#so apologies for historical inaccuracy here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bakugoushotwife · 10 months ago

Text

𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 // 𝖔𝖓𝖊: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓

↳ cw: minors dni, dark content. proceed at your own risk. sukuna, human!sukuna, historical inaccuracies, murder, npc character death, gore, blood, knifeplay?, marriage, mentions of having children, smut, fingering (fem receiving) size kink, virginity loss, corruption kink, breeding kink, creampie, uhhh making shit up for sukuna's backstory, he's a soft husband kinda? ↳ series masterlist ↳ jjk masterlist ↳ part two

before he was a curse—he was just a man. surely unsightly and terrifying in every way; abandoned from the beginning and forced to learn how to survive the hard way—the powerful sorcerer known as ryomen sukuna had come to extinguish your clan at last. news had traveled fast from the fujiwara clan—the high ranks of the village knew what had happened there—and what would be sure to happen here. you could feel the energy shift all the way from the estate, like a dark, lightning-charged cloud had swallowed you whole. your father was the lord of this clan—the first man. as his daughter and only surviving child, you were expected to be right by his side to greet—and hopefully negotiate with the heian era’s most powerful sorcerer.

so you kneeled next to your father, head bowed deeply, nearly touching the ground. your betrothed mirrored the actions, showing respect to the man they called the disgraced one. your kimono was layered and bright–you were certainly eye-catching. sukuna always did enjoy the fanfare as he made his appearances around japan—the fear was sensational; the way villagers would plead for their lives or for the children to be spared. intoxicating. even smaller praises like this caused a smirk to blossom on his lips. supposed rulers on their hands and knees before him, all in the hopes that he would make one exception.

too bad for this small, hillside citystate. he would brutalize the women, and slaughter everyone else. well, maybe he’d hang on to a few of the women if they were obedient enough. then he’d set fire to the structures your ancestors worked so hard to erect, there would be no trace of your bloodline.

you feel the vibrations of his footsteps on the dais more than you hear them echo. “rise.”

you are the first to move, easing your hands by your sides and straightening your back. your stomach lurches. this was a man? he was humongous, nearing eight feet tall and seemingly just as wide across with a double set of hulking arms and sneering eyes. he was rippled in muscle, broad black markings wrapping around his biceps and thighs, lines scattered across his seemingly disinterested face. one of his four hands clutches a trident-shaped weapon, a second combing through his pink peony colored hair. the other set balances on his hips, carmine eyes combing over you and your reaction to him. unblinking, the both of you.

your father clears his throat, afraid you had committed the sin that would damn your clan’s village. your fiancé elbows you in the ribs to get you to stop staring, to stop blushing at the monster before you. you bite at the inside of your lip, tearing your gaze away.

what an interesting creature you were. it was hard to explain, but no one had looked at him like that before. he wouldn’t say unafraid—it was clear you knew what was potentially on the line. but you didn’t seem…disgusted. so naturally opposed and recoiling away like everyone else. like he wanted from commoners like them–like you. so why did you hold your head so high to look him in the eyes? who were you?

“my apologies, my lord,” your father bows again and then casts a glare at you. “my daughter is still learning how to be a proper lady.” he says, smiling nervously. it’s clear to you and to every one of the villagers watching how spineless your father is. even your fiancé is shaking like a leaf right next to you—embarrassing. you wouldn’t be surprised if sukuna murdered you all simply because of this pathetic showing.

his gaze just trails over to you again. he says nothing, mouth almost in a pout his lips were so downturned. you feel your body grow hot under his examination, at this point you feel it more rude to look away. that coupled with the wimpy performance your men were putting on had you raising your chin again, even splitting your cheeks into a smile. “it is ladylike to look our honored guest in the eyes.” you refute, and that has his attention. you speak out–you fight back. he’s always liked his women feisty.

that simpleton to your immediate right puts a hand on your arm, gentle eyes begging for you to keep your mouth shut. your eyes narrow in argument, and before you can speak again…the said guest speaks.

“what do you want.” his voice is a silky deep pulse, bored in every way. your father starts to wring his hands.

“your excellence, we would be of your greatest debts if you would consider sparing our people…i-i-in exchange for whatever you may desire!”

how pathetic. and absolutely stupid. “do you think you are the first to ask mercy of me? or do you think i owe you a favor…? i have the means to take what i want. i am wasting time even entertaining your stupid pleas.” he seems so aggravated–it’s such a shallow solution. he could request every woman in the village—he could take the lord’s daughter in front of everyone here and now. boring—where’s the creativity? clearly the man didn’t care for his people with more effort than this half-baked plan—

“my lord, if you’ll excuse me weighing in..” you say, your satin voice wrapping around his very thoughts. “you’ve conquered every territory that you have set your eyes upon. if we yield our lands and our rule to you with peace…we could assist with trade and labor.” you hum, hands folded before your stomach. your painted lips are pursed, he can tell even you are annoyed with the lame fodder your father provides. sukuna enjoys your boldness–even if women are oftentimes if not usually the weakest beings present, you seem to carry the intellect of your clan. but your father has had enough interruption.

