned. He explained that Circe had turned the crew into pigs. Although he begged me to do otherwise, I felt it necessary to go save them. After what had happened with Polyphemus, I couldn’t afford to have any more blood on my hands. So I confronted Circe; asked her to release them. But she had other plans in mind. As much as it pains me to say this, my love, I cannot hide it from you. She wanted me to make love with her. I tried to fight her, but even with Hermes on my side, there was so much power. She almost won. Then, at the last second, I thought of your love. Of your wisdom. Of you, and how in my darkest days, you are my power; my drive. I begged Circe to let us leave, to let me get back to you. At last, she agreed. It was a close call, my love. I promise it will never happen again. Now we are headed to the Underworld, sent by Circe to consult a prophet who, she claims, can help us get home. I pray to the gods that our journey will be over soon so I can hold you in my arms once again. I will make it home, my Penelope. I promise. Wait for me.

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[hassedah]

Raphael take care MC who is sick :

Hi! How are you? I hope you are well! ^^

Here is the headcanon with Raphael from the series under sick MC.

I hope you enjoy it!

Take care of yourself and have a nice day ^^

Raphaël rarely gets sick, apart from a few rather annoying migraines. Lastly, since you've been with him he's been coping much better with his migraines, which doesn't mean he doesn't have any pain at all, just that the pain is much more manageable when you're there to look after him. So it's out of the question for him not to be there to take care of you when you fall sick.

He's not the most anxious, which doesn't mean that he doesn't worry, but rather that he manages to get himself together quite easily. Ethan is an excellent doctor, and Aaron also has a very good knowledge of medicine. Let's just say Raphaël can cure a cold or flu without too much trouble and he can stitch up a wound without aggravating it. However, he's less confident in his abilities when you're the one who falls ill. He wouldn't want to risk making you sicker... or hurting you by making a mistake.

You weren't feeling well this evening. Raphaël had got up a little before you to go and wash in the bathroom. You had originally planned to join him as you often do, but you quickly gave up the idea. Your head felt like it was being squeezed in an ever-tightening vice, you were aching all over and your throat was hoarse. You sank back under the warm sheets of your bed, groaning. You had planned to go out for a walk in the forest with Raphaël this evening, but that seemed compromised if you didn't feel better soon. Hoping that you'd get some sleep and feel better, you closed your eyes in search of sleep.

You woke up a quarter of an hour later to the sound of your bedroom door opening. Far from feeling any better, the simple light from the corridor made you groan in pain.

“MC?

-Hmm. You answer weakly.

-MC? Sweetie? Is something wrong?" Raphaël asks you in a worried voice. He strides towards you, narrowly missing hitting a piece of furniture in the process.

“Don't hurry, honey," you mumble in a pasty voice. I wouldn't get very far in my condition anyway...

However, Raphaël soon finds himself sitting on the bed next to you.

“You really don't look well this evening. Your voice sounds very tired, what's wrong?

-I've just got a bit of a headache... and a sore throat too..., you sigh before resuming more sincerely, in fact I feel like I've been working out for hours, I'm aching all over...

-Do you want me to go and get Ethan? Raphaël suggests straight away.

-No... it's fine. It'll probably pass tomorrow. But I'm sorry, we won't be able to go for a walk in the woods as planned. I wouldn't even trust myself enough to go down the stairs without falling.

-Oh, love, he's kissing your forehead gently, it is all right, don't worry about it, we'll go another time. I'd rather you got some rest tonight if you need it. But if you feel that bad, maybe I should go and get Ethan anyway.

-He's probably off to Moondance by now..." you reply with a sigh.

Raphaël lifted his head for a moment to concentrate on the presence in the manor before sighing.

“It is true that I don't feel everyone in the manor... He always has to leave at the wrong moment," grumbles Raphaël.

I think I'll feel better tomorrow," you reply. Really, I just need to rest a bit, it's fine if Ethan isn't here.

-If that's what you want," Raphaël says gently, caressing your cheek, then pauses for a moment before continuing You're burning up, my sweetie... I'm going to go and get you a bottle of water, I don't want you to get dehydrated.

-Okay, I'm not likely to move from here anyway," you joke, taking his hand to kiss it before he leaves.

Raphaël returned just a few minutes later with the bottle of water, sitting down again on the bed beside you before handing it over. You took a few sips and put it on the bedside table. Raphaël kissed your forehead again before asking.

“Do you want me to stay with you? I can take a book up to the bedroom and read with you while you rest. Or can I go and make you a cup of tea too? I'd suggest some music, but I'm afraid that would only make your headache worse. But you can ask me anything you like, I'll do it if it makes you feel better.

I just want you to lie next to me... at least until I fall asleep...”

Raphaël came against you and you snuggled up against his shoulder. He kissed your temple before whispering softly.

"I love you my love, you can rest easy. I'm going to stay with you."

You mumbled faintly as you felt your eyelids starting to feel heavy.

"I love you too. "

[petermorwood]

There's something about writing with a fountain pen that's just better. However, they keep running up against "everyone knows" notions.

Everyone knows they're hard to use.

That may be because "everyone" thinks you have to write in at least cursive if not full-on copperplate with curly bits. Not so. You write the way you always do, except that the fountain pen lets you do it with less effort because the nature of the beast means you need barely press pen against paper to make your marks.

Everyone knows they're messy.

Okay, the ones that fill from bottles of ink do have the potential for mess, but accidents are accidental, not standard procedure. The ones that fill using plug-in ink cartridges - the commonest method, used even in some Very Expensive Pens, like this set - aren't messy at all.

Everyone knows they're expensive, exclusive, elitist and other nose-in-the-air e-things.

Yes, they can be expensive (in fact they can be ridiculous) but I've posted a couple of times about cheap fountain pens which work just fine for me. I've got several, including a couple of Pilot disposables which wrote so pleasantly that when they ran dry I didn't dispose, I refilled.

*****

The most expensive pens in our house right now are:

The Mont Blanc 146 (piston fill) which I bought @dduane just after we got married.

The Parker "51" (aerometric side-squeeze bar) bought by my parents when I started Big School in 1968.

The Pilot Bamboo (cartridge / converter) I bought when "saw", "wanted", "can afford" and "now" all came together on the same day.

All of which means they're more valuable in a non-bank way than "expensive", though I wouldn't want to replace DD's Mont Blanc, whose price then IIRC was less than a quarter what it is now.

*****

Any on-line pen store - Cult Pens, Goulet Pens, Jet Pens etc., etc. - is able to sort their entire product list by "Price: low to high".

They can do it the other way too, with results likely to provoke a short sharp intake of breath. Most of the pens at that end of the scale aren't for writing with; they're for collecting, possessing or just an investment that happens to be pen-shaped.

*****

On the few occasions when I have to write with a regular biro (ballpoint) it now feels like scratching out the letters with a nail - and here for fairness I'll reiterate a good word to Pilot G-2 gel pens, which are as convenient as biros but write with a lot less pressure.

Still not as lightly as fountain pens, though.

*****

The only place I usually write with a pencil is in the bedside notebook, because ink, liquid or gel, isn't safe near sheets, duvet-cover and pillowcases (voice of experience, it never completely washes out). That goes double when blearily scribbling some write-it-down-now-or-forget-it-forever thought which woke you up at Oh-Dark-Thirty.

Regular HB pencils are getting too faint for me (younger eyes may not have this problem) and while soft leads - 2B and up - are darker they're also prone to smearing, which is OK for art but less so for writing, especially the late-night scrawly kind.

In addition they sometimes - not always, but usually when it's least desirable - do that carbon-paper trick of printing their writing on the facing page.

If both facing pages are written in dark but overly soft pencil, this can become a confusion of blurry overwritten letters that do nothing for clarity of information which, given when and how it was written, might be none too clear to start with.

All this is IMO, so YMMV and probably does. :->

Hey there Neil. So sorry to bother you, but I need to genuinely ask, how do you handwrite and are able to read it after yourself? I have this trashy notebook where I write when I can't do it on my laptop, but my thoughts are faster than my hand and the writing always turns out absolutely horrid and most of the time I'm just unable to read it after myself. Thank you, have a lovely day.

Fountain pens. Ballpoints and pencils leave me unable to read what I wrote. Fountain pens I can read my writing.

[the-firebird69]

Only took a day and a half so any flushed out those snails but there are a lot because they put eggs in fertilize and he was infested and all through his body and tequila got rid of like 90% and it was time for dark walnut and a sunset it and he tried it it did a few times everything started dying and he can feel it and they die and he's scanning with the MRI now and can see a few so he does a dark walnut a little. Yes maybe I should see a nurse or something so he's asking around they said we all doctors but so he goes and ask a nurse and she said you have to come in so he's got an appointment it wasn't that bad that's left it's got dark walnut with him he says he have to be careful not to kill yourself and he goes oh yeah he's going to go there today but really he drinks like half a bottle of tequila and it started coming out and he said his blood was 2.0 he says I can't reach 3.0 I said most drunk drivers are in 3.0 so he laughed and it's true this drank it drank the like a quarter more and oodles came out hey drank more and until the fish the bottle it's like in a 4.0 he was a UMass it'll be a passing grade UMass it's a passing grade which has some meaning and he felt good and still like 20 came out and he said how long would it take for the rest to get out he says I don't know you need to go to the doctor and get special medicine that is right sorry he's going to go today but he's kind of infected with aaybe we think he probably got them all. They're not a special type of snail no and they're around here and they're they're deadly and they've been in Florida for one time so people wear shoes and that's what you see infecting people in their feet are these things and that's why he wears sandals so get mad when you have a step on the floor and then you show us all this s*** so we are upset with you he does take iodine in and it's deadly to these creatures and his blood has been tested and they do not do well against it they can't even smell it basically and they tried eating it on the we tested it well someone did no that we test it yes and they cannot bite it without dying so good and keeps him alive it's like a battery eventually it's going to be a better and his immune system will destroy anything like that right now we're waiting for people to stop bothering us

Thor Freya

Olympus

We're in hitting and pulling out and until it comes down so we can do work but yeah it was a good job he helped the guy and he felt good with tequila and he goes just one more shot so it goes and finds it and it's real strong and he drinks it and it goes good you didn't feel that bad or that drunk he knows if you can walk the line you probably need a couple more so he tried walking the line and he goes okay so he does it and he can walk the line so he drinks a few more and he says I can't so what you do is you kind of sit there he says you move around slowly not too much cuz you just flushed the alcohol out and he moves around a little bit now and again walks around they're out like another 50 and a small and then another 60 and they made pockets and they're gone and we estimate that he might have some but really heat blasted the crap on him and slapped all night and he had a few there in bed and he gets off and he washes the sheets with bleach it says now what are you guys usually do and he knows what to do and he started to throw up a little and he had some in there and no and he says I have to try and heal a little and then he's saying you got to go to the hospital and they'll clear you out with pharmacy medicine and so he's going to do that I can send it all said oh I had these and it like validates their threat and he goes that's stupid so he's going today and they're giving medicine and actually works a dark walnut works too but you have to take a bunch and he might get hurt they don't like salt they can live in it but they don't like it there are some things that work but most of them are painful and they kind of know what it works but they want to do a regimen and he's off to do it pretty soon and it works for us

My son is going okay he's got iodine and salt and eat some nuts but he drinks a lot of blueberry juice and that is poisonous to a lot of bugs not real poisonous but he is taking in a lot of iodine that stuff works and it goes in the bloodstream and we do know there's nothing in it and nothing in his poo poo either but people panic you know but really you can see what it really takes if just one does it usually they won't survive that his immune system was taxed and he's damn lucky he got those the hell off him and his friends were horrified and he was horrified and he was going to inject poison into his arm and his friend said no you don't want to do that it'll destroy the area you put it in and it's kind of true but not really so he was going to try but it didn't do it it says kind of happy but then he said no it would have worked better but there are way too many and he was upset and it's a very upsetting and he knows who did it and today is going to get him

Bitol and Goddess wife we're loading up here with clearing them out and it's going to work and we are going to do a lot of work and he's suggesting that we get something going and I do understand it

Olympus

I see what you're just saying I saw it before and we're working on it and it's kind of slow going but we're getting ready

Thor Freya

You're hopelessly romantic can you make me sick I love you too and I really can't wait to get out of here it says I'm going to have a 24-hour watch once you move you louse so the guys and girls have to make sure and yeah I get that

Hera

Haha

Zues

It's not funny you little s*** but again it is and I'm glad your roof is going up and it's nice

Hera

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[dsmutp]

hehe now that i have gotten your consent- (i have 2 ideas for both sub and dom reader but that's for another story anyways so-) basically, c!eret gets jealous because whenever they're walking around with reader, reader gets distracted by something or dragged away by someone else, basically not giving him all the attention he wants. So he has enough of it and randomly drags the reader away(hold up i'm losing space here-😀)

gotchu fam <3

Another One of Those Days (C! Eret X Reader)

Being a king was no small feat. It wasn't all classy parties and fur lined capes - it also meant actually running a nation. And the SMP was no small nation. There were disputes to be settled and laws to be upheld, and at the end of the day, all of that responsibility fell to the king.

You were a little biased, but you thought Eret was doing a pretty good job of handling an entire kingdom. For the king of the entire SMP - a nation torn apart by wars on a regular basis - he wasn't doing half bad. Even war torn, Eret had the SMP as one of the most stable places to live. He did it all with a smile on his face, too.

Of course, he wasn't doing it entirely alone.

You were a something of a helping hand when it came to making sure the kingdom ran smoothly, being Eret's spouse. While he handled the most important parts of running a kingdom, you did a lot of the smaller things. Things like managing the palace staff, and handling smaller disputes (things like property line disagreements and civil arguments). It wasn't much, on the large scheme of things, but some days it could get pretty hectic.

Like today, for instance.

Since you had woken up this morning, you had been running around the palace all day. It seemed like the whole universe needed your attention - something had happened down in the kitchens during breakfast (meaning you'd had to cut your morning meal with Eret short), and the civil disagreement you were supposed to resolve today ended up stretching on for hours (meaning you weren't able to catch Eret after his morning council meeting) and then just as things had been calming down, someone had broken a stained glass window in the west wing (meaning you'd had to skip dinner entirely, and ended up just sneaking a few slices of sourdough from the kitchens).

Needless to say, you were exhausted, and you missed your husband.

Luckily for you, the sun had sunk behind the trees, the day was over, and he would be waiting for you in bed.

You finished off your sourdough dinner substitute as you approached the door of your shared bedroom, opening it up as quietly as you could and slipping inside. You didn't want to disturb him if he was asleep, as you were sure he'd had a hard day as well...

But no, Eret was very much awake, and waiting for you on the edge of the bed.

He had taken off most of his kingly attire - the long red cape usually found draped over his shoulder was folded over one of the armchairs on the other side of the room, and the crown was in it's proper place on it's shelf. Now, Eret's hair hung loose in his face, and his white silk shirt lay unbuttoned across his chest.

"Hello dear." He greeted in a low rumble, a smile coming over his face. "I missed you today."

You melted, taking his hand as he reached out for you, pulling you into his lap. Your head found it's place tucked underneath his jaw, and you wound your arms around his middle, sighing deep in your chest. "Hello love."