“insolent woman!” your father says, turning to spew more, but it doesn’t come. you hear a blade whip against the wind, and he’s decapitated at the mouth, his body falling toward you with a sloshy thud. the crowd screams–your fiancé leaps back in horror. your body twitches with surprise, a splatter of blood painting your cheek.

“waste of skin and bones and my precious air.” sukuna sneers, his attention now fully crowned upon you—the new leader of your village. you turn away from the cross section of your father’s face and towards the man that did it without moving a muscle. no, it was his technique—a set of words that made it effortless. you can’t tell if it’s shock or genuine gratefulness that floods your veins. “is this your husband?” the conqueror asks, jutting his chin towards the man cowering behind you. his eyes nearly glow with something you would call excitement.

you were your father’s only child–and regrettably a woman. you had no say in your betrothed. heaven knows you wouldn’t have picked the coward using you as his shield. you had no say in a lot of things—but maybe thanks to this vile man, your luck may have changed.

“he is promised to be.” you answer, the unpleasant cock of your jaw when you answer tells the demonic sorcerer all he needs to know regarding your affection for him. his smirk grows into a genuine smile—pointy white teeth flashing at you. something about him makes your insides bubble. and not in a way akin to fear.

“he is an utter embarrassment.” he snorts, and you smirk for only the faintest second. “very well. i shall accept your proposal. your people can live if you serve me. you will be the crown ruler.” he steps closer, body towering over you and heat radiating between you both in proximity. you don’t step back, and a certain hunger develops in his vision. you’re fiery, even bold enough to meet with him without flinching. you are impressive, even down to your cursed energy. “what is your technique?”

“black widow…i have webs, poison, and superior…childrearing capabilities.” you redden only slightly when you have to explain the perks of your technique. it’s an ancient one, known to form powerful breeds in the past as well as stand on its own in battle. his eyes turn feral, and his undressing gaze is shameless this time as he looks over your body. you are an interesting little thing indeed, and if he hopes to take over this world…he will need a strong wife to produce a long line of strong heirs to forever rule. you are beautiful and spirited.

one of his hands reaches for your face, two thick and calloused fingers tilting your chin up higher so he may see your face in its entirety. yes, you would make good heirs for him. they would be plenty attractive if they took after you as well, something crucial for the success of his bloodline. your cheekbones are shapely and your eyes set in a beautiful bedroom stare. your lips are pouty and full, teeth perfectly indenting your fatter bottom one. his touch is searing your skin in a way you’ve never known. he is at least three times your size and a mystical beast in your world…and your insides are throbbing at his closeness. you’ve never experienced this with your fiancé.

you look at him in a way that’s foreign. he doesn’t know quite what to make of it, except that he enjoys it. he smirks, eyes trailing to your body. it’s covered by the many layers of your kimono, but if your chest was any indication—you’d have no issues bringing heirs for him either. his fingers tighten around your chin, pressing your cheeks together. it pouts your red-painted lips, and you giggle at the carnal enjoyment he seems to get from it.

“u-unhand my b-be-betrothed!” your cowardly fiancé finally says. peeking over your shoulder.

sukuna never looks away from you, only thrusting his trident out into flesh—into the face of the man you’re supposed to marry. he didn’t drop his hold on you, keeping you from looking at the gore.

“you’ve a new betrothed, little thing.” he grins cockily, admiring how you never got fully to your feet. your father had been dumb enough to do so–and your fiance decided to challenge the wrong man at the wrong time. but you, you only rose to your knees, thick lashes batting up at him, one hand still occupied in cupping your soft skin. the trident lowers to your face–not an aimed weapon. a gift. he grins, teeming with insatiable desire and excitement. his mind was made up ages ago–the moment you spoke. he has found his wife, and now he wants her to accept him wholly–to perform for him and him only. “clean the hiten.”

the flame climbing in his eyes made you tingle, even sent a wave of vertigo to your head. you feel the need to please him, the idea of becoming his bride was desirable to no one more than you. he had freed you from a life of serving your father and miserable husband-to-be. he was a powerful ruler–the most feared man alive. and he was strikingly beautiful to you, hence the craze in your stomach when he looks at you in this way. you have always liked to play with fire and the unknown. with your entire clan watching, you lean forward and flatten your tongue against the sharp metal of his weapon. the steel is cool, and the wet liquid warm. if not for the temperature difference, you may not have been able to tell the blade from the blood.

oh he could give you an heir right here. the seductive nature you possess, on your knees and looking up at him so obediently, tongue out and splattered with blood so red it outmatched your lipstain. his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his grin turning wicked. this shall be the capital of his new kingdom, and he would build his legacy alongside you—the perfect mate, handcrafted just for him. clearly, no other man would have been enough to satiate you anyhow. the wife of a man such as he would be widely revered and respected, by none more than himself. he would give you a proper ceremony, he would give you the next little prince or princess once your souls have been bound, and no sooner, even if it’s a torture to himself. it’s a gift he could spare for the woman he shall keep forever. “we will marry by the new moon.”

you lick your lips, leaning back with a nod, “it is my honor, my lord.” you bow your head again, but even that doesn’t hide the eager smile on your lips. you have to be the weirdest woman alive—and it intoxicates him. he leans in, one hand tilting your chin back up to meet his bedroom gaze.

“no. from today on—i am a king. and you…will be the queen of my hard work. and you all,” he turned to your people–now an integration of his own people, “are invited to the wedding.” his sarcastic voice carries over the crowd. he is smug, but you can tell the pride is real. this is…more than mere conquest for him. he would not marry you for sport. something in your heart softens at this, at his proclamation. you know you do not need to fear him at all.

“we will get straight to organizing the ceremony.” you nod, waving in some guards to clear the bodies. no one in the congregation moves–no one speaks. you have to look closely to make sure anyone is even breathing. the silence insults you. you know they’re scared–but can’t they see? this union has saved their lives—has turned them from peasants to lords and ladies in their own right. upon seeing the angry look on your face, your new husband-to-be hoists you to your feet, red eyes zeroed in on the men dragging the corpses away–threatening them to comply.

“you should be celebrating. if my father had continued down his path, we would all be dead! now, you’ll flourish! you should be championing his graciousness!” you announce, the showing of your own spirit only cemented his decision. no concubine of his could stand in your shadow—and he has hardly even touched you. his chest…it was tightening right where his heart was. sukuna never realized affection could cause such physical sensation, but it wasn’t a bad one. he was just acclimating to this, to wanting someone around. to wanting this life after being alone for so long. but he saw it when he looked in your eyes. he saw the future he could have, he felt a fraction of the love, of the completion you will bring to his life. he had long moved on from the concept of love. even sneered at the mere mention of such a hideous joke. his own parents hadn’t loved him. who possibly could?

and why was it a little girl from a random village carved out of the side of a hill outside of the big city? why was it a girl with an ancient powerful technique that had the nerve to look him in his eyes and smile kindly? he didn’t mind not knowing why. as long as this is true. as long as you become his queen and promise to give him your all. the sound of your people cheering his name catches his attention, your sweet face looking at him in wait, such pride on your features. you were giving him your all right in this very moment. yes. the month could not turn quickly enough.

however, ryomen sukuna found that the thirteen days you had to organize some sort of ceremony were well worth the wait. you still spent everyday together, showing him your admittedly beautiful lands and estate, though he spent much of the time planning the renovations to truly make the place fit for royalty. you could hardly believe this was the man of legend, the evil and cruel sorcerer that had even his own kind running the other way sooner than fight him. if he hadn’t slaughtered two men in front of you, you’d be like to dispel those stories entirely. sukuna is…harsh, and rough around the edges, yes. but you can tell it’s more out of routine combined with his cluelessness. he doesn’t know how to be a husband, and he worries if he will be a quick enough learner. all internally, of course. he would not share such insecurities with anyone. it was hard enough to find a willing lover—a wife! you saw past his looks, even his base beastial nature…so could he run you off if he wasn’t a good enough listener or was too protective?

you planned picnics in gardens and walks along the forests. you showed him nests of baby bunnies and crouched in bushes to feed doe. you planted potatoes and peonies alike, and he was enchanted by you. your soul—he felt like he could see it at times. like a bright glow in your chest, a happy yellow that gave you such an angelic glimmer he couldn’t believe that you of all people held such tremendous power over him, such a dark and devastating omnipotence that had never lost a battle. except this one. laying amongst a bed of moss by a lake, your tiny frame snuggled into his side, secured by his right two arms. the sun has started its retreat, the hazy pink and orange complimenting the natural brightness you possess, the black widow of darkness that you are–still shining like the day. it seems you know how to sort your powerful black away from your brilliant brightness—an impressive split to you that he admired; the power to control yourself–to not be consumed as he has been.

the frogs croak in a pitchy symphony, but you’re as happy as can be. you brought a book, one you’ve been reading to him all day. he found the sound of your voice peaceful, the lively way you theorized and asked his opinions was as entertaining as the story itself. under the leafy willow trees, he almost didn’t feel like a bad man at all. he almost felt reborn, at peace. in love. he had accepted this but had not yet said it. it was clear to you that he felt it anyway. a man like him would not tolerate you in the way he does if he was not crazy about you.

the book snaps closed and you’ve turned on your side so that you could meet his eyes. “we’re getting married tomorrow.” you say with a breathy gasp, your smile mending his very soul every time he witnesses it. he nods, giving you that same deadpan look he normally does.

“yes, this is true.” he raises a brow, prompting you to say more. his head is propped up on one of his arms, the other hand caressing your cheek as he is prone to do.

“well–aren’t you excited?” you huff, knowing damn well he just expresses himself with a certain…emotional stuntedness. if the man had it his way, you’d be a week into your honeymoon by now.