"You seem tired." Eret noted, stroking a hand through your hair. "Long day?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." You grumbled. "I don't think I've had such a busy day since before we got married." You nuzzled into him more, letting your eyes drift shut. "It's better now though."

You could feel Eret's chuckle bubble up in his chest. "I'm sorry we didn't get to take our usual breaks today." He said. "Perhaps I can make up for the lost time now?"

Your eyes opened back up at the suggestive tone in his voice, and you pulled back a bit so you could meet his eyes. "Oh?"

"If you're feeling up to it, of course." He said. "I just thought maybe it would help you relax, blow off some steam, if you will." His hand found it's way down to your thigh, kneading the flesh gently.

Goosebumps rose from your skin at the touch. "That would be very nice." You said.

A grin stretched across Eret's face as he shifted, letting you get out of his lap. "Put on something nice for me, won't you? I missed seeing you today."

---

It couldn't have been more than a quarter of an hour later that you found your wrists bound to the headboard of the four poster bed you shared with Eret, your lingerie clad body spread over the sheets like a lewd painting. You tugged at the silk tie binding your wrists - one of Eret's many sashes. He'd worn this one to a few banquets before, a lovely deep purple color.

Now, the fabric only accented your skin as you lay in wait for him.

Eret stood at the foot of the bed, slowly shrugging the shirt off his shoulders, letting the fabric slide down over his back. He always liked to put on something of a show for you - and you were always appreciative.

Eret's eyes found you as he unbuttoned his pants, letting his trousers pool at his feet as he stepped out of them. In only his boxers, he climbed onto the bed, propping himself up beside you to run a hand down your body, toying with the fabric of the lingerie you had picked out.

"You look delectable darling." He said, playing with the fabric of your outfit. The action caused goosebumps to rise over your skin where his fingers just barely brushed across. "I love it when you wear this one."

"Well, you said you'd missed me." You responded, pulling against your ties to crane your neck forward. Eret indulged you, leaning down to press his lips to yours, wasting no time in opening the kiss. Eret stopped playing with your outfit and instead started removing it, exposing your bottom half.

He pulled away to toss the piece of the outfit away, throwing it towards the pile of his own clothes on the floor. A shiver ran up your spine as Eret's eyes drifted down your body - he looked like he wanted to eat you.

And he did.

You jerked against the ties as Eret put his mouth on you, his hands sliding upwards to grip around your hips, holding them down to the bed so you couldn't squirm away from the heat of pleasure. A moan escaped your throat as Eret licked around your hole, sliding a finger in.

Involuntarily, your hips jerked up, only for Eret to press back down, stopping you from moving too much. You ached to touch him, but you were still secured to the headboard. There was something tantalizing about being completely at his mercy though.

Another finger slid in, beginning to stretch you open as Eret kept up his ministrations. Your breathing picked up as the warm tingly feeling spread over the rest of your body. Eret never disappointed - not when he put his mouth to good use.

You weren't even surprised when your orgasm washed over you. Even when he was just prepping you, Eret was a generous lover.

He pulled back as you came back down to earth, shedding his boxers. His cock stood at full attention - red no doubt from where he had had it pressed against the mattress while he'd spoken a royal decree into your skin.

"Good?" He asked, bringing a hand up to wipe his chin off.

"Wonderful." You said, catching your breath. Eret's hands off your hips now, you angled them up. "In please?"

Eret smiled, one hand coming up to card through your hair. "Right."

One of Eret's hands came to rest on your hip, the other coming to rest on the bedsheets beside you, holding himself up so that he could slide into you. You tipped your head back, savoring the stretch as Eret sucked in a breath.

You began to roll your hips, not giving Eret a moment to adjust. He leaned down, choking on a groan as he pressed his lips to the side of your neck. You sighed as he began to press kisses up your jaw, sucking little bruises against the skin.

"I missed you." He said, picking up the pace as he rolled his hips. "Even though it was just a day, I missed you."

"Needy." You tsked, meeting every thrust.

"You like that though." Eret said, voice tipping into something breathier. You could tell he was nearing his peak now, and you were beginning to reach a second - it would be easier for him to tip you over the edge now that he had done it once before.

All it took was a particularly rough thrust for you to be unraveling for a second time around him, Eret following you over the edge.

He collapsed against you, pillowing his head into your chest. You took a moment to catch your breath, just letting the feeling settle into you.

"Feeling better?" Eret asked, voice muffled as he spoke right into your skin.

"Much." You said. "You know what would make it better though?"

"Hm?"

"If you untied me so I could cuddle you to sleep."

[tchallasbabymama]

Instinct

Hello, fellow whores. You asked for it and I hope I delivered. I present to you: T’Challa in heat❤️‍🔥! This one had me blushing, y’all.

The next request I work on will either be sugar daddy silver fox T’Challa or Star-Lord T’Challa. I know I just threw the latter in the lineup, but apparently, people are seriously feeling the lack of Star-Lord T content here and I want to do what I can to help fill the void.

Check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and, as always, comments and reblogs are my lifeblood! Enjoy😘

Word count: 4,903

CW: SMUT, infidelity

Instinct [instiNG(k)t] noun: an innate, typically fixed pattern of behavior in animals in response to certain stimuli.

For centuries, the descendants of the great Bashenga retained their hold on the Wakandan throne. Challenge Day after Challenge Day, they beat their opponents and were rewarded by Bast allowing them to ingest the heart-shaped herb. The herb imbued them with a panther’s strength, speed, and instincts, effectively turning each of them from an ordinary man into the Black Panther. Now, strength and speed are pretty self-explanatory, but what exactly were their instincts?

When T’Challa was crowned king and ingested the heart-shaped herb, he visited the ancestral plane and reconnected with his baba. Their reunion was one full of tears, but most importantly, T’Chaka took the time to impart his wisdom to his son. T’Challa spent hours talking to his baba about life, what to expect as king, and, most importantly, what to expect as the Black Panther.

T’Chaka had warned him about what was to come, but until it happened to him months later, T’Challa was in denial. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

Wrong. When T’Challa woke up one sunny Wednesday morning, he felt strange. He felt feverish but not sick. Like most days, his morning wood stood at attention, tenting the crisp white sheets that laid across his lower half. He looked at the clock and saw that he had plenty of time to take care of himself, so he rolled to his side and reached for the tub of shea butter in his nightstand. T’Challa bit his lip as he rubbed his hands together to melt it down, but when he reached down to stroke his length, he nearly bit clean through it. He was much more sensitive than usual, and he wondered why...then it hit him. He jumped up and grabbed his kimoyo beads with his slippery hands, and he frantically opened his calendar.

“Twelve weeks,” T’Challa groaned as he counted backward to the night he became the Black Panther (the second time.) “Fuckkkk.”

He was in heat, and it was only going to get worse. T’Challa wracked his brain for ideas on what to do to fix his problem, but all he could hear was T’Chaka’s words echoing through his head.

“You should find a partner sooner rather than later. The instinct will take over you, and it will become unbearable if you do not have anyone to aid you.”

T’Challa had been so busy trying to rebuild the kingdom that his cousin damn near broke that he had forgotten to look for someone. Sure, there was Nakia, but she had moved to Oakland and their relationship quickly fizzled out. Then, there was that one Dora Milaje after he regained the throne, but that was a one-night thing and she went back to her wife the next morning. He needed to find someone, but who?

As the king’s mind wandered through his options, sweat beads began to form on his chiseled body. He knew he’d be no good today, so T’Challa typed up a message to his family and staff that he would be taking the day off. With that taken care of, all he needed to do was figure out how to get through this heat in one piece. T’Challa looked down at his dick again. It was swollen with need, and he watched as droplets of precum escaped from his tip. He couldn’t take it anymore and decided to bear through the sensitivity. Carefully, as though he might hurt himself, he reached his hand down and grabbed it in his hand. The whimper he let out was foreign to his ears, but it was all he could do when he felt the intense wave of arousal wash over him. He gritted his teeth as he began to slowly move his hand up and down his shaft. It seemed that everywhere his hand went, it left a deep burning sensation in its wake, but he just couldn’t stop. He rutted into his hand, and as soon as his thumb swiped over his reddened tip, he came undone quicker than he ever had before. His body jerked as the milky white substance spilled over his hand, and it seemed that he had plenty to give. However, instead of leaving him sated, all that did was arouse him more.

T’Challa had made a mess all over himself and decided to take a shower, but every touch of his hand, or even the water, drove him up the walls. He needed some pussy, fast. He exited the shower and allowed his body to air dry as he moisturized his mahogany skin. Minutes passed before he noticed that he was still massaging himself, too caught up in the sensation to notice the passage of time. His dick was rock hard again, and he groaned in frustration as he attempted to stuff it into silk lounge pants. He called for his breakfast to be brought to him and spent the day in his quarters, alternating between desperately jacking off and going through his contacts to find the right person. It had been so long since he had opened that figurative little black book that all of his usuals were taken, and unfortunately for him, they were hellbent on remaining faithful for some reason. As the day went on, his hunger grew in intensity, and it got to the point where neither his hand nor his sex toys could cut it anymore. He felt lost, he felt horny beyond belief, and he felt...famished.

T’Challa looked at the time again and realized that he hadn’t eaten in hours. He placed another order from the kitchen and waited impatiently for it to arrive. It wasn’t that he couldn’t wait for the food to be brought up; he was impatient because every moment that passed without him touching himself brought him more pain. He didn’t need the poor kitchen staff walking in on him feverishly pleasuring himself, so he just sat there and attempted to focus his mind elsewhere. Eventually, there was a knock at the door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Room service,” a melodic voice called out, and T’Challa smiled to himself at his friend’s playful tone. It was Xoliswa. He hadn’t seen her in almost a week, and he was sure she was out of town, yet here she was bringing him his dinner. Xoliswa started working in the kitchen at the palace seven years ago, and they grew close over the years. He was even in her wedding.

T’Challa unlocked the door with his beads, and she came right on in with the cart full of more food than he usually ordered.

“Somebody’s hungry today,” she joked. Just as T’Challa was about to respond with some smartass remark, an aroma hit him square in the face. It definitely wasn’t coming from the heaping portions of doro wot and rum cake he ordered. It was sickly sweet and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, as well as something else.

The king began to salivate. “New perfume?”

“No, just the usual,” Xoliswa sighed. “Why?”

“No reason. You just smell different today is all,” he gulped to keep from drooling at her smooth, brown legs that were always on display. His eyes traveled up to the curve of her hips and the thickness of her waist before grazing over her delicious-looking chest and landing on her plump lips. Of course, he had noticed her looks before, and they would playfully banter and flirt back and forth from time to time, but this was the first time he was really seeing her beauty. Not only could he see it, but he could smell her from across the room, and his body was reacting in ways he couldn’t control. His dick sprung up and immediately started to harden as he watched her ass bounce in her flowy shorts when she pushed the cart out to the balcony. She had gone too far away, and he felt the intense need to be closer to her, so he bolted up and made his way outside with her.

“Here, let me help you.” T’Challa quickly picked up the heavy tray before she could and placed it on the table before taking his usual seat.

“I thought you didn’t feel good today,” she crossed her arms over her chest, unintentionally pushing her ample breasts even closer together. His body burned at the sight, and he visualized his lips wrapped around her undoubtedly perky nipples. He needed her body on his, but he knew he shouldn’t. Xoliswa was a friend, a confidant, a married woman...

“I don’t,” T’Challa cleared his throat and tried to focus his mind on anything but her. It wasn’t working, though. “But, uh, it’s not what you think. I just needed a day, that’s all.”

“Want to talk about it?” Xoliswa asked as she leaned against the balcony. He was acting strange, and it concerned her. “You know I’m here for you if you need me.”

“Don’t say that,” he chuckled darkly as something flared inside him.

“Why not?” she tilted her head to the side and uncrossed her arms. He would’ve sighed in relief, but she just made it worse by stepping closer to him. Xoliswa placed her hands on his shoulders the way she always did and began kneading his bare flesh. Little did he know, he wasn’t the only one fighting back their arousal. Xoliswa had a small crush on T’Challa since the moment she laid eyes on his muscular frame. Had she not been in a relationship the entire time she’d known him, she would’ve dropped down on her knees and given him the business by now. However, Xoliswa loved her husband and wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing...except for the occasional nights where she closes her eyes and all she can see is him. All she can feel is the king.

T’Challa let out a low groan as her hands worked out his stress, and as usual, the sound made Xoliswa flood the panties that had gotten wedged between her fat pussy lips. The scent of her arousal traveled straight to his nostrils, and his pupils blew wide. He jumped up and crossed the balcony in just a few quick strides, needing to get away from her before he truly lost himself to his lust.

“Seriously, what’s up with you today?!”

“N-nothing, you just...you smell so good, and- Xo, I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Xoliswa narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with him...but then her eyes fell to the large dickprint in his silk pants. She had seen him in those and similar pants several times before, and although they always left little to the imagination, she had never seen him in his full Bast-given glory. But this time? This time she could almost make out every vein through the soft fabric, which made her pussy spasm with need and release more wetness.

T’Challa could see that Xoliswa was staring right at his dick, and he knew she liked what she saw by the whiff of sweet honey that wafted his way. A low rumbling started in his chest like an engine revving as the burning need in his loins intensified.

Xoliswa spoke barely above a whisper, stunned but in awe of the man before her, “Why are you-”

“My heat,” he sighed.

“Your what?”

“My heat!” T’Challa snarled, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Any other time, he would assume he had scared her, but he knew better now. He could hear her heartbeat, he could smell her dripping pussy, and he could see her hardened nipples and the way her luscious thighs rubbed together in a feeble attempt to quell the throbbing between her legs.

“W-what’s that?”

T’Challa gestured for her to take a seat, and she lowered herself into the chair across from his, squirming in her pooled fluids. Her obedience just made him harder, if that was at all possible. He gingerly sat down across from her and just stared for a moment, her breathing getting shallower with each inhale.

“One of my newly acquired panther instincts requires me to, uh, mate every three months.”

“So...you basically ovulate four times a year,” Xoliswa joked in an attempt to break the tension, but he began to growl at her again, causing them both to shudder at the other’s arousal.

“It’s more than being a little horny and fertile, Xo. I have to- no, I need to find a release, or I’ll go crazy. My whole body is on fire, and masturbating just makes it worse. I’ve been in here all day-”

“You’ve been in here jacking off all day?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not helping?”

“Not at all.”

“Have you tried-”

“Yes. Whatever it is, I’ve tried it. Trust me.”

Silence descended upon the pair as they both stared at each other, stuck in a lustful feedback loop, chests heaving and mouths watering. Xoliswa was the first to break, so she stood and headed for the door. She had to get out of there, the atmosphere was too thick, and she couldn’t think straight with him staring at her like a piece of meat. She couldn't stand to look at him any longer or she might do something she’d regret later, but when he grabbed her wrist and looked up at her with those pitch-black eyes, she knew she was in trouble.

“Xoliswa, please,” he begged. He knew he had no business asking that of her, but he was desperate, and she just looked so damn delicious.

She bit her lip as her eyes traveled back down to his bulge that had started leaking through the fabric of his pants.

“Shit…”

“You like what you see?” his voice was lower than she’d ever heard. It seemed like everything he did turned her on more and more. T’Challa took a deep inhale so he could know for sure, and his head swarmed with the smell of her. “Yeah, you like it. I can smell that sweet pussy; it’s dripping for me, Xo.”