“of course, you pest. you have been mine since the day i arrived—but i will be grateful to make this official and binding.” he hums, pinching your cheek affectionately. you scrunch your nose and balance an arm on his chest, crawling closer still. the adoration–that’s it, the foreign look in your eyes. it’s adoration—it makes his own chest flutter. a feared man—now bowed to a mere tiny woman. he’s annoyed by himself, so he rolls his eyes as you approach.

you match the gesture, raising a brow. “how romantic, my beloved.” you snicker, and this time he tugs your hair. “hey! i meant all the eye rolling and grumbling!” you squeal, laughing. he didn’t pull hard enough to hurt–just to annoy you like you annoy him.

“brat of a woman. seems tonight’s sleep alone will be my last peaceful one.” he smirks, closing his eyes to enjoy the peaceful scene–even if you two are mercilessly taunting each other. he appreciated the humor.

you scoff, playfully pouting. “only cause you’ll be so enticed by me every night–”

it was his turn to scoff. “you couldn’t handle me every night. you’re an idiot.” he says, peeking an eye open to see you scowling at him. even that was ridiculously cherished to him.

“tch–you don’t know for certain. but i will be pleasing my husband every time he needs.” you purr, holding his eyes. it was only now that it hit him; you are attracted to him. you’re not looking past his grotesque form, you love what you see. until now, he assumed the power and promise of safety was enough, the companionship he could provide. but no, no, that adoration has always been there. that want, since the day you seduced him in the first place.

“mm. i’m sure. i have no doubts, kozō.” he hums, his deep voice a comfort to you–as well as the lazy grin that spreads across his features when you lean up to bite his bicep—well what parts of it you could fit in your mouth.

the next day, he was the first to arrive to the scene of your ceremony. it was nicer than most, even he knew that. weddings of the time were often not love related at all. just practical arrangements between the aristocrats. so there were no cheering townspeople, no lofty ceilings and stuffy rooms. just the sakura tree with her leaves rustling in the sweet gentle breeze that blew through the gardens as he strolled up to it, following your cherry blossom path to his spot. it was scenic–he should have known that you would opt to marry in the open, in love with the outdoors as you are. the sky is so clear today, another good omen in his eyes. you didn’t leave him waiting long, a different kind of rustling catching his attention—coming from the corner of his eyes.

there you are, in all your beauty. jūnihitoe and all, you looked every bit the queen you would soon become. your heavy layers sway with you as you walk to meet him, that sweet grin pulling at your cheeks that makes his skin crawl–in a good way. he reaches hands out to greet you, and you slide your hand into the one nearest you–his bottom right. you are stunning, even your makeup was subtle, only highlighting your mesmerizing beauty. there wouldn’t be another girl like you for a thousand years.

“my king,” you greet, your voice like liquid gold. “finally, our big day.” you grin even wider–toothy and precious. it betrays just how excited you are, and has sukuna giving you a rare grin of his own, lopsided as it was—you squeeze his hand in appreciation, grabbing his lower left too.

“my queen,” he hums back, bringing his eyes back to your face, “you look beautiful. are we married yet?” he raises a brow, earning a giggle from you. it seems he must be excited as well.

“well you would traditionally have to kiss me to really seal the union.” you tuck your cheek to your shoulder, fluttering those lashes at him in that adorable way you do. he rolls his eyes–too overwhelmed at the warmth that courses through his veins just from looking at you. it’s nearly pitiful. he uses his free hands to cup your cheeks, towering frame leaning down to mash his lips on yours. it’s hard, and you can feel the nip of his teeth, but it’s perfect. he softens into it a second later, his hands dropping yours in favor of gripping your hips, pulling you closer. all you can feel is him; muscles and warm skin–wandering hands and wet mouths gasping for breath every so often just to instinctually pull and lean closer to each other, until your skin is too hot under the layers of your dress and you need relief.

you step back, cheeks flushed, taking your swollen lip between your lip–seemingly thinking of what you want to say. that simple expression has all the blood rushing to his cock, a simple grunt spilling past his lips. he knows what that look means despite this being his first experience, it’s carved into the very marrow of his bones; it’s time to put an heir in you. he steps forward again to close the distance, chest heaving against yours. “your quarters, now.”

you nod slowly, so impatient and needy you can barely stand it—the walk to your room has your knees wobbling. you can feel his intense stare focused on your back–and his cock pressing into it too. your tongue is producing more saliva than usual, head already a little dizzy just from the imagination of what would come next. the heavy doors of your private chambers close with a prominent thud, and his hands cover your frame in seconds. he’s exploring, you realize, combining rough and soft presses over your body with one set of hands; using the other to help you out of those pesky robes. you’re still pressed to his chest, your now bare back soaking in the stability of his decorated abdomen. you can see the pile of fabric on the floor, his hands now pawing at your breasts—feeling them in his palms, pinching and toying with the nipples, chuckling in satisfaction as they harden in his fingers. paired with your pleasurable gasps, he doesn’t have to ask if you like it. your head rolls back to look up at him, leaning all your weight back to give yourself over fully, trusting his will with your body.

he gently shoves you toward your bed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. as soon as your back hits the silk below you, his figure looms above you, standing between your legs that dangle off of the plush mattress below you. “my wife…” he muses, fingers trailing down your thighs, undergarments vanishing next. you look so inviting, so warm, it was fitting for a woman like you. he’s read books—he’s not braindead. he has researched the human body–the woman’s body—extensively in his spare time. like any skilled warrior, he had to come prepared for battle. above all, he trusted himself to know what to do to please his queen, and he trusted you to be vocal enough to assist him along the way. his hands slide back up over the swells of your thighs, creeping closer to your cunt, you suck in a sharp breath as his fingers ghost along your clit, tracing his way down your lips, splitting them…everything was slow…exploratory. it still felt shocking and nice, his touch in general had you buzzing—but he’s learning how to touch you, seeing the shift of your brow has his fingers moving faster, confidence bolstered by your little gasps as he rubs little circles over your nerves. his own desire was quickly mounting—outweighing his wishes to be careful and please his new wife. you were a strong woman anyhow, no? you wouldn’t have captured his soul in the way you did if you couldn’t handle the brunt of his devotion, after all…

so his fingers move faster, his top set of hands sliding up your abdomen to knead at your breasts—making your eyes widen at the new rush of pleasure that comes with the simple tweaks and pulls of your nipples coupled with the foreign delicious tingle his calloused fingers evoke with the perfectly timed circles he rubs over your pussy.

“oh—it burns,” you whine, placing a hand over your stomach. he only grins in response, hovering between your legs like a ravenously wild animal, the devilish glint in his eye had every part of that burning fire growing and licking your insides. he finds it so cute that you don’t even know what you’re experiencing, that he gets to give you your first pleasure ever. the sadistic side of him relishes that look of confusion on your face as your orgasm takes you by surprise, your breathy moans are truly the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard—and he thinks that maybe all the pain and suffering was actually worth it; if this is his reprieve. if your soft body and loving eyes would be waiting for him everyday, then surely he would learn how to be the perfect partner for you, and this night is all about the beginning of learning.

it’s a bliss like you’ve never known, a slight fog coming over your brain and vision as your body pulses with delirium, lightning like sparks running through your very chakra, heart picking up again as he lifts your legs to his hips and lets his pants fall to the floor. all you feel is a warm, wet rod of skin resting against your fluttering cunt, but his view is much better. his wide, lengthy shaft is going to tear your virgin hole apart, the angry red tip was oozing—needy. he was just as bad as you, having fantasized about this moment since the day you licked the blood from his blade. you squirmed impatiently beneath him, whining out.

“i’m ready, don’t think too hard.” you giggle softly, knowing something of what to expect. it was to hurt, make you sore—but with time and the proper readying, you would be fine. you could feel your own fluids sliding down the crack of your ass, so you knew you were prepared. “i know it’s gonna sting—but i want to make you feel good…” you nod again, holding around the wrists of his upper pair of arms, which hold your face in their hands. his lower set keeps your legs secured on either side of his hips, and it’s clear you don’t know the inner war waging inside his mind. does he give into his desires and likely destroy your little cunt or does he rein it in and learn how to please you fully…perhaps both are achievable. he is an expert and a warrior–now a king! he can take what’s his and find the pleasure for himself that lurks between your legs.

with your boasts of preparedness, he leans back and sheaths his fat cock in your walls, snapping his pelvis into your hips. you wail out, legs jerking back in his hands, head thrashing from side to side. tears instantly cloud your eyes, and he loves it. the glossy look you give him, full of cock for the first time, he carved it into memory. your hands claw at his beefy biceps, unable to process the shocking pressure you feel all of a sudden. it truly does sting, and you feel yourself squeeze down around the foreign object in order to fully relax. he seems to wait until your squirming stops, until your pussy waves the white flag of surrender and acclimates to his size.

“there, you really can fit it all.” he muses, seemingly impressed. you whine softly, words dying in your throat as the tears finally slip past your waterline. he leans in to lick them off your face, long tongue pointedly tracing the salty line up your skin, making you gasp at the sensation. he finally starts to move, short strokes hammering into the little flap keeping him from bullying his cock any further. he grunts out in satisfaction, your tight cavern was obviously made for him with the way you clutch so perfectly around his dick—nothing could compare to the liquid smoke rolling through his body at this very moment, his hips pulling back further as you loosened your grip around his arms, soft moans pouring from pouty lips. “you look so wonderful like this, wife of mine.”

he meant it to, your breasts jumping with every force of his cock, your gorgeously arranged hair now spread out around your head like a built in spotlight, cheeks darkened with heat and eyes rolled back in your head—body overcome with all the ecstasy. he shifts your legs to his shoulders, earning a sharp cry as he leans in, folding you in half and slamming himself into your cervix just to growl angrily at the stoppage. you’re sure you’re seeing colors that don’t exist, floating orbs of color melding your vision, you go cross-eyed. his cock drags through your walls, letting you feel every vein and ridge to the appendage. his hands held your hips, using your own curves as leverage to make you scream even louder—that burning stretch building its way up in your stomach again.