He had never spoken to her like that before, and every word lured her further into his trap. She had a brief moment of clarity and pulled her wrist from his grasp, taking a step back.

“T-T’Challa, I’m married-”

“Tell your body that, then,” he grumbled as he stood and stalked closer to her. She backed up with every step he took until she was wedged between his body and the doorframe. His arms went up on either side of her, and he leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath tickle her lips. “Tell me right now: do you want me?”

Her eyes darted around, desperate to look at anything but the coal irises that would surely draw her in. “I-I-”

“Say it, Xo. I want you so fucking bad,” T’Challa growled with his face buried in her neck, imprinting her scent deep in his brain. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but take a little bite. As soon as his teeth made contact with her skin, she let out a light moan and set his body into overdrive. He pressed his hips into her, and the heat of her skin made him whimper. The noise shocked her, and she realized just how much he needed her...as if the ten inches of clothed steel pressing into her stomach wasn’t enough of a sign.

Xoliswa had secretly wanted this for a long time. In her dreams, he’d fuck her good and deep and leave her a sobbing, leaking mess. Truthfully, if he had ever come onto her before this, she probably would have caved then, too, but she thought he was too gentlemanly to do so and pushed the dirty fantasy to the back of her mind. Boy, was she wrong. Right now, T’Challa couldn’t give a shit about chivalry and certainly didn’t care about her husband. Right now, all he wanted- no, all he needed was her body.

She pulled his curls to remove him from her neck, and he growled again at the titillating pain and the loss of contact.

“You want me?” she whispered, her lips mere centimeters from his.

“Mmm, more than anything.”

Xoliswa’s hand traveled down his body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. T’Challa’s lip found its way between his teeth again as he struggled to maintain composure, but it all flew out the window when he felt her hand wrap around his throbbing length.

“Fuck! Xo, stop playing and-”

“You need me?” she teased as she pulled his pants down over his hips and let them pool at his feet. She wrapped both of her hands around his girth and stroked him softly. He was so sensitive that he jerked away from her hand, but she grabbed him and pulled him back in. Xoliswa had dreamed of this day, so why not make her dream come true?

Suddenly, T’Challa’s self-control went out of the window as he thrust into her hands and wrapped one of his much larger hands around her throat. She stared back at him with lust clouding her eyes as he met her lips for a hungry kiss. The taste of her on his tongue drove him wild, and she felt his dick begin to twitch. She picked up her pace and gripped him a little tighter, making him stick his tongue further down her throat. She melted into him. The firm grip he had on her made her knees weak, and just as they began to buckle, he pulled his lips from hers and said the three magic words he had uttered so many times in her dreams.

“On your knees.”

Xoliswa fell to the ground and looked up at him with her mouth opened wide for him to use. And use it, he did. T’Challa was surprised she could take all of him without any training, but he guessed her husband might have been around his size.

Her husband. He had a married woman on her knees, slobbering up and down his shaft. He had Xoliswa on her knees…

Just the thought of how wrong this was turned him on even more, and as if the same thought had occurred to her, Xoliswa started sucking harder. The spit foaming in the corners of her mouth and running down her chin soaked her chest, and the king longed to see more. He reached down and ripped her shirt down the middle, freeing her breasts from the confines of modern clothing. T’Challa grinned when he saw that not only was she not wearing a bra, but her nipples stood erect like two Hershey’s kisses ready for him to devour. Just the way he liked.

Xoliswa didn’t care that he had ruined her shirt; all she cared about was making her king cum. She wanted to taste him and swallow everything he had to give, so she grew impatient and turned it up a notch, fondling his balls in her hands as she sucked on him. Her tongue swirled around his tip, and he gripped her locs in his fist to hold her down on him as he exploded into her mouth. Splashes of him coated her throat, and she swallowed every last drop he gifted to her. She blinked up at him with those innocent-looking eyes as she sucked him like a straw, milking him for all he’s worth. Normally, he would get overstimulated at this point, but that seemed impossible. Xoliswa gave him the best head he’s had in a long time, but it still wasn’t enough to sate him.

T’Challa pulled her head off him, and the bridge of spit that connected them was a sight to see. He reached down and lifted her to her feet, kissing her once more to taste his saltiness on her tongue.

“You still...want...this pussy?” Xoliswa asked between kisses.

“Mmmmhmmm,” he grunted as he pushed up on her again.

Xoliswa pushed him away, and he looked at her like she had betrayed him. His face relaxed when he noticed the feral look in her eyes and the way her pheromones filled the air.

“Take what you need.”

T’Challa saw red, and the next thing he knew, he was buried deep inside her as he pounded her into the mattress. The arch in her back deepened as he fucked her rougher than her husband could have ever dreamed of. Xoliswa struggled to see as she reached for the sheets to hold onto, but he wouldn’t let her. T’Challa pinned her hands behind her back and continued to plow into her as she screamed.

“Fuck, yes! Just like that, baby! Ooooh, T’Challa-”

“You like that?”

“Yes!”

“Then take it. Fucking take it!” he roared as he released inside her, but neither was ready to stop. Xoliswa loved how his cum felt dripping out of her, making her pussy even wetter than it already was. Keeping it juicy for him to do whatever he needed to do to her body.

“This tight fucking pussy, Xo,” he groaned as he slowed down and grinded into her, stirring her insides. His heavy hand came down on her ass, and she let out the most adorable squeak. He smiled and did it again and again, her pussy tightening around him with every strike until she couldn’t take it anymore. Xoliswa’s body convulsed as she came all over the king’s dick.

“T’Challaaaa!” she wailed, and he stopped to massage her cheeks.

“Too much?”

She looked back at him and smiled mischievously with a glint in her eye. “No, my king.”

“I’m your king?” he teased while rubbing her clit, making her hips circle on his dick as he stood still and let her work.

“Yessss,” she whined.

“Then cum for your king one more time. I have another load for you,” he whispered in her ear with his teeth firmly gripping the lobe. His fingers tickled the underside of her clit, and she bucked her hips. “That’s your spot, huh?”

“Y-yes, my king!”

He alternated between circling her clit and strumming the underside for barely a few moments before her pussy began to grip him again. T’Challa leaned back and watched the way her pussy spasmed on him. He couldn’t hold out and exploded inside her once more.

“Mmmm, baby, I love when you do that.”

“You love when I cum in this pussy?”

“Mmmhm,” her voice grew higher in pitch the more she felt him twitch inside her.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

T’Challa pulled out slowly, and she moaned as his bulbous head dragged across her g-spot. He flipped her over with ease and slid right back into her slippery canal. She loved how full he made her feel, how he stretched her walls and beat the breaks off her pussy. But this? This felt so good.

His hips moved slowly as he stroked deep into her and gazed into her eyes.

“I just need one more, babygirl. One more, and I think I’ll be good, ok?”

“Whatever you need, my king,” Xoliswa whispered against his lips and pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and he chuckled darkly.

“You want me in there deep, don’t you?”

“As deep as you can go, baby.”

“You’re filthy. Does your husband know what a little slut you are?”

Xoliswa released all over him again.

“Oh, you like when I talk about him when I’m in these guts? You like being reminded of how naughty you are, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” Xoliswa nodded with tears threatening to fall from her eyes from how good it felt to have T’Challa inside her.

“Let me ask you something,” he leaned in close to her ear and thrust harder. “Does he fuck you like I do?”

Xoliswa frantically shook her head, “N-no!”

“Then you come to me whenever you need a taste of what a king can do for you.”

“Yes, baby!” she keened as he picked up the pace and dropped his weight on her.

“You know this pussy is mine, now, right? He can use it if you want him to, but this shit belongs to me. You’re fucking mine, Xoliswa.”

“T’Challa-”

“Mmmhm, say my name, babygirl. Tell them who owns this tight little pussy,” he punctuated those last three words with thrusts so deep she swore she could feel it in her ribs. “Who owns you?”

“T’Challaaaa!”

His eyes rolled back in his head at hearing his name fall from her lips. Her voice was shaky and hoarse, but she screamed his name over and over again as his hips pounded into hers, the curve of his dick angling just right to keep her creaming all over him.

“Fuck, baby, here it comes. You ready?”

Xoliswa looked him dead in the eye and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Cum in your pussy, Black Panther.”

He hadn’t expected her to call him that, but it lit something within him, and he came harder than he ever had before. He bit into her neck as he spasmed inside her, pumping her full of his essence. She came from the feeling of him releasing so much and putting it right where it belonged. Their bodies fed off each other, and when one would spasm, it would trigger the other to cum. T’Challa peppered sweet kisses all over Xoliswa’s face and spoke to her in hushed tones, “Thank you, babygirl.”

Xoliswa couldn’t speak; she could only moan incoherently. Minutes passed before their bodies began to tire of the constant state of arousal, and they slowly pulled apart. She whimpered as she felt their fluids escape her and drip slowly down her crack, and he could only watch in awe. He had never produced so much, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of Xoliswa or his heat or a combination of both. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to give it up just yet.

“Call Abdul. Tell him you have to work tonight,” he rasped, making a devilish smile appear on her face. She knew she was in for the night of her life, and just the thought of what was to come had her playing with her overstimulated clit. He swatted her hand away and replaced it with his own. “Call him. Now. Make sure your camera is off.”

T’Challa kissed from her neck down to her chocolate nipples and took a bite, making her yip at the sensation. “Be quiet, or he’ll catch you. You don’t want that, do you?”

“N-no, my king,” she stuttered out as she pressed Abdul’s contact card and called him.

“What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be working? Or are you slacking off with T’Challa again,” he joked, and Xoliswa locked eyes with a smug T’Challa as his tongue swirled around her nipple.

“N-no, I’m at work,” she struggled to speak as T’Challa trailed his tongue down her body and suctioned his lips around her clit. She snapped her legs shut around his head, making him pry them open with a menacing growl.

“What was that?” Abdul asked.

“What was what?” Xoliswa chuckled nervously.

“I thought I heard something. Anyways, what’s up, sweetie?”

“I, uh-” she stopped herself and muted the call for a moment to let out a moan from the pits of her soul as T’Challa showed no mercy on her. His tongue masterfully maneuvered around her clit like he designed it himself, and the three slender fingers curling inside her coaxed another orgasm out of her.

“Take him off mute right fucking now,” T’Challa ordered with a mouth full of pussy.

“Hello? Xo?”

She scrambled to unmute the call and calm her breathing down as the king nibbled on her labia and sped his fingers up inside her.

“I’m here, baby. I-have-to-work-late-so-I’m-staying-at-the-palace-tonight!”

“Wait, slow down. I can barely understand you. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok,” she giggled as T’Challa nibbled on her inner thighs. “I’m staying here tonight.”

“Oh, no problem. Don’t let T’Challa work you too hard, ok?”

“I won’t!” she squeaked.

“Good. You get back to work, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tell him you love him,” T’Challa whispered against her pussy lips, and Xoliswa couldn’t help but oblige.

“Abdul?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I-I love you.”

“I love you too, Xo. Call me when you get off,” he blew her a kiss through the phone, and she hung up right as T’Challa started chuckling.

“You almost got us caught!” she fussed.

“You liked it. Don’t lie.”

Xoliswa bit her lip to hide her smile, but it didn’t work.

“Maybe a little.”

“Mmmhm. Nasty slut, letting me use you like this. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Xoliswa’s pussy jumped, and T’Challa couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Maybe you should teach me a lesson,” Xoliswa moaned as she ground her hips on his fingers, and his dick hardened right back up. “Or punish me.”

“Fuck, Xo, where have you been all my life?” he groaned and pulled his fingers from her, lining the head of his dick up with her entrance.

“Married...to my husband,” Xoliswa teased. T’Challa’s nostrils flared, and she knew it was on.

She wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @nahimjustfeelingit-writes, @dersha89

[pitaparka]

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

[levis-coffeecup]

chapter 8| A fight and a Fall

WC-6.6 k

Content/Warnings

canon- compliant, canon-typical violence, descriptions of PTSD, grief, depression, heavy angst and themes, strong language.

Author’s Note

I'm a little late, I'm sorry. It's almost 1am in my country and I am technically a day late. I hope I didn't leave anyone waiting coz I know that feeling all too well. But on the brighter side, its valentines day when I'm posting this.

Song for this chapter is It will rain by Bruno Mars.

Chapters

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Masterlist | Playlist | Other Works

MAY 846

A light breeze ruffles Mae's hair as she sits reading a novel in Levi's office.

His quarters are painted in hues of brown and white. There's a wooden desk that falls right in your sight as you step in. And that's where Mae usually finds him, always scribbling on some sheets, and completing paperwork.

Two big windows are carved on the wall behind the desk so that enough light filters in and he can work easily without straining his eyes. And his desk is neat as expected. All his paperwork is usually stacked on one end of the table and his stationary on another.

Then there's a dustbin in the corner, filled with crumbled pieces of paper.

For some reason Levi takes hours to complete even a few sheets of paperwork. And he's often tossing paper after paper into that bin.

Mae thinks it is because he is insecure about his handwriting. His writing is a little messy. Always filled with lines scratching over words, because the right words come to him a little slower. So he keeps filling sheet after sheet until he finds the one where everything looks perfect.

Her eyes wander around his office. For the most part, it is covered in darkness, except the candle burns on the ottoman in front of her.

And another one flickers from the small kitchen top that is placed against the wall, right opposite to his desk. A few shelves are built over it, and it also has a small place to light a fire, and cook some meals if needed.

On the right, there is a fireplace, to heat the room against the winter winds. And on the left, there is a couch, where Mae is seated. And just behind the couch, is a door that leads to Levi's connected bedroom.

Levi's bedroom is simple. There isn't a single crease on his neatly made bed, placed in the corner, right below a window. A clothing rack filled with his washed clothes is kept in the empty space. There's a plain cupboard with a mirror attached on one side. And that's all there is to it.

Everything is clean and sparkling, and it smells like fresh laundry.

Levi is super busy these days with all his work as a captain, now that his squad has been formed.

So Mae comes to his place instead. He's well-versed with all the basics, and he can manage just well on his own now. But it's not just about tutoring now. She comes to meet him because she likes him, and his company. He makes her happy, very happy.

And in a month's time she's going to work here anyways. She has sent a letter to Mr. Mendes. She has spoken with Erwin, and it's all set. So then why not get acquainted with the place as well.

But that excuse doesn't work really well, because she is always cooped up in Levi's office.

The moon is out and it is late, and as always she's perched on the couch waiting for her friend to finish his meeting so that she can quickly tell him the corrections in his paperwork and head back home.

Levi always makes sure she proofreads it and identifies all the mistakes, and then he fills another sheet once again, with all the corrections she just gave.

Mae always tells him that she can write over his words and correct all his mistakes. That would be so much more quick and efficient. But he never lets her write a single word on his sheet, because apparently her handwriting is so shitty that it is almost pitiful

As if on cue, Levi barges in with a cup of tea and more paperwork in his hands. Speak of the devil. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

"I was waiting for you, just like you told me too?"

"Don't remember telling you to wait for me when the meeting ended 2 fucking hours late, shithead. How the hell are you planning to go back this late?"

"I'll walk."

"You'll walk?" He cocks an eyebrow up, scrutinizing her with scrunched-up eyes.