“sukuna!” you yelp, hugging around his neck. your pleas drive him wild. he knew it was attainable, to fuck you like he wanted and give you everything you had ever wanted too. he presses his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking—fully nibbling and biting to leave marking bruises. the tickling pain has your legs jerking and pussy spasming out of control, the clamping rhythm causing your husband to groan your name in response to your chant of his own.

“cum for me again, so i may fill you with my heirs.” he demands, his voice a gravelly purr against the shell of your ear. lightning strikes again, and you have no choice but to obey his command—the idea of growing his children too appealing to ignore. you were so worth waiting for–but he was now greedy and impatient, he would breed you daily, needing you to be round and hobbling before the year’s end. marriage was step one of claiming his woman, impregnating her was another, and your cute cries of begging only made his cock throb inside your choking heat.

“yes!! oh–gonna cum for you, love you so much—give you a whole army’a heirs if you wan’!” you babble back, your brain nearly oozing out of your ears as you melt into the pillow, legs trying to close around his hips, body violently tossing and turning with the force of your second orgasm. he watches how your face scrunches up and your mouth drops open–your little hand pushing at his chest as if you couldn’t possibly take one more stroke of his cock—but you must. he holds your hand against his heart, rolling his hips forward. the little ring of frothy blood at the base of his cock has his own orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave.

“good little wife, now don’t spill a drop.” he grunts, leaning back to let your body twitch as he uses the warmth of your cum to move without resistance, heaving a deep sigh, his lip between his teeth as he stills—warmth spilling inside of you that eases all the aching, flooding you with relief. it feels so good you moan a little from that alone, swiveling your hips to instinctively milk his weepy cock dry. he assists you, smirking. he knows the monster he’s just created, and now he’ll never get away with cumming anywhere but your gorgeous cunt. his hands map out your curves, his cock plugging you full. he meant what he said. one hand slides up further, petting your hair back. he can’t fight the lopsided smile on his face as he watches your pinched brows ease, your heaving chest calm. you finally open your sleepy eyes, grinning up at him. you were ethereal.

“lay down, want to snuggle.” you whine out in demand. and what kind of husband could deny such a powerful request? it’s easy for two of his hands to slide under each thigh, the other supporting your back as he rolls the two of you over. you grin in satisfaction, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “that was amazin’...feels so good to..make love.” you giggle a little shyly. his fingers toy with the ends of your hair, a lazy smile on his lips as well.

“mm, it does. you are the perfect woman for a man like me.” he says with as much gentleness as you’ve ever heard from him. your eyes sparkle and that only makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably again. another hand rubs circles against your bare back, and he nods his head to his chest. “rest now, little queen.”

you give him another toothy grin and bury your face against his pillowy chest, dainty fingers tracing the black lines decorating his skin. he never pulls out of you, just as soothed by the feeling of you as the reverse. he’s not sure who fell asleep first, but he does know he cannot wait to wake tomorrow morning. there’s coronations to plan.

tags: @neon-crow @skypperlegacy @gis4greenandgreenisgre4t @secondos-slut @alltimenogoaway-blog @tragedyofabrokensoul + reply in the comments to be tagged!!

799 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 2 years ago

Text

(not so) simple pt3 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: so first of all let me apologize for how long it took for this to come out. literally nine months. a whole baby has passed. i lost my bridgerton inspo HARD but like i always want anthony bridgerton even if it's deep within me and that just came through today as i finally pushed through and finished it. hopefully you guys still care about this series because i sure do and the end is in sight, like i literally have most of it written i just have to do the in between parts and connect it all and this horrible wonderful terrible amazing mini series that has killed me will be done. anyways here she is and i hope you enjoy!!

wc: 9.7k

warning(s): historical inaccuracies, fluff, angst, a lil bit of violence/injuries, a cliffhanger that will make you want to kill me. yn is going kind of crazy because she's never felt pleasant emotions before

The next month was akin to a blur. With each day your mother grew more and more excited about your courtship with Anthony, so much so she’d even begun knitting a blanket as a wedding gift to the Bridgertons.

(When she’d first told you about it over dinner, you’d nearly choked. You were beginning to dread telling her the truth more than you dreaded your fake courtship).

That, perhaps, was beginning to become a lie. Dread was not the proper word for how you felt about your courtship.

It was still strange, knowing that everyone around you believed you and Anthony were to be married. Though your secret was still one well-kept, you could hardly contain yourself whenever you overheard snide remarks with you at the center—it seemed they had still not gotten over the fact that their precious opportunity at becoming a Bridgerton had been stolen by you. Perhaps their daughters would get their chance in the next season, once you and Anthony had broken things off.

But that was not enough to hold his image in the same sour view as before.

Anthony was irritating as ever, yes, and but he was no longer the mere rake, the sarcastic older brother who firmly believed you were running out of time, the womanizer Lady Whistledown painted him as.