Her cheeks tinge pink at his intense stare as she averts her eyes elsewhere, thinking about how he is probably seeing all the imperfections in her face. What was he even trying to do? Applying the Pythagoras theorem to her face?

"Wow, you're not even kidding," he deadpans. "Quick tell me if there are any corrections in my paperwork, while I finish my tea, we'll leave in 5 minutes."

"W-we?"

"Yeah, can't let our little shithead roam all alone this late now, can we? She'll end up getting kidnapped and annoying the shit out of the kidnappers until they're out for me." Even though Levi jests, it isn't like the matter in hand isn't serious.

The crime rate has increased so much more since the fall of Maria. Yeah the evacuees are gone, and things are close to normal. But 1/3rd of the land is still lost. Crop is still lost and nothing can make up for it. So the prices are close to what they were before, but they still aren't as low as they used to be.

And a lot of people were pushed to the path of crime during the economic crisis. And now they stay there because they find things easier this way.

It's unsafe to walk out so late, all alone, and so he'll walk her home.

And Mae is so lost in the flutter of her heart, that she doesn't realize that she's walked back late often before. When she used to make trips to her spot in the forest. But things have changed now, and Levi cares for her enough to not let her out to wander alone at night.

"Aww! Levi, you're concerned," she chuckles at how peculiarly he voices his concerns.

"Yeah I am...for the kidnappers. And why the hell are you getting red again" he questions as he pokes her cheek. It's become a common occurrence these days and Levi believes something is genuinely wrong with her. "It's not even cold here, are you sure you're not unwell?"

"N-no I'm alright,... let's get going," she adds quickly changing the subject. A small smile quirks up on her face at his words. And at how lost he is about romance as well.

She picks up the stack of paperwork kept on the ottoman, and goes over Levi's mistakes. Slowly and steadily they are getting lesser, and she is very happy with the progress he's making.

In a matter of minutes Levi has written the corrections down in his notebook, and they walk out of his room, into the hallway.

The hallways are dimly lit by torches that are attached beside every door. Their burning fire heats up the way, and gives the brick walls a golden glow.

It's 11 at night, and the headquarters are quiet. There is not a single person within sight, as the curfew starts at 10. And all the cadets are cooped in their dorms after then.

Levi and Mae walk side by side in silence, crossing room after room as they make their way towards the main gates.

Something rattles in the distance. Levi's attention snaps towards it, and the door to the library opens. Erwin walks out with folder stacked in his hands

His gaze is quick to catch Levi's, and his figure draws closer and closer, as he makes his way towards him.

"You are heading out Levi?" Erwin asks as he nods at him, and then at Mae.

"Taking this tomato home, what else, she had to wait and increase my work just like you guys."

"Tomato?"

"Yeah Mae, who else, lord knows what types of illnesses she catches."

Mae stares wide-eyed at Levi as the words leave his mouth. And she is sure that all shades of red ever known to man are all visible on her face. Walls! This is so embarrassing.

"L-Levi stop it," she stutters in a hushed tone. Fingers tugging at his sleeve for his attention.

Erwin studies Mae's stiff figure. Her face is beet red, and she tries to cower behind Levi's slender frame.

"What a horrible illness you have caught Mae!" he jokes as realization finally dawns upon him. "Do notify me of any further implications, please," and with that, a hearty laugh escapes his lips as he waves them goodbye and walks away.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's another day, another night and just like always Levi and Mae walk along the barren street and the flickering street lamps.

It has become a habit by now. Whenever she comes over to his place, she purposely stays until it's late, so that he walks her back, and she gets to spend more time with him. In her opinion, it's also a well deserved break that Levi needs, because god knows that man is a workaholic.

And he hardly takes any time out for himself.

And the town seems so serene at this time, there are hardly any people in sight. Everything is so quiet and it feels like they are the only ones living in the entire world.

Levi is a step ahead of Mae, eyes focused somewhere in the distance. And the both of them walk in silence. Listening to the sound of the crickets and the occasional wind.

"Mr. Mendes wrote back to me this time." Mae speaks out after a while.

Levi's gaze shifts, and he stops and swivels towards her.

"They are coming back in a month, exactly at the time when I was planning to leave."

"So.. are you planning to continue working at the clinic?" Levi quirks a brow, curious of what her answer will be.

"No... nothings going to stop me from leaving the clinic." Mae speaks with determination in her voice, but then she sighs, a little exhausted. " It's been more than a year and the only time he responds is when I write about leaving his damned clinic... My life feels like such a joke sometimes, I think god himself is trolling me..." .

Levi remains silent. Keeps the space open if she wants to add something else as well. And in a few seconds she voices her thoughts out loud. "I just think it's suspicious. It can't be that he decided to read one letter and that turned out to be the one where I wrote about working somewhere else. It's too much of a coincidence. I think he read all my letters but for some reason he didn't reply back to them..."

"Does it still bother you that he just left and you started ignoring you all of a sudden?"

There were days when she missed him so miserably, she would feel abandoned and lonely. But ever since she has started spending more time with Levi, the void caused by Mr. Mendes's absence has faded away. And Mae can't help but smile as she says, "it doesn't bother me a lot anymore."

Levi hums and a comfortable silence settles again. Their footsteps fall into perfect sync. Minute by minute their time together, tonight comes to an end, as the distance to her house reduces. And Mae savors the moments that she has with them.

And she doesn't notice Levi's steps get slower, his presence getting closer, until his hand grabs hers. "Levi?" She jolts out a little loud.

"Ssh, someone is following us," he whispers in return.

Mae can't hear any sounds or clues to confirm his suspicions, but Levi has always been very alert and sensitive to minute changes in the environment, and for something like this he can be undeniably trusted.

What is to be done is understood, they have to make the pursuers believe that they aren't yet aware of their presence.

So without turning her head back, she gives him a smile and continues to walk ahead.

But what she doesn't understand is that her dear student Levi isn't really planning to act and sneak her to her house. No, he is planning to confront the pursuers, as soon as they reach the upcoming crossroad.

With not many houses around there, it is the perfect location to beat them to a pulp.

Levi's hold tightens on her hand and Mae the feeling of security engulfs her whole being. The crossroad looks bigger and bigger as they walk towards it. And it's just a 15 minute walk to her home now and she hopes everything will be alright till then.

But Levi halts. Hand still holding hers in a gentle grip and body as calm as always. As if there is no one following after them.

And then he takes a 180 and turns around. Tucking her behind his frame as his eyes scan through the area.

"Oi! You shits can come out now," he yells out. And Mae can only stand frozen in shock as five bulky men walk out of the darkness. A wicked grin adorns their face, and a chill runs up her spine, as they step closer and closer towards them.

"Levi, what the fuck?" She whispers meekly.

He doesn't respond and his eyes remain focused straight ahead.

"Levi?" She clutches his upper arm with her free hand and tugs it in desperation, begging him to move so that they can run away.

"Levi." It isn't a whisper this time and her actions get frantic.

But Levi stands straight, unbothered by her ministrations. He doesn't budge an inch. He just stands calmly observing the men in front of him.

Mae watches them too, as stride forward. They are huge, and their build is brawny. Their biceps bulge out of the sleeves of their shirt, and she is sure their arms are big enough to cover her entire face, if flexed.

And then she looks at Levi who stands in front of them, with unwavering confidence. She doesn't know what he is thinking, but she knows that these men will break him into two, in a matter of minutes.

The men stop at a distance and Levi lets go of Mae's hand as he says, "Mae run, go straight to your house, I'll be there in a while."

But, Mae stands still, as she stares at Levi in shock "WHAT! Are you kidding me?"

There is a twitch in her leg, and a part of her is begging to run away. Her hands tremor with fear and she tries her best to not let the conflict in her mind show in her voice "LEVI ARE YOU BLIND! There are 6 men and all of them are at least a foot taller than you... You'll get your ass handed to you, how the hell are you going to escape from a situation like this."

Her jitters obviously don't go unnoticed by Levi. And even though his steady grip doesn't hold her back anymore, her concern for him does.

"Maybe you should listen to your darling and give up, we don't mean to harm you after all shortie. Just give us all the money you have in your wallet... and your little darling. She'll fetch us some good money in the market," the man in the center snickers, as he looks at Levi menacingly.

Mae's mouth runs dry as she hears those words. They want to sell her. And if Levi loses, which he probably will, then she will lose two of the most important things in her life. Him and her freedom.

Levi taps his feet, as his patience wears thin. Time is ticking, and any moment the men in front of him can charge his way, and start attacking him and Mae.

He looks at her through the corner of his eye. She is shivering and every ounce of dread that is running through her mind is clearly visible on her face. Yet she stands beside him, unwilling to back off and leave this place.

He clicks his tongue in frustration. Just if this woman could listen to him and go, he would get over with this in an instant.

"Oi" Levi waves his hand in front of her eyes. "You literally look like you just pissed your pants, so go RUN. I'll fight them off."

But his words fall on deaf ears, and it only leaves him more agitated. "Mae, you're useless in combat... just go away," he seethes through his teeth.

Mae's eyebrows contort into one of disgust. He is taking this situation very lightly, and now is not the time to be cocky and impractical. "You're a little stupid and overconfident Levi, but I'm not leaving you here alone to get beaten and robbed... So you don't need to act all cool and heroic... I'm staying, we'll figure out something together." Her voice cracks a little at the end, and tears well up in her eyes as she looks at her surroundings.

There are 5 men around them, and they are bound to gang up against Levi. And even though she is useless in combat, she will not leave him in so much danger.

She knows that Levi doesn't have much money on him, and if she escapes then they will have no leverage. The men will lose even if they win the fight, and she doesn't want to imagine the horrible things they'll do to Levi then.

Her hold on Levi's upper arm loosens, and her trembling body slowly lumbers forward until it is shielding him, hands raised up in surrender.

The men stand dauntingly in a semicircle in front of Mae. She gulps, but her resolve is strong. And there is no way she'll let Levi fight these guys and get his body mangled into pieces.

"You run faster than me Levi, I- I'll go with them, and buy you some time. You escape and get help from the military police... They want to sell me, so they won't harm me, physically at least... They'll want me... in a good condition."

"That's the worst fucking plan I've ever heard." Levi scoffs in response, and he yanks her back to the spot beside him.

"I AM NOT LEAVING YOU HERE TO FIGHT ALONE, OKAY. JUST SHUT UP, I'M TRYING TO THINK." She yells out, voice teetering close to an order..

"Sorry lovelies, we ain't got the time for all this," the leader snickers, clearly enjoying all that's happening in front of him. And then he points his finger at one of his cronies, and gestures to him to move forward.

Haughtily one walks out, stretching his bulky arms as he walks towards the short pair.

"Mae run, MAE RUN," Levi booms. Hastily placing his hand on her head, and making her bow down with him as he evades the punch that the man throws.

Swiftly, Levi swiftly grips the goon's wrist and twists it with all his might. The sound of a bone breaking pierces through. The goon loses himself in the moment of pain, and Levi turns around and yells at Mae in his most commanding voice, "MAE GO."

His tone is dripping with frustration. He doesn't understand why she can't just listen to him and leave him alone. And with her lack of experience in combat she'll get them both in trouble.

He turns his head around and looks at her. His jaw is clenched and his eyebrows are furrowed. And then his furious eyes meet Mae's teary ones. They are watery, brimming with fear and... concern, so much concern.

She's clutching onto his arm tightly, and nodding her head left and right, telling him that she is not going to leave him . One jerk and he can yank her off him.

A mellow expression takes over Levi's face. He releases the breath he has been holding since long, and he gives her a nod of reassurance. "I'll be fine, just trust me and go."

Mae watches as the goon yelps in pain, trying to get his wrist off Levi's iron grip. He uses his other hand in the process too, but Levi still remains so calm and stiff. His body doesn't even budge an inch. And nor does his gaze shift from hers.

But this is just one man, how will Levi ever be able to take down 4 more like him.

Watching their comrade suffer, the leader tells two others to help him. And Levi's eyes widen as he catches the sound of their footsteps threading closer, and closer.

"Mae, have faith in me, I'll come back alright... just go. I'm going to fight them, and you will only cause me more hassle if you stay here" His eyes are unwavering and he speaks with so much resolve, that a part of her mind is convinced that he'll be alright.

Her hands around his bicep loosens and she gave his hand a tight squeeze with her trembling hands. She doesn't know if he'll win this fight, but she does know that if he plans to fight, then she'll only be deadweight.

"Y-you promise me you'll come back alright," her voice breaks and her eyes glow fresh with tears.

Levi looks forward, gaze sharp at the men who cautiously step towards him, "I promise."

"I'm s-sorry" she stammers as she throws him one last remorseful look. And then she runs, runs without throwing a glance back because she knows that if she sees even a glimpse of Levi getting beaten up, her will would crumble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Drenched in sweat, Mae rests her hand on a wall and takes a break, to steady her breaths.

She can feel the cool beads of sweat that stream down her face. Her breaths are quick and heavy. And her heart burns in the worst way possible. It feels like it will fall out of her chest anytime now.

She wipes the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand and surveys the scene in front of her. 3 men have fallen flat on the ground and two are still fighting with Levi, attacking him at the same time.

Her heart beats frantically, both due to exhaustion and fear, and she hopes that she's here in good time.

Taking a steady form, she charges towards the goon who has his back towards her. And then she hits him with all the force she could. With a pan, right on his head.

Already fatigued and fully engaged in his fight with Levi, the man immediately drops unconscious. Both the other combatants look at her and on instinct Levi, grasps both the hands of his opponent, lest he attempts to target Mae instead.

Their eyes meet for a fleeting moment. Levi seems to be doing pretty well, but without putting much thought into it she quickly makes her way to the other men laying on the floor. Beating their head with the pan a few more times, and then checking their pulse and their eye.

Shortly, the leader falls to the ground, many of his bones broken and parts swollen. "Pl-please join us, yo-you'll have the highest pay," he chokes out as he looks at the short man with pleading eyes.

"Tch," Levi puts his shoe on his face, not even bothering to answer as his eyes fall on Mae, examining whatever weird shit she's doing. She's hitting the unconscious men with a pan on their head. And then flipping them over to check their eye and pulse?

With a final kick on the leader's face, Levi walks towards her, "Oi, what the hell are you doing?"

Mae's head turns towards Levi instantly, and tears prick her eyes as she spots the big patch of blood-staining his shirt.

"Levi", she gasps. The pan in her hand drops and clatters against the road as she races ahead..

In a breath she's in front of him. Hands reaching out, towards the red stain and fingers hastily unbuttoning his shirt.

Levi's eyes widen, eyebrows scrunching up as he looks at her in disgust. Instinctively he pushes her away, almost yelling in her face, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

"Levi, you're wounded," she whimpers as her hands reach out towards his crimson shirt once again.

But he swats them away in an instant. Uncomfortable at the thought of being undressed by someone. His hardened gaze flits towards hers- to tell her to stop this bullshit, but when he looks at her face, it is so full of hurt and shame.

Her back slouches as she looks to her feet, fiddling with her fingers as even more tears fall from her eyes. This is all her fault, she shouldn't have left him all alone. He is injured because he was accompanying her and she stayed up late at his office. "I'm sorry," she speaks in a timid voice.

Great! Now all he feels is regret. Levi lets out an annoyed sigh as he unbuttons his shirt," It's not my blood, look, I'm alright, not even a scratch or anything," he calmly states, trying to be as reassuring as possible.

Slowly her eyes look up at his toned chest, only to find some blood smeared on it. "C-can I see knuckles?"

And Levi compliantly follows, not wanting to upset her anymore.

Satisfied with her inspection, Mae quietly gasps "you're a- alright."

Her eyes meet with his for a fleeting moment before they look down again, but Levi doesn't miss her bloodshot eyes, still moist from all the crying. He doesn't miss the glossy rivulets of sweat that deluge her droopy eyes and reddened face.

His gaze darts downwards as he takes in her tousled state and wilted frame. Her knuckles now pale, tightly clutching the sides of her dress which is splattered in dust, even ripped at a few places. There is a knife, in her waistband, and he has no idea where she got it from

And she even has a fresh bruise on her forehead.

Tch, what a mess. Why the hell did she come back when he clearly told her not to?

"You're injured," he plainly states.

The threat is over, and the stillness brings forth the searing ache that throbs in Mae's knee. The bruise peeks through the rip in her dress. And lifting its hem, she stares at the wound.

Pebbles stick to her skin, buried in the edges of the cut. And dirt coats the hot blood that trails down her knee. It hurts like a bitch.

"I am", she affirms to herself, "I fell when I was running."

Levi's hand slides down his pocket, and he pulls out a handkerchief. "Here take this."

Instantaneously, Mae takes the napkin and presses it on her injured knee. The dirt gathered in her cuticles doesn't go unnoticed, and her movements hesitate as vicious thoughts fill her head.

Here she is a damsel in distress, and then there is Levi, who fought all the thugs and is still calm and collected.

And now they are wasting time on a cut that her clumsy self got and he just waits.

Her movements hasten as she rubs her knee roughly, trying to get the dried blood and debris off the cut on her knee.

Levi sighs as he looks at her frantically cleaning the blood on her knee. She is a mess, both emotionally and physically.

"You're causing more damage," his voice is soft and Mae's eyes widen as Levi kneels down in front of her.

Levi takes the napkin from her hands, and her body shudders as she feels his warm hand wrap around the back of her knee. The fingers of his other hand are covered in the napkin. Wiping the blood that trails down her knee, as they slowly reach upward towards her injury.

Gently touches wanders over her wound, removing the pebbles stuck on her skin. She bites the insides of her cheek in an attempt to not let any pained sound from vocalizing.

After a minute, the pain fades away. And a soft fabric wraps around her knee. Levi's hands tie a knot at the back to hold the napkin in place, like a bandage. And his warm gesture makes the butterflies Mae's stomach dance in bliss .

"Do I have to do everything for you... you are a doctor aren't you?" The moonlight catches his silver orbs, as he looks up at her. His hand is still lingering on the bandage. And the sweat coating his face makes his skin glow.

Beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

And here she is smeared with dust and blood, a complete mess. Her dress is filthy and her hair is knotted. She is sure she looks ugly. Embarrassment floods her mind once again.

"Does it hurt?" Levi asks as he sees the gloomy expression that flashes on her face again.

Mae gulps. As it is she has wasted enough of his time, by making him walk her home. And now she even got her stupid self injured.

"No... let's get going," she affirms confidently, as she turns away from him, and makes her way towards the pan that lays next to the bodies of the unconscious men.

But Levi doesn't miss the limp in her step as she ambles ahead.

Liar.

"It doesn't? Okay catch up with me then," Levi jogs ahead of her. And once he has a lead, he turns around and watches her trying to hobble his way. Determination is plastered on her face, and her pace increases when she sees the way Levi tauntingly stands.

He sighs, his expression softening at the woman in front of him.

He's looking at a woman, who always prioritizes keeping safe, rather than taking a risk and getting yourself killed. He's looking at a woman who is practical and self-aware of her own weaknesses. Who makes decisions in accordance to her abilities.

And he doesn't understand why she came back, when he clearly told her not to. It would have made the whole task a whole lot easier. It isn't like her to act so irrationally.

In her haste, Mae continues rushing ahead. Midway, her face winces in pain, and a small gasp escapes her mouth. The white napkin on her knee is now splotched in blood again. And for a fleeting moment Levi sees the despondency that flashes on her face

It's only then that he realizes that this woman who told him to stick to Miche, and not risk his life, was ready to lose hers, knowing that she was absolutely powerless in comparison to him. She was ready to fight these men who were a foot and a few inches taller than her, when she knew she couldn't even hurt a fly.

And even though a part of him wants to lecture her for acting so out of nature and irrationally this time, a part of him just feels so ... cherished, so valued.

Warmth spreads in his chest, as he looks at her defeated form. Her eyebrows are pinched together, and she frowns as she looks at him. But still she continues to limp towards him, at her own slow pace. Ignoring the ache in her leg.

He walks towards her, and her gaze falls down to the ground.

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn? Hmm?... You are a doctor, don't you know what's best for you?

She gulps heavily, and then mutters, "sorry."

Levi stares down at her, gaze dawdling on her eyes, before it flits down to her wounded knee. It's bleeding even more, and he doesn't know how she's planning to walk all the way home now.

He turns around, so that his back faces her. And then he squats down. "I'll carry you home."

Mae's cheeks heat up at the suggestion. And even though she wants to jump at the opportunity of being so close to Levi, hesitation lingers in her mind as well.

The food shortage is over, and she has snacked on all the types of dishes that she had missed for an entire year. And now she feels a little anxious about the extra pounds that she has gained.

And right now, she is filthy as well. "Are you sure? I mean- I can walk it not like--"

"Shut up." Levi sneers as he throws her a sideward glance. And Mae can feel his eyes burning holes through her skin. She swallows thickly, and takes a step closer to him.

Placing her hands on his sturdy shoulders, she puts her legs through his looped arms. And as her chest presses to his back, she feels how muscular he is. Every part of his body is hard and toned, lean muscle.

He stands up, in a swift motion. With no support or even a stumble. And she can't help but be a little astonished at how strong he is.

He doesn't look that strong, his body is lean, not brawny like most men, who take pride in their strength.

"Am I too heavy? You can drop me if you get tired." Levi sighs but he doesn't miss the concern in Mae's voice.

"Why are you always underestimating my strength?"

"Levi you are a short, skinny man, and you just beat up 5 men... you must be tired."

"And you are a tiny ass woman, as if lifting you isn't a piece of cake."

Mae sighs, and wraps her arms around Levi's neck. "You just aren't realistic when it comes to your strength."

Levi stares ahead, at the path he needs to take. Unconscious bodies are scattered around and he knows he has injured them enough that they won't wake up until next afternoon. And by then they'll already be arrested.

His eyes fall on the metal pan that shines silver in the moonlight. And he remembers how Mae was beating the heads of these already unconscious men, and then checking their pulse and eye.

"Should I carry this...weapon along? Or are we planning to forget it? He teases, as he walks towards it.

"Carry it." She mutters as she rests her chin a little above his clavicle.

"What were you even doing with this?"

"I was checking if those men are unconscious, what if they are just pretending to be unconscious and throw mud in your eyes later? I mean I would definitely try some trick like that... because obviously I don't have the strength or technique to go off without a ruse or a backup plan..." Her voice trails off. "I-I also got a knife for you... I thought it might help... It's a kitchen knife though. I went around knocking at the near buy houses, and asked them for help. They gave me whatever they could."

Levi can feel the mumble of her words against his skin. He can feel her heart beat rapidly against his back. And her warm breaths that softly graze the side of his face.

And he is so used to fighting for himself and for his survival, that this surprising behavior of hers is evoking emotions he has never experienced before. A pleasant sensation surges through his chest and his mood lightens, from the irksome fight he just had.

The world around him feels a little brighter, and a fuzzy feeling makes his heart flutter as her words echo in his head-

"I'm not leaving you here alone to get beaten and robbed."

"You don't need to act all cool and heroic... I'm staying, we'll figure out something together."

"I am not leaving you here, okay, just shut up, I'm trying to think."

He remembers the night when he first saw the stars with Isabel and Furlan.

They were nagging him about going on the expedition as well. They told him that they were together in this too, just like they had been in the underground, and he recalled how happy it made him... That was the first time someone told him they were with him.

And, this is the second.

Levi's gaze falls down to her feet that sway with every step he takes. And he internally chuckles at her weird antics.

This stupid shithead who shivered like she had just seen a titan at the sight of intimidating-looking weak asses. Also came back for him, with a pan and a knife, just 5 minutes after he'd told her to go home.

A small smile creeps up on his face, and his heart dances with joy at the selfless concern she has for him. After more than a year and a half of losing Farlan and Isabel, he finally feels wanted. Not just for his exceptional strength, but for the grumpy, awkward man that he is.

He has figured it out, his emotions. He is feeling happy because he feels looked after. The last two years have been so full of loneliness, since his friends had died. But now, after so long does he finally see a glimmer of hope... or it can just be because of how stupid she is sometimes, it almost funny.

'You are stupid and cocky, don't go up against 6 men taller than you.'........my ass.

Yeah, to be honest, he hasn't completely figured out that fuzzy feeling yet, but that isn't really bothering him at the moment. For once his mind doesn't feel tormented by his past or the future. And he just relishes in the cool night, the warmth of her skin and the exhilaration that overwhelms his body today.

Mae's head perks up as Levi enters the familiar lane where her house is situated.

She glances at the door longingly. It looks bigger and bigger as Levi walks towards it. And oh! how badly she just wants to hide in there and never come out because of her embarrassment.

In no time, Levi is right in front of it, squatting down again, and she quickly gets off his back.

"Thank you Levi," Mae mumbles, as she walks towards the door, without throwing him a glance or showing him her face. And Levi knows the usually high-spirited girl isn't back by how low her voice sounds.

She never bids him off like that. There's always a smile on her face, as she waves her hand with enthusiasm. And she doesn't step inside her house again, until she sees his figure retreating away, fading behind the house at the end of the street.

His hand reaches forward and latches on to hers. Fingers wrapping around her wrist. They are strong yet gentle, and they don't let her move any further.

She turns around at the gesture. But her head is still bowing down, and Levi doesn't know why she won't look at him.

He wants her to look at him. He wants to see her smile before he walks back to the headquarters.

"Oi you okay?" His hand still lingers on her wrist, and then slowly it roves down her skin. Fingers sliding down her knuckles, to the white ends of her nails.

But Mae's gaze is still fixed on the floor, and she just slightly nods her head, up and down. Conveying a yes.

Obviously, Levi doesn't buy it. Gingerly, he places his thumb under her chin, and lifts her head upwards.

Her eyes are glossy, sparkling with unshed tears. And her nose is still red and puffy. Warmth fills his chest again, as he looks at her face. And Levi knows he's bad with communication, but he thinks he will explode if he doesn't get this feeling out of his system.

"Thank you, for staying by my side and coming back for me." He speaks softly. And even in the quiet night, his voice is low, just loud enough for her to hear. Because the words are only meant for her ears.

"You don't t-think I just messed everything up a-and caused you more trouble?" she stumbles over her words, and insecurity floods her again.

The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a curve. And in an instant he looks ten times younger. A small crinkle forms below his right eye. And Mae stands frozen at the beautiful sight in front of her.

Levi is smiling and it is absolutely heart-stopping. And she holds in a breath as she realizes this is the first time she has ever seen him smile.

She can't help the faint curve of her own lips, as she looks at him. He's smiling at her, and that itself makes her so happy.

"No, you did well," he pats her head, and she relishes in his touch.

A small sparkle flickers in her eyes, and her smile widens. He doesn't think she's irritating and burdensome, he doesn't think she's stupid and useless, and that's all the reassurance she ever needs.

No words are exchanged, but it's a beautiful moment. Filled with genuine smiles and warm gestures.

The moon gleams in the dark, its silver hue present everywhere. Levi's heart runs at a 100 miles per hour and he blames it on the sudden adrenaline rush during the fight.

Mae smiles in front of him and he never thought that he had the power to make anyone so happy. After all his hands have only spread terror and pain, wherever her went.

And as Levi looks at her elated face, he realizes he hasn't been this happy in a long time as well.

Author's note:

ITS FINALLY HAPPENING! (The fall in the chapter title is related to Levi not Mae.)

This was one of the first chapters I wrote for this fic.

I started writing the story in feb last year, and those days I would write and publish 700 word chapters everyday on wattpad. Obviously I was trying but the writing was pretty shitty. Then I decided to unpublish it and just have the entire story planned out before I start publishing the chapters.

The plot became clear in my head, and then I would write chapters randomly depending on my mood because I knew what was happening in each chapter. So this was actually the first chapter that I wrote and LIKED. I saw an improvement in my writing, but yet back then it was only at 1500 words and left incomplete.

And obviously I edited quite a lot of stuff when I added in more details during winter last year. Now its at 6.6 k lol.

I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is obviously very appreciated. If anyone at any point feels disappointed with something, I'd like to know about that as well. Because I like listening to different opinions.

Thank you for reading! See you next Sunday.

Taglist: @keijikunn

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 8)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4) (chapter 5) (chapter 6) (chapter 7)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut... a minor injury... a motorcycle... a teeny tiny bit of angst?? honestly it's just pretty normal aside from the smut

You actually fell asleep without anything too untoward happening, just kissing and cuddling and whispers that didn't make much sense to each other but still made your heart flutter each time.

Waking up, though, was another story entirely.

"Arăți frumos în timp ce dormi," he mumbled into the crook of your neck, pulling your hips back so you could feel his hard cock against your ass. You hummed and snuggled up closer to him, bathing in his warmth as much as possible.

“I swear I’ve never slept so well in my life,” you mumbled as you reached back to run your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I need you in my bed all the time so I can finally get some rest.”

He smiled against your skin, sucking on that spot just behind your ear that made your eyes roll back in your head. “Il vrei?” he asked huskily, and you didn’t even care what he was asking; when he said it like that, the answer was always ‘yes.’ You nodded happily, biting your lip, as he started to push your panties down and helped you arch your back so he could guide his cock to your entrance.

You still gasped and clutched at the sheets beneath you, you couldn’t help it even if it wasn’t your first time discovering how thick he was. It was just barely painful for one fleeting moment before it faded into that delightful fullness, his strokes long and slow as he sighed against your ear. “Seba,” you whimpered under your breath.

“Sunt mai bun decât el, nu-i așa? Nu te-a futut niciodată atât de bine,” he growled a little, holding you tighter. “Sper că știe. Sper că știe că am făcut dragoste cu tine și că sunt îndrăgostit de tine.”

You couldn’t be sure if it was his words in your ear or his arms so tight around your chest that made it a little hard to breathe, but something was so different about the way he was speaking now than you’d ever heard him before. It was difficult to describe— not quite angry, but so passionate it could almost seem that way. You could feel it in the way he moved inside you, too; he was clearly holding back, like there was a storm beneath his calm surface.

You wanted all of it. Turning back, you kissed him and pulled his hair a little, hoping it would get the point across. It seemed to, considering how he gasped and sped up, fucking you harder and deeper as you moaned a little louder than you meant to.

“Când a fost aici, am vrut să te sărut,” he continued in a low voice, speaking right against your parted lips. “Am vrut ca soțul tău să vadă. Am vrut să te arunc în patul ăsta și să te fac să țipi, pentru ca toată lumea să te audă. Am vrut să știe că sunt eu.”