At least, you did not see him as such. He certainly did not act that way around you anymore.

Anthony Bridgerton was lighter around you—he smiled more, laughed more, joked around with you in a way that Benedict told you he hadn’t seen in years. And of course, he was only able to tell you that because Anthony brought you along on outings with his family.

The Worthings had always been friendly throughout the years with the Bridgertons, especially because of your closeness with Eloise and, more so when you were younger and before her debut, Daphne. You were fond of the rest of the family as well, Benedict and Colin looking on you fondly as that of an annoying younger sister much like Eloise—you were happy to fill the role. Francesca was pleasant when she wasn’t off traveling, and Gregory and Hyacinth were always a delight. Hyacinth seemed more attached to you because of the courtship, and truly looked forward to welcoming you as a sister.

Anthony had always been the older brother that foiled your fun with Eloise, that urged you to take your role more seriously if for no other reason than to influence Eloise down the path as well.

Now you felt closer than ever to him, and though it was merely for your ruse, you couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Stranger yet, though, was how your image of Anthony had changed since that first dance the night you agreed to this ruse. When at first you could only stand his company because of the promise of continuous jabs and protection from suitors, you now found that you actually… enjoyed being around him. You recalled the night out in the Bridgerton gardens with Anthony far more than you should have.

He certainly had no right to keep you awake at such late hours the way he did.

You no longer despaired early wakings to promenade with him, no longer wrinkled your nose at the prospect of dancing with him. Though you still dreaded the glitz and the glamour of the ton all the same, Anthony himself did not spurn the same response.

Of that, you did not know exactly what to think, but you supposed the absence of misery was something to celebrate.

You and the viscount were becoming friends. You enjoyed his presence. You began to look forward to your next outing with him, time spent with him outweighing your dislike of early wakings.

You were a frequent visitor of Bridgerton family outings because of your friendship with Eloise, and you only found yourself more involved with their picnics and promenades through Anthony.

Invitations found their way to your doorstep far more often because of the Bridgerton name attached to yours, and you found you enjoyed them more on Anthony’s arm.

You attended operas together in their private box. He frequently called on you, leading to conversations in your drawing room and promenades all about. You dined with them at least once a week, always sitting next to Anthony and whispering things to each other throughout.

In addition to the time you spent with Eloise, your proximity to the Bridgertons, especially Anthony, was near constant.

And you enjoyed every moment of it.

Truly, there was something very wrong with you.

But perhaps the strangest of all was your newfound fame. If there were ever any hope of keeping your ruse even the slightest bit secret, it was crushed by virtue of Lady Whistledown, who aided you with your most fantastical feat yet—you were mentioned by name in every single edition she’d published since the night you and Anthony partook in your first dance together. The ton knew you well now, far too well, and even when you were not around the viscount you were attuned to the glances and whispers of gossips.

You found it interesting how easily you had become a source of intrigue, simply because it looked as if you were the object of Anthony’s affections—but you also found it largely annoying. You did not much like the attention.

Running off to the country sounded better and better with every passing day.

“I swear,” you muttered as you went through the stack of pamphlets, “news of our relationship makes up half of Whistledown’s repertoire these days. Truly, we should get a cut of her wages for providing so much material for her.”

Anthony’s lips quirked up in a smile. The two of you were sat in your drawing room, chaperoned as usual by Julia, a stack containing each edition of Lady Whistledown during the length of the season set between the two of you. It was past the traditional hours of a caller, but the “advancement” of your “relationship” allowed Anthony leeway. He had brought with him yet another pamphlet of Lady Whistledown, which Eloise had confronted him with after getting her hands on it.

“We do seem to be quite popular,” he agreed. “But at least that will make it easier for the news of our parting to spread.”

“I just wish she did not make it so dramatic,” you huffed, and you picked up the most recent edition that Anthony had brought. You brought up the pitch of your voice and made your accent as haughty as possible as you read the printed words:

“The mystery that is the Viscount Bridgerton and Miss Worthing continues to unravel. The two were sighted together in a box at the newly redecorated Adelphi Theatre, admiring the opening night of Rossini’s Tancredi. I begrudgingly commend them on the taste in opera; I too, am a fan of Voltaire. One can only wonder the sort of activity they commenced in with their privacy.”

Anthony allowed himself a laugh as you shook your head and let out a sigh. “It’s ridiculous. She makes it sound as if we are engaging in the most scandalous behavior there is, when we were merely watching the opera! The only activity we commenced in was discussion.” You set the pamphlet down on the table with a huff. “It was quite intellectual discussion, if I do say so myself.”

“Certainly,” he said with a nod, and he smiled wryly. “Are you saying you are not a fan of all this attention, though? Surely it is your dream for every member of the ton to know of you and your exploits.”

“I am certainly not—” you began, but your attention was drawn to the doors as your mother walked inside.

“Lord Bridgerton!” she exclaimed as a smile tugged at her lips. Though your mother looked happy, you saw through the practiced expression—she held a letter in her hands, turning it over and over as if to calm nervous energy. “How lovely to see you here.”