“Yours,” you said before you could stop yourself, and thankfully you didn’t have to worry too much about the implications of it because he couldn’t understand what you meant. He grabbed your face anyways, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he stared into your eyes.

“A mea,” he purred, fucking you faster until you started to whine and arch your back harder.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered, but he nodded before you could finish, encouraging you with whispered words and a hand slipping down between your legs to rub your swollen clit. You cried out, instinctively reaching out to grab his arm, but he held fast and kept up the pace, sending you tumbling over the edge before you had really prepared yourself for it. Unintentionally, you held your breath for a few moments as it washed over you, the tension releasing finally with a long sigh.

The very moment you began the denouement from your peak, he pulled out and rolled you onto your back, slipping right back in as he slotted his body between your legs. You whimpered and gripped his shoulders, and he got right back to his pace— but this time your body couldn’t take as much of the force and so it began to rock the bed, his headboard slamming into the wall. At first neither of you cared until he glanced up and hissed, “rahat.”

“What?” you asked, sitting up and craning your head around to see he’d clearly damaged the wallpaper there. “Oops,” you giggled, “guess we should take a break and fix that—”

He pushed you back down onto the bed as you yelped, capturing you in a hungry kiss; one arm slipped under your shoulders, holding you tight, while the other reached up so his hand could grip the headboard and hold it still as he started to pound into you again. You moaned weakly and relaxed in his embrace, feeling the bed still rock slightly under you but much more interested in the feeling of his cock slamming right into the most sensitive and overstimulated spots inside your channel.

“Oh god,” you sighed as you couldn’t stop your head from falling back into the pillow, closing your eyes to dodge the way he stared down at you with an intensity that bordered on fury. He moved in to bite at your neck instead, and if you were any more in touch with reality you would’ve complained that you didn’t bring many clothes that would cover his bite marks, but you were much too lost in the sensation he was bringing you for that.

“Atât de bine, atât de bine,” he chanted with a growl, “voi veni… atât de aproape…”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “please, Seba— yes, right there, oh fuck!”

You came again, technically, but it was nothing like the first time— more shallow but less brief, like the pleasure was spread thinner and wider, until you worried your vision would go completely black. He grunted loudly as he filled you, still thrusting roughly with each pump of his release into you, but finally he slowed and sighed, his breaths coming hard and fast as he let go of the headboard and held you tightly.

He seemed exhausted, honestly, and you laughed breathlessly as he collapsed on top of you. “You can’t be so worn out this early in the morning,” you scolded as you kissed his shoulder.

“Nu voi mai părăsi niciodată acest pat,” he groaned.

“At least let me up so I can shower!” you protested, trying to push his limp weight off of you and failing pitifully as you laughed.

“Nu, nici tu nu vei părăsi niciodată acest pat,” he cooed, covering your face in kisses as you laughed harder. Only when you defensively pinched his arm did he pull back and pull out, letting you slip out from under him.

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised as kissed him on the cheek, dashing to the bathroom and getting one last glance at him shaking out his sore hand before you shut the door.

Chapter 38 done… only five more to go, if your outline was to be trusted (which it most certainly should not). Still, you were finally reaching the real height of the tension, the climax of the story likely to hit as soon as the next chapter.

But it wasn’t what you were expecting. It wasn’t what you thought you would write when you sat down here months ago and began with page 1. In fact, it was better.

You sighed a little, looking away from the typewriter for the first time in maybe an hour or more, glancing out the window where the sun was starting to set and painting the whole countryside in an orange glow; but it wasn’t the only thing making the leaves change colors— fall was undeniably on the way, enough so that poor Sebastian was raking leaves already. And, because evil is a real and powerful force in this world, he had started wearing a shirt while working outside.

Not that it wasn’t still buckets of fun to watch him go: you found yourself leaning against the window frame to drink in the sight of him, smiling widely to yourself as he sighed and wiped his brow.

All of a sudden, he turned and caught you ogling, making him grin and you laugh with embarrassment. He waved at you, and you waved back, resigning to getting back to work for just a few more pages…

The creaking of the stairs made you realize someone was coming, but with Sebastian just outside it could only be Mrs. Alberti. With a sinking feeling in your gut, you ran to the closet to rifle through your sweaters, hoping to find something with a high neck. Nothing looked long enough, making you groan in frustration.

She knocked on the door and you jumped slightly. “One moment!” you called out to her, digging up a random scarf and throwing it around your neck to hastily cover the bruises Sebastian had left on you. “Yes, come in,” you finally sighed with relief as you threw yourself back into the chair.

“Good evening,” Mrs. Alberti smiled sweetly as she peeked through the crack in the door, “I just wanted to offer to cook dinner here tonight. I’m making a big recipe so I figured I might as well, unless you had your own plans.”

“No, that would be lovely,” you nodded, “thank you.”

“Just come downstairs in about, oh, fifteen minutes and it’ll be ready,” she explained.

“You don’t want any help in the kitchen?”

She scoffed a little. “From you?”

You chuckled at her brutal honesty. “Okay, point taken.”

“Sorry, dear, it’s just that I wouldn’t want your… Western sensibilities to muck up the recipe,” she defended.

“I can’t blame you,” you smirked. “I’ll be down in a quarter hour.”

She nodded and shut the door again, leaving you to unwrap the itchy scarf from your neck and let out a slow breath.

Of course, with an imminent deadline you couldn’t actually get any good work done, so you just read back over some older chapters and made a couple simple edits. All too soon, you checked the clock and realized you should go ahead and make your way to the kitchen.

You took a deep breath as you stepped into the entryway where the smell of Mrs. Alberti’s cooking emanated through the rest of the house. It brought back memories of when you were here with Michael and she cooked for the both of you. Those memories were wonderful once, then soured, but now you were coming to appreciate them again. Although, it was easier to enjoy them when you imagined the black eye your soon-to-be-ex was likely sporting now.

You took a seat at the table and let her serve you, even though it made you feel a little guilty; you knew she would never let you serve yourself when she was cooking.

“How’s your novel coming along, dear?” she asked as she took her own seat and you began eating.

“Well,” you began with a little sigh, “stories have a mind of their own, Mrs. Alberti. All this time I thought I was writing a thriller— something scary, gritty, maybe even tragic. But I’m coming up on the end of it and I’m realizing that all this time, I’ve been writing a romance.”

She smiled, glancing behind you to the doorway. “Yes, things have a funny way of turning out differently than we expect.”

Wondering what she was looking at, you turned to find Sebastian leaning against the wood frame, wiping his hands on a towel. “Bună seara,” he greeted.

“Sit down, Sebastian, have some dinner,” she offered to him as she stood up to pour him a new portion of soup.

He nodded and sat at the table, “multumesc,” he mumbled when she put a bowl in front of him.

You fell into a comfortable silence after that, everyone eating their meals quietly. It was nice to have a moment of normalcy— your new normal— after such an eventful day previous.

“So,” Mrs. Alberti broke the silence unexpectedly, “you two had sex?”

You instantly spat out your sip of soup, making Sebastian give you a concerned look; you waved dismissively as if to say you were fine, though you coughed a couple times. “I… uhm— how did you—?”

“He was whistling while he gardened today,” she explained, “and you look the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“To be fair, I think the first thing is because he punched my husband yesterday morning,” you added with a little laugh.

“And the second thing?”

“...at least partially because he punched my husband yesterday morning,” you admitted.

“Fair enough,” she chuckled, “but don’t think I don’t see the way your shoulders aren’t so tense and you’re smiling all the time. I know a woman in love when I see one.”

“L-love?” you questioned instantly, choking on the word.

“Oh, honey,” she sighed, almost a look of pity on her face, “did you not know? It’s all over your face.”

You took a slow breath and pondered your meal before taking another bite. “No… I knew,” you admitted, “I guess you just put it really bluntly.”

She smiled. “It’s how we do things in Hungary. You should be honest with him.”

“With what words?”

“Sounds like you don’t need them,” she smirked. “I’ll leave you two be, then. You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

She bid Sebastian goodnight with a little wave, and he nodded back happily; with the back door shut as she headed to her own house, you two were alone again. He took a sip of his soup and you finally noticed the marks on his spoon-holding hand.

“Your hand…” you realized, pointing to it, remembering with burning cheeks how he got that injury.

“Ah,” he smiled, looking down at the purple knuckles and smiling as he rubbed them gently. “Un sacrificiu demn.”

After dinner, you picked up with some reading (so much more relaxing than writing, believe it or not) and Sebastian joined you for the same on the couch.

Just laying together like this— quiet, relaxed, and totally at peace— was igniting feelings inside you that you had gone without for so long that you’d forgotten they existed completely. Resting your head on his chest, between the unbuttoned halves of his shirt, you could hear his heartbeat and it was soothing yet invigorating somehow.

He held his book up over your head while you used one hand to hold yours open and read through the space between his chest and his arm. It wasn’t the most ergonomic position necessarily, and your arm was definitely getting tired, but it was worth it to be close to him in these little ways.

"Book?" he asked innocently after a long stint of silent reading, setting his own aside to look down at you.

You closed your book and looked back up at him, resting your chin on his chest. "The book I'm reading? It's good," you nodded (as much as you could without stabbing him in the sternum with your chin, that is).

"Nu, book ta," he clarified, poking your forehead, before making a motion like he was typing.

"My book!" you realized. "Yes, the book I'm writing, it's nearly done…"

Your heart started to sink inside your chest.

"And when it's done, I'll go back to London. Like I planned from the beginning. And it'll be published and I'll start from scratch at a new life… alone.”

You cleared your throat and looked away. “Ești în regulă?” he asked quietly, sounding concerned.

You shook yourself out of it, smiling back up at him. “Let’s go into the city tomorrow,” you decided. “I need some things, if I’m going to be staying longer…”

He seemed to appreciate that you were telling him something, but couldn’t determine what. “Nyíregyháza,” you explained, “let’s drive into the city.” You pantomimed a steering wheel to explain yourself better.

“Ah,” he nodded, “nu într-o mașină. Îmi luăm bicicleta.” He returned with the motion of steering a bike— and when he curled his fingers to rev the proverbial engine, you realized he meant a motorbike. “Motocicletă,” he smiled.

“You drive a motorcycle?” you realized with a little gasp.

“Da,” he grinned, a little more mischievous than before.

“Oh, you really are gonna be the death of me,” you laughed. “Let’s go see this bike of yours.”

He helped you up off the couch and escorted you to the shed across from the house, the last light of sunset just barely enough to illuminate the way. You knew he worked in here sometimes, but you never realized he was doing mechanic work— indeed there it was: a motorcycle, right by Mrs. Alberti’s car, clearly quite old but restored to decent condition. “Iată-o, fetița mea,” he announced as he raised his arms to present it to you.

“Wow, you’ve been working hard,” you realized as you looked around at all the parts and tools strewn about.

“Avea nevoie de un alternator nou și ceva de lucru în interiorul motorului, dar acum funcționează la fel de bine ca nou... dacă nu chiar mai bine,” he enumerated as he knelt down in front of it, grabbing a towel to rub a spot of dirt from the headlight. “Vrei să conduci acum?”

You tilted your head.

“Acum,” he repeated, standing up and pulling you closer, tilting his head back toward the bike. “Sa mergem acum.”

“You want to go for a drive now? It’s pretty late, I was about to go to bed,” you protested meekly.

“Haide,” he smiled, stepping back and pulling you with him. “Plimbare pe spate.”

He handed you a helmet that had been resting on one of the handlebars, and you dutifully put it on as he got on the bike and fiddled around with it for a moment, kicking out the kickstand and finding his balance before getting it to start with a roar that echoed around the shed. He beamed proudly, looking up at you. “Eh?” he prompted with a nod.

“Yeah, it sounds great,” you encouraged with a thumbs up.

“Ce mai face casca?” he asked, leaning forward to knock his fist on your helmet lightly, making you laugh.

“Yeah, it’s good,” you nodded.

“Atunci alătură-te mie,” he instructed as he patted the seat behind him. You took a quick breath and got on, wrapping your arms around him. “Mai strâns,” he mumbled, pulling your arms in to hold him tighter. You smiled and rested your head on his back, yelping slightly when the bike lurched forward and he steered you out of the shed and into the grass outside. He was very slow at first until he steered to the gravel road, at which point he instantly picked up speed until the wind whipped at your face. His unbuttoned shirt was flying in every direction, leaving him totally unprotected from the night air, but he didn’t seem to mind, holding fast as he took you down the road, hugging the turns letting the headlight illuminate only as much as he needed to see.

When you looked up, you could see the stars more clearly than ever. You sighed and hugged him tighter, amazed at how they didn’t move at all while the world on the ground flew by. It made sense, obviously, with them being millions of miles away, but it was jarring how different the speed of the world could look from different perspectives. And as exhilarating as it was to see the countryside roll by in a blur, you preferred the steady night sky; you didn’t want to think about this moment flying by, about the fleeting nature of all of this. You wanted to believe this would always be here, just like the stars. You wanted to focus on the things that would never leave you, the moments that would become lifelong memories, and not on the reality of how beautiful things are not usually permanent things.

“I love you,” you whispered against his ear, quiet enough for your words to be blown away into the night. A small tear left a hot trail on your chilled skin, blown back over your temple instantly by Sebastian’s acceleration.

In silence, you drove into the unknown with him, letting yourself forget about the rest of the world for just a little while longer. You deserved that.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T for language and mild medical drama

Warnings: Typical Vampire shenanigans

Genre: Hurt + comfort

Summary: Bela is somewhat unprepared to deal with a soulmate who has no clue about her condition, her family, or any of the village's secrets. Thankfully, her sister Cassandra is more than willing to be a bad example. Also there's some fluff.

Notes: For reference, each of my soulmate stories take place in their own contained timeline, since they each involve different types of soulmates. So in this one, Cass doesn't currently have a soulmate.

Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow

2: Tangled Strands

A gentle humming fills the space around you, as fingers slowly run through your hair. As far as you can tell you had fallen back asleep, for several hours, and you were just now waking back up. No longer holding you down, your soulmate is curled up next to you. There’s still a needle in your arm, much to your irritation, but now you can finally see what it’s connected to: An IV for a transfusion. Explains why I’m feeling so much better than before, you think. Then you’re turning your head to the other side, eager to finally get a good look at your soulmate. Instantly you’re blushing, tongue tying itself into a knot, because wow are you lucky.

“Feeling any better?” She asked, as soon as your gaze met hers. You try to stutter out a confirmation, but you’re too distracted by the soft curve of her smile to speak, and barely even manage a nod. That beautiful smile grows wider in response. “Good. I couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering more, after what you’ve already been through.” Now her smile fades, and she looks away for a few moments. Watching it makes your heart ache. So you swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to relax, before trying a little comforting of your own.

“I am safe now, am I not? Moreso, we have too much to talk about for us to dwell on the ill circumstances of our introduction. Let us cherish this time, in respite, with our hearts open wide to one another,” you said, donning your softest smile. Somehow your words fulfill their purpose, and your soulmate is once again grinning. Slowly she leans forward to rest her forehead against yours. Then she’s speaking, voice as smooth as the sheets you lay on.

“You are right, of course. I simply wish I could have saved you sooner,” she replied, tone betraying the sadness that her expression otherwise hid. Before you can protest, she continues talking, and you soon forget all about your qualms. “To think I don’t even know your name yet… nor you mine, I suppose. Let’s remedy that, yes? I am Bela Dimitrescu.” Something about her last name feels familiar to you, but not to the point of clear recognition. Instead of inquiring, you return her favor, giving her your own name. She repeats it back a few times, letting the syllables roll off her tongue, and you feel your heart skip a few beats. “A lovely name for a lovely soul, perfectly paired.”

A pause, followed by Bela reaching out to examine your IV. Following her gaze, you turn to the metal hook adjacent to the bed, where a blood bag hangs. Only a few drops remain inside. Just as when you first awoke, Bela gives a soft hum, then rises into a sitting position. Your first instinct is to copy the motion, and you’re relieved when (this time) she doesn’t push you back down. Both of you quietly inch your hands closer until they’re laid on top of each other.

“I wish I knew more about medicine, but unfortunately my family is more experienced in the creation of wounds than the treatment of them,” Bela said, scowling. Confused, you tilt your head at a slight angle, watching her with interest. Am I supposed to know who she’s referring to? My memories of the past couple days are still hazy, you think. “Do… do you remember how you ended up in the dungeon? I know you wanted to speak of happier things, and we can, soon. It’s just… Knowing how you arrived here may help me deal with the consequences of freeing you. Mother will be dreadfully upset that I’ve interrupted a draining, even if we are soulmates.”

“Wait, are you saying…? The intimidating giantess who strung me up and attempted to bleed me dry… is your mother?” You asked, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. This was an unexpected development, for sure.

“You didn’t know?” Bela replied, eyes going wide for a moment. Clearly she wouldn’t have said anything if she realized you weren’t already aware. Suddenly the tension in the room is palpable, with an uncomfortable silence overtaking the two of you. In the moment, you cannot even bring yourself to look at Bela, too stunned by this new knowledge. Eventually she breaks the silence, voice sounding unsure for once. “I realize that this is a lot to take in, if you need time to process it, I… I can go. But you need to understand that our situation is far more complicated than it might appear. We cannot survive without the blood of others- it is what sustains us when nothing else can.”

Now you’re staring at her like she’s crazy, and she’s standing up, moving to the other side of the room. She draws back a curtain, gazing out into the snow covered hills. Every muscle in your body is urging you to run while she’s distracted. Thread of fate be damned, this went far beyond anything you had ever imagined having to deal with. You come so close to ripping the IV right out of your arm. But a gentle tug on your soul string makes you pause, remembering all the times this bond gave you hope in dark times. Had she felt the same way, all these years? What had she gone through, in this absurd castle, on the very edges of civilization? You pull on the red thread, feeling a wave of composure wash over you.

“It appears there is much I need to learn. But is that not the very nature of our connection? We know, simply, that we are bound to each other, though we know not what shapes our souls take so that we might put them together, nor even what roles we must play. I cannot say that I understand your plight, my dear, but I will try, as is my obligation, and my honor,” you said, wishing you could hold her, and cursing your IV. As soon as the first word leaves your mouth, Bela is turning around, watching you with a bittersweet expression. Once you’re done she’s moving closer, as if reading your mind, extending a hand to cup your cheek. Then she leans forward to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Oh, how I have longed for this- to be with you, to get to know you.”

“As did I,” she murmured. You can’t help but lean into her touch, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment. “Perhaps I should introduce you to my family? I imagine you’ll be needing breakfast anyway, and bringing human food back to my quarters would raise more suspicion than I’d like.” Well, the moment couldn’t last forever, could it?

“Only if you promise that your mother won’t suspend me by my wrists again. Or by any other part of me. Shall we simply put suspension off the table altogether?” You asked, half teasing. To be entirely honest, you were equally worried about Bela’s sisters. Well, the people you had heard other prisoners whispering about, who were the daughters of the giantess, and by connecting a few dots were also, presumably, Bela’s sisters. Apparently they preferred to play with their food. Unless, of course, Bela was one of the daughters you had heard about, and would have easily torn into you if not for your connection. Let’s not dwell on that concept, you think, glad to be distracted by your soulmate.

“I will not let anyone harm you anymore, my beloved. My mother would not stand so firmly in the way of my happiness,” Bela reassured, though you detected a hint of uncertainty in her tone. Still, there wasn’t much you could do other than trust her. “Now, let me take care of your bandages, then we’ll head downstairs…”

---------------------------------

“Who the fuck is this?” An unfamiliar voice asked, as you meandered down the corridor, arm around Bela for support. As soon as she hears the person speak, your soulmate is freezing in place, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. When you turn as well, you spot someone dressed almost identically to Bela. However, the woman wears a yellow pendant, as opposed to a red one, and her hair is a dark brown. It feels safe to assume that she’s one of the sisters you’ve heard about. Which understandably makes you nervous, to the point where you almost want to hide behind Bela. Instead, you stand tall, attempting to seem unfazed by either her presence or her vulgarity.

“Mind your manners, Cassandra,” Bela hissed, taking more of an aggressive stance than you had anticipated. “This, dear sister, is my soulmate. And if you even think about harming them, or getting in our way, I will tear you apart.” While you’re downright shocked at the intensity of Bela’s statement, her sister doesn’t look at all impressed, and eyes you with minimal interest. Better than looking at you with hatred, right? Apparently not, as Bela moves to stand between the two of you, eyes narrowed. There’s a clear stiffness in her posture that leaves you anxious. Cassandra seems to notice it as well, and laughs, before taking a few steps in your direction. Then your soulmate mimics the movement, forcing you to do so as well.

“They’re human,” Cassandra snapped, pausing to sniff the air and scowl. “Here I thought your soulmate would have to be special, if they’re to compare to your ego. You’re disappointed, aren’t you? Having to settle for this.” With that she shifts, flesh writhing, making your stomach churn as you watch her disintegrate into a cloud of… flies? What the hell is wrong with this family? Can Bela do that too? I hope not, you think. Soon you’re pulled from your thoughts, however, as the swarm circles around you, single insects occasionally surging forward to cut at your skin. But Bela is grabbing you by the sleeve and tugging you to her chest, moving against a wall so that her body shielded your own. Your eyes clamp shut as you shake in her arms. When the buzzing stops, it is quickly replaced with cruel laughter. “That fragile, hmm? I can’t wait to see what mother thinks. See you at breakfast, sister!”

Then the two of you are alone, still pressed against the wall, staying still until the sound of footsteps fade. You’re stunned, unsure of how to react. The fact that a few drops of blood roll down your cheek only makes things worse. Still, Bela managed to prevent you from getting too hurt, and the few wounds on your body are negligible. Ever filled with gratitude, you hold her close as you try to stutter out a few sentences.

“Is she always this hostile, or am I truly not what you had expected? No, pay me no mind, it hardly matters. Thank you for protecting me,” you whispered. In response, Bela gives you a little squeeze, then pulls back enough to wipe the blood from your face. There’s a hint of something odd in her expression, which you interpret to be related to her apparent ‘need for blood’. Thankfully, she is in perfect control, and does not frenzy the same way you had read about fictional vampires doing. But she does hesitate, words dying on her tongue, like there are a thousand things she wants to say, and no words to say them with. “It’s alright, my dear. Let’s just go to breakfast, like we planned, and hope your sister behaves better when supervised.”

Bela nods, quickly, before taking your hand in her own. Whatever awaited you in the dining room, the two of you would be ready. Hopefully.

[egcdeath]

aunt flo

summary: your monthly friend decides to visit you while staying over at steve’s.

word count: 1.5k

pairing: steve rogers x reader 

warnings: periods (so blood as well), awkward situations

a/n: this is definitely inspired by the *ahem* cycle that is currently plaguing me. it also hasn’t been thoroughly edited as this was the first time in a while that i’d written something, and i wanted to share it with you all as soon as possible! i hope you enjoy <3 

Sleeping over at Steve’s apartment was never a bad experience for you. He seemed to always be completely prepared for what the night would entail, whether it be a plethora of snacks, or your favorite scent of lotion.

However, when you woke up in what felt like a pool of your own blood, saying you were alarmed was a bit of an understatement. You mentally cursed at yourself for not realizing ahead of time that your cycle was set to start any time that week, and the fact that you’d bled all over your boyfriends sheets.

You attempted to slip out of Steve’s grasp and out of bed to assess the damage done in both your underwear, and on the bed. Once you were finally standing on the floor and gawking at the red spot in bed, you rubbed your forehead exasperatedly. While it wasn’t as bad as you’d expected, it certainly wasn’t good. The quarter sized blood stain seemed to be glaring back to you, and you decided to glare back at it before heading into the en-suite.

Before plopping yourself down on the toilet, you searched through cupboard upon cupboard for some sort of period product. Behind the mirror: aftershave, Advil, bandaids, a random bar of soap, nothing you could use. Under the sink: Epsom salt, your favorite body wash, an extra bottle of shampoo, but not a tampon in sight. Above the toilet: a few rolls of toilet paper, yet nothing even resembling a pad.

Seeing as Steve seemed pretty prepared for anything related to you, you were more than a bit surprised that he hadn’t considered that you were a menstruating human. You huffed as you sat down on the toilet, then assessed the damage control you’d need to do. First and foremost, you needed something to protect the rest of Steve’s apartment from your uterine lining. After you figured that out, you desperately needed to get that stain out of your boyfriend's sheets before he’d notice.

Maybe you could order some pads from a grocery store to his apartment. That seemed like a safe bet, but Steve would probably become concerned if he realized you’d been in the bathroom for 45 minutes. Perhaps you could just leave without a word to Steve. But that raises the issue of a random blood stain, and possibly, an upset Steve.

“Think, Y/N, think,” you muttered to yourself. You attempted to brainstorm more options for yourself, but ultimately ended up dozing off, and waking up to the soft rapping against the bathroom door, along with the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Sweetheart, everything okay in there? You’ve been in there for a while, and I saw some blood on the bed. Did you hurt yourself?”

You mentally cursed at yourself, at least now you’d only have to worry about obtaining a pad, and not addressing the mess on the bed.

“Oh yeah, I’m completely fine. Actually, I should probably head home,” you attempted to sound convincing, but didn’t exactly hit the mark.

“Are you sure? I thought we were gonna get brunch together this morning.”

You could’ve sworn you heard the frown in Steve’s voice. “Oh, uh, I’m not super hungry right now.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But about that blood, what happened? Are you alright?” He questioned.

“I’m fine, Steve.”

“Did the headboard scratch you? Did I sleep fight you or something? Did you hit your leg on the nightstand again?”

“Jesus Steve,” you scoffed a bit at the overload of questions. “I just started my period. And you have nothing I can use here, so I need to go home. That’s why there’s blood in your bed, and that’s why I’ve been in here all morning.”

“Doll, you should’ve told me! I’ll go get you something, okay?” He opened the door just a crack, and blew you a kiss. “Just stay right where you are. I’ll be back quicker than you can say period. There’s medicine behind the mirror, and I can grab you my heating pad before I go. Maybe taking a shower would help t-“

“Steve,” you giggled. “That’s plenty. Now go get my shit so I can stop bleeding all over the place.”

“Got it. I love you,” he smiled warmly at you before closing the door softly, and heading out.

—

Steve basically sprinted to his nearest convenience store, getting lost in the feminine hygiene section, then finding himself completely at loss with what he was supposed to buy. There were just too many options. He considered calling you to ask what you need, but he didn’t want to bother you more than necessary. Plus, you could be standing in the shower right now, and what if you heard your phone ringing, tried to get out of the shower to answer, and slipped? The thought of you hurting yourself made Steve shudder.

He ended up settling on three different varieties of pads and tampons. If you didn’t need them, he could always donate them to a local shelter. He then stopped by the candy aisle to grab you some dark chocolates (he’d heard in passing that it was good for menstruating women), along with a package of panties that looked like they could be your size, before hopping in line at a register.

In the midst of Steve’s menstruation mania, he failed to notice a random customer snapping a photo of him with the over abundance of women’s hygiene products. He was much more busy with checking out and getting back to you as fast as humanly possible.

——

Once Steve made it back to his apartment, he found you still in the bathroom, surrounded by a light mist of fog from the shower, and clad in an oversized sweatshirt with a faded SHIELD logo.

“I didn’t know what to get you, so I got you everything,” Steve blushed at his own unpreparedness, then passed you the bags of period products. “I’m gonna go change the sheets. When you’re ready, just meet me in bed, okay?” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before leaving the bathroom, letting you handle your business.

——

A breakfast-in-bed and movie marathon later, you were still cuddled up in Steve’s bed, his massive body giving you an extra level of warmth that was soothing your cramps like nothing you’d ever witnessed before. You were probably more comfortable than you’d ever been. Except for the incessant vibrating of your phone on the bedside table.

You’d finally reached out for it, and were pretty shocked to see all of the messages you’d received. You opened the first message from one of your closest friends, and your eyebrows raised as you read it.

LMAO read this right now bitch

enews.com/caps-pad-problem

Curiosity got the best of you, so you opened up the article.

#Padgate?

If you've been anywhere on the internet in the last few  hours, you’ve certainly seen the word “padgate” trending. The reason why is more interesting than you’d think.

Early this morning, Captain America, America’s sweetheart was spotted buying out the entirety of the feminine hygiene section of his local convenience store.

From this, a huge question rises. Is he donating? There’s certainly enough pads and tampons to keep an army of women satisfied for a year. Is he seeing someone? She must be some lucky gal.  Either way, when we thought this man couldn’t get any more lovable- he did!

You blushed while reading the article, not exactly sure how to feel. After letting it simmer in your brain for a second, you began to giggle, deciding that more than anything, it was pretty damn funny. You texted a quick message back to your friend who’d sent the article, then finally began to speak to Steve, who was giving you a bit of a confused look at your giggling.

“Steve, you goof. Someone took a picture of you buying all of that period stuff, and now the internet has gone wild.”

“What? Let me see,” he reached for your phone, and you gladly passed it to him. He skimmed over the article, then furrowed his brows. “Tony and the PR department are never going to let me live this down,” he groaned.

“Don’t be so dramatic, maybe something good will come out of this!” You chided, giving him a mischievous grin.

——

As it turns out, the word good is subjective.

It’d been about a month post-padgate, and you’d been strolling through the store with Steve, working on getting your groceries for the week.

As you entered the wellness aisle, you looked at the shelves containing menstrual products, knowing that you needed to restock sooner than later.

When you first saw what you saw, you had to do a complete double take. Your eyes must’ve been deceiving you.

A Tampax box stared back at you, a logo with a shield containing a star clearly defined on the box, along with the text ‘Captain America approved!’

“No way,” you actually laughed out loud at the sight. “Steve!” you grabbed onto his sleeve, and pulled him in the direction of the box so he could see what you were seeing.

“No way!” He reprised. “Oh my God. I’m really never gonna live this down, am I?”

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 2: No Vacancy

Title: Backroad Romance

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,119

Tags: First Kiss, Dean Winchester and Castiel are Alone in the Dark, Mild Angst With a Happy Ending, Sam Ships It, Making out in the Impala

On AO3 Here

“You’re shittin’ me, Sammy.” Dean groans and smacks the steering wheel with his palm. “There’s no room in the whole place?”

Sam’s voice floats into the Impala, high and tinny over the burner phone’s speakers. “No vacancy, Dean, I’m sorry, I checked with them three times--”

“--Nah, nah, it’s cool, we believe you,” Dean interrupts, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear so he can rub his face while steering around a bend. Cas reaches over and deftly slips the phone away, fingers pinched like he’s removing a block from a Jenga tower.

“Did you and Eileen find accommodations?” Cas asks, holding the phone out in front of him so Dean can listen in.

There’s a short pause, then: “Yeah… yeah, we did, but guys, the room is really small, like, a closet, I swear, and there’s only one bed, and--”

This time it’s Cas who interrupts. “--and you wish to engage in private romantic activities. Dean and I completely understand.”

They’re on a straight stretch of highway, but Dean still manages to swerve clumsily into the shoulder. He hastily course-corrects and bites down the urge to snap at Cas for-- for what? For talking like that? For using his deep, rough voice to say any words even vaguely related to--

No. It’s not Cas’ fault that everything he does steadily turns Dean into more and more of a creep. Dean shakes his head firmly and tunes back in to the conversation just in time to catch Sam awkwardly stumbling over his reply. Dean leans over, cutting him off with a whistle into the phone.

“We’ll be fine, little brother. Be a gentleman. Don’t hog the sheets. Girl like Eileen doesn’t come around every day.”

He can feel the bitchface radiating through the speaker and motions at Cas to hang up. Cas frowns and gravely says “Dean would like to end the conversation. Goodbye, Sam,” before flipping the phone shut. He drops it into the cupholder.

Dean makes a show of focusing on the road to avoid looking at Cas. He knows Cas is staring at him; it’s just something the guy does, sitting in the passenger seat and gazing at Dean as if the whole world isn’t flashing by outside.

Dean’s long stopped commenting on it. Let the dude stare.

He clears his throat. “We’ll probably have to find a logging road or something. Pull in and hole up for the night.”

“All right,” Cas replies. He opens the glovebox and pulls out the local map they picked up this afternoon when they rolled into Matlock, Washington, to investigate a haunted post office. It was a gray, dinky, bleak town and the poor ghost lurking around the mailroom seemed more melancholy than anything. She allowed them to dispatch her into the afterlife with very little struggle; that is, after some creative sweet-talking by Sam.

Eileen had teased Sam mercilessly about it before Dean had even gotten a chance. That’s how Dean knows she’s The One.

There was, of course, no motel in town. Sam and Eileen hit the road before Dean and Cas, because Dean insisted on getting a burger for dinner at the tiny diner on Main Street (a mistake). Now he’s staring down the barrel of a night alone with Cas, in cramped quarters, on a dark backroad. If they hadn’t already driven all day to get to Matlock, Dean would push on until they found a motel with vacancies, but he’s exhausted and Cas is just human enough these days to actually be tired too.

“There’s an access road nearby,” Cas says, tracing the map with his index finger. “In a quarter mile. Left.”

Dean follows his directions and sure enough, there’s a bumpy logging road branching off from the highway, stretching deep into the pitch-black trees. Dean pulls in about five hundred feet before turning off the lights and the ignition.

It’s silent. The darkness is all-encompassing, pressing in on Dean, so heavy it’s like he can feel it on his eyelids when he blinks. He takes a slightly shaky breath. Cas is utterly still, as usual, not a single rustle or exhale indicating his presence in the gloom, but Dean feels him there as intensely as he’d feel a roaring bonfire. His heart thuds in his ears.

Why is he freaking out? He’s slept in the car with Sam a million times. But even as he thinks that, he knows, he knows, that this is different. His brain starts whirling through logistics -- who’s gonna take the back seat? Is Cas even gonna sleep the whole night? Or will he wake up and just sit there, staring at Dean for hours, inches away?

Dean needs to shut off his brain. He taps the seat and says “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” comes the immediate response, measured and reassuring. “Would you like to talk?”

Relaxing against the seat and slinging an arm over the backrest, Dean peers over to the passenger side. “Sure.”

The moon’s out tonight, far above the trees, and the grayscale of nighttime slowly bleeds into view as Dean’s eyes adjust. He can just make out the sharp angle of Cas’ nose, the slope of his chest and the outline of his hands folded in his lap. He’s always so upright, so proper. Dean wonders what it would feel like to undo him.

“Are Sam and Eileen having sex?”

Dean chokes on air. Sputtering, he braces himself on the seat and coughs until his eyes stop watering. “What?” he wheezes. “Why-- Dude, why would you ask that?”

He sees Cas turn his head to regard him. Even in the dark, Dean can imagine the piercing gaze.

“It was unclear to me what you meant by ‘be a gentleman.’” Cas lifts his hands to shape the finger quotes. “I assumed the two of them would take advantage of their privacy to engage in physical intimacy. Was your comment meant to discourage Sam from having sex?”

Dean throws up his hands desperately. “Okay-- okay, first of all, quit talking about my brother doing it. And second, no, I wasn’t ‘discouraging’ him, just reminding him to treat Eileen like a lady. You know, romance her a little.”

The darkness is a godsend as Dean’s cheeks flush hotter with every word. He’s surprised they’re not glowing. He taps the seat in a random pattern as Cas sits quietly, seemingly digesting the information.

When he responds, it’s slow and thoughtful. “In the pornography I’ve watched, the participants always begin undressing one another rather quickly. And in my own experiences, there has been very little that I would label ‘romantic.’ What is classified as ‘romance,’ Dean?”

Well, shit. The last of Dean’s composure evaporates, sizzles away like a drop of water meeting his burning face. He drops his head into his hands and groans.

Cas leans forward, his knee brushing Dean’s. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” he asks, voice laden with concern.

Dean’s throat is tight, his fingers sweaty against his forehead. He forces himself to take a deep breath and to at least open his eyes against the shadow of his palms. “Uh-- no. No, Cas. You, uh-- you should be able to ask that kinda stuff. Human stuff. I get that it’s, uh-- it’s important to know. For, y’know. So you can--”

There’s a hand on his knee. A warm, strong hand. Long fingers. Weighty. Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive. He slowly, very slowly, lowers his hands to peek at Cas.

“How do you like to be romanced, Dean?”

There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing in Dean’s brain. It’s a chamber of silence. A void. He stares at the outline of Cas’ wild hair, mouth slightly open.

“...Dean?” The hand on his knee shifts slightly and Dean’s blank brain runs zero interference as his own hand darts out and stills the one threatening to leave his leg. As soon as his skin makes contact with Cas’, though, everything zings back online in a rushing roar.

Play it off, Winchester. Crack a joke. C’mon. “Hah, funny, buddy, you really got me there--”

“--Kissing’s nice.”

He snaps his mouth shut too late. The words float away, unrecoverable.

Cas tilts his head. Then, slowly, very slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking Dean, he turns his hand around under Dean’s so that they’re palm to palm. An invitation.

With a pounding heart, Dean accepts it. He laces their fingers together. His palm feels even sweatier when it’s rubbing up against Cas’ dry, smooth skin.

Sexy, Dean. Way to go.

Somehow, even though it was Cas asking the questions, he’s the one leading now, shifting closer, laying his left arm along the backrest behind Dean’s shoulders. Their faces are so close that they’re sharing air, just two shadows suspended in a frozen moment.

“May I kiss you?” Cas murmurs gently, his breath washing over Dean’s lips. It smells like rain-refreshed air, like a promise of sunshine, alleviating the weight of the darkness. Dean tentatively chases it with his tongue, wetting his lips and leaving them parted.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. Because fuck, he wants this. He’s wanted this for so long.

And Cas wants it, too.

Dean always imagined that his first kiss with Cas would be an inferno, fireworks, showering sparks, all those cliches. That it would yank him from his body and send him floating through the ether.

It’s not like any of that. It’s better. It’s real.

Cas’ lips are just lips -- a little more chapped than Dean’s used to, perhaps, but they meet his in a familiar brush, followed by the typical tentative press, leading into a hesitant swipe of the tongue.

He’s kissing Cas. Cas, who he’s built up in his head for so long as this untouchable, impossible ideal, who stormed Hell to drag him out, who smote demons with his bare hands, who is so inconceivably old that Dean should be just a speck of sand under his eternal gaze.

Instead, that same Cas is busy dragging his fingers down the side of Dean’s neck. A crest of goosebumps follow, shivers trailing down Dean’s torso, and he gasps a quivery breath against Cas’ lips. He’s not used to being led. Normally he’s the one in charge, giving as good as he gets, focused on hitting the highlights, satisfying his partner. There’s a whole formula.

He’s never trembled like this before.

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his mouth, reverent, his voice somehow gravelly even as a breath. He suddenly pulls his hand free from Dean’s and grips his bicep, dropping his other arm from the backrest to wrap around Dean’s waist. Without preamble, he twists, tugging Dean across his lap. Dean yelps and hurriedly adjusts his legs, ending up with his knees on the seat, straddling Cas’ thighs. His fingers and toes are zinging in excitement.

Goddamn. Who knew being manhandled would do it for him?

The crown of his head presses against the roof of the car and he slouches forward until their foreheads are touching. He pushes his hands into Cas’ hair.

Cas surges forward again, nudging Dean’s head to the side and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. Dean groans, low and shaky, as Cas parts his lips and sucks a trail up to Dean’s earlobe, his tongue soothing in the wake of his mouth, dragging over every mark that he coaxes to the surface. Dean knows his neck will be littered with bruises tomorrow, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care, not when Cas’ teeth are busy grazing the shell of his ear.

“Jeez, Cas,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. He's hard already, hips twitching a little, but he keeps his hands firmly in Cas’ hair, tugging the soft, thick strands, guiding Cas’ mouth back down to his neck. His pulse hammers under each press of chapped lips.

He pulls back and captures Cas’ mouth again, sliding his tongue into that wet heat. They trade open-mouthed kisses, a bit sloppy, while Cas’ hands glide up Dean’s back under his flannel. Dean’s absolutely flying, his pounding heart easily winning the battle against the tiny voice in his head dredging up reasons to stop, reasons to run.

He wants to stay .

Their kisses have escalated to a panting, frenzied give-and-take, and Dean’s tired of hunching over. He drops his hands onto Cas’ shoulders and starts leaning back over to the driver’s seat, trying to pull Cas on top of him. Cas whines when their lips separate, but he catches on quickly. A little too quickly. He grips Dean’s waist and shifts him along the bench seat with such force that Dean’s arm goes flying and his elbow smacks right into the middle of the steering wheel.

The horn blares, rending the night.

Both Dean and Cas jerk upright, instantly on high alert. Reality takes a moment to catch up with them.

Cas recovers first. “That startled me,” he says, voice wrecked.

Dean lets out a long breath. He’s still got one leg up on the seat, the other one cramped awkwardly next to the steering wheel. He drags a hand across his face and lets out a breathy laugh. The next thing he knows, he’s doubled over, laughing so hard his cheeks hurt and his eyes water.

He’s just so goddamn happy.

Cas watches him, head tilted in the shadows. Dean lets his laughter run its course, petering out with a sigh of mirth and hand slapped on Cas’ knee.

“What a night, huh?” he says.

Cas lifts a hand and strokes Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. Even after all that making out, this one gesture seems inordinately intimate. But Dean just smiles.

Cas swipes his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone one more time before slowly, almost reluctantly, letting his hand fall. “You need to sleep.”

Dean nods and glances into the backseat. “You do too, don’t you? At least a bit? Maybe we can both fit back there.”

They get out of the car -- the cool night air rushes into Dean’s lungs and fizzes through his chest, bringing the events of the past half hour into blood-rich focus in his brain. He steels himself for the freakout, for the doubt and the deflection, but it doesn’t come. He feels right.

They crawl into the backseat, awkwardly shuffling and shifting, ending up with Cas sitting mostly upright (insisting that he’s fine) and Dean laid out on the seat with his head in Cas’ lap.

He drops off to sleep faster than he has a long time, Cas’ long fingers carding through his hair.

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

It’s the light that wakes him, pale gray seeping under his lashes and rousing him from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He lifts his head and immediately winces -- his neck is stiff as a board and his back aches all the way down to his tailbone. He’s really getting too old to be sleeping in the car.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean twists around and peers blearily up at Cas, who’s gazing down at him with one of his rare enigmatic smiles. Dean yawns and stretches as best he can, his back popping. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting next to Cas.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas leans over and, before Dean can react, presses a warm, dry kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Sore body or not, this is the best morning of Dean’s life.

They extract themselves from the backseat and stumble into the damp early-morning air. Dean pops the collar of his flannel after a single glance into the side mirror. He’s got a lot of hickies.

They take a second to stretch (Dean admires the way Cas’ pecs shift under his dress shirt as he reaches for the sky) before sliding into the front seat. Dean backs them out of the logging road, the verdant green pines on either side nearly overwhelming his night-accustomed eyes.

Cas calls Sam as they roar down the highway again. It’s only 5 a.m., but Dean handed Cas the phone and told him to give Sam a wakeup call. The kid deserves it after a good night’s sleep in a real bed.

They pull into the parking lot of the Cedar Crest Motel just past 5:30. Dean ends up having to park on the street, though, because the lot’s at capacity, not a single spot unoccupied. He pats Baby in apology as he leaves her, and he and Cas make their way to the room number that a very irritated, cranky Sam snapped at them over the phone.

They’ve almost reached it when Dean suddenly stops dead. He grabs Cas’ arm. Cas shoots him a questioning glance.

“Look." Dean points up at the motel sign. There, huge red letters, blinking through the pale morning light, spell out a clear VACANCY.

“It’s hardly been six hours," Dean says. "No one would’ve checked out in the middle of the night.”

Suspicion rising rapidly, he strides to Sam’s door and knocks as obnoxiously as he can. As soon as the door creaks open, he reaches through and grabs Sam’s shirt, yanking him outside. Sam protests and slaps at Dean with one hand, shoving his bird’s nest hair out of his face with the other.

“What the hell, Dean!”

Dean just throws one arm up at the sign, staring at Sam with raised eyebrows. As soon as Sam sees what he’s pointing at, he shrinks into what Dean immediately recognizes as guilty little brother posture. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, eyes darting between Dean and Sam, before holding out a placating hand. “I just-- I just thought, maybe you could use some time alone,” he explains hastily, backing up a bit into the room. “If we all ended up here, Dean, you’d insist that we share, you know you would.”

Dean knows Sam’s right (he’s careful with their fake money, so sue him), but he keeps glaring regardless.

“I just wanted some time with Eileen,” Sam mumbles, deflating a bit. “And I thought, y’know, with how you and Cas have been acting lately, that you’d-- uh, that you’d want some time together, too.”

Dean sputters. “Acting? We-- what--”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, deep voice cutting off Dean’s protests. “We had a very pleasant night.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he straightens up, a knowing grin stretching over his face. His eyes dart to Dean’s popped collar. “Oh yeah? Did you now?”

Dean shoves him into the room and slams the door shut. There. He turns to Cas, who looks amused.

“Give me at least a couple days before blabbing to my brother,” Dean says, but he finds himself smiling. Cas nods. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, just for a moment, squeezing before letting it fall again.

“Of course, Dean.”