“It is just as lovely to see you, Lady Worthing,” Anthony greeted, the charm flowing effortlessly through his words. “And may I just say how effervescent you look, even at this late hour?”

Your mother smiled. “You know exactly what to say to get yourself out of trouble, don’t you?”

“It is a virtue,” Anthony joked, and when he stood up you did as well. “I apologize if I have overstayed my welcome—I simply enjoy your daughter’s presence far too much. She is a sure credit to your family.”

“Oh, it is of no mind,” she said, brushing her hand through the air. “I always enjoy having the Bridgertons over. You are no exception.”

“You flatter me so, Lady Worthing, but I must insist I take my leave.” He bowed to her and then turned to you, taking your hand in his and pressing a delicate kiss to the back of your palm. “I bid you a good night, my lady.”

You suppressed the flutter in your chest at his touch. Your hands were typically gloved whenever you held hands during dances or promenades, but not at this hour. His lips against your bare skin made your breath catch for a moment, even for such a slight occurrence.

“I can escort you to the door,” you said, smiling through the uncertainty in your chest.

Anthony nodded, a small smile on his lips as well. “I welcome your company, my lady.”

Anthony offered his arm and you took it, and you could sense the excitement from your mother even from afar.

“Do not stay out too long, you two!” she called with a grin as you strolled out the door, and you had to stifle your laugh.

“You are going to be the death of me, Miss Worthing,” Anthony murmured in your ear as you walked out, his breath tickling your skin.

“Not if you get to me first,” you countered.

“I think the opposite is far more likely,” he said.

“How so?” you said, feigning disbelief. “You are the one keeping me up past natural hours with your presence. You are the one dragging me with you into Whistledown infamy.”

“But you are the one who got me into this in the first place.” Anthony glanced at you. “Quite the predicament, I might say.”

“Oh, do not act as if you are not enjoying it by now,” you said. “We are friends at this point, yes?”

A small smile quirked on his lips. “I suppose so.”

Again, that warmth in your chest. If Anthony knew, he would surely understand that he was far more likely to be your undoing than the other way around.

You reached the doors, and when you opened one and peeked outside, there was a notable absence of a carriage.

“My deepest apologies Viscount Bridgerton.” You turned around to see your head maid hurrying across the floor, slightly out of breath. “There has been a miscommunication between our two estates—your carriage will arrive, but it will be delayed. It should not be too long a wait, albeit, but—”

“It is of no worry,” Anthony interrupted, bowing his head. “I thank you for your dedication. Please, enjoy the rest of your night.”

She looked to you for confirmation and you nodded. “Thank you, Emma. You can retire for the night.”

She smiled gratefully. “I appreciate your kindness, my lady. It shall be here soon.”

You let go of Anthony’s arm as she began walking to the servant’s quarters and you pushed the door open again.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“We have time to waste,” you said, looking back at him mischievously. “Do you trust me?”

“…You make it seem as if I shouldn’t,” Anthony said.

“Oh, relax. We have some time to ourselves and a night sky above us. Surely you can indulge me once.”

“I believe I have indulged you far more than once,” Anthony said, but he followed you anyway. He planted his hand against the door, taking the weight off of yours, and for some reason even that act made you take a deep breath.

Thank God for the cool air, you thought hastily as you stepped outside, because your cheeks were burning for no good reason.

“I apologize on Emma’s behalf for the delay,” you said, thankful that he was following slightly behind you. “The Worthing estate has been in a state of disarray lately. I try to help around, but my mother insists it’s not my place.”

“I already said it was a nonissue,” Anthony said, and you bit your lip as he took a step closer and put you on equal ground. You’d no idea what was wrong with you.

“And I thank you for your continued grace, but I still feel as if I must apologize anyway,” you said. “You likely know of our… monetary issues.”

His brows knit together. “Of course, but that means nothing. Of your status, I mean.”

You smiled a bit. “To you, perhaps. But my mother is so ashamed of our lack of staff, she hardly ever has her friends over for tea anymore. We’ve never been able to afford much, but we had to let many of our staff go over the past summer.”

“It is noticeable. You’ve no doormen, few maids and servants,” Anthony said. “But it shouldn’t matter to any true gentleman.”

“I suppose that makes you a true gentleman, doesn’t it?” you said playfully.

Anthony chuckled. “After all the years my mother has spent trying to turn me into one, she would certainly hope so.”

“That is why this is all such a problem.” You glanced at him. “Why my mother is so delighted of our courtship. She believes you will be my— our entire family’s— saving grace upon marriage.”

“Quite the burden upon us,” he said dryly, though his words did not hold the usual humor. There was a certain solemnity about him.

“Indeed.” You sighed. “Our ruse frees me from the hand of other men for this season, but there is still the problem of… of what awaits.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, the night chill beginning to get to you along with something else. “I am certain I will think of a plan eventually, but still I worry more each day of what I will do when it is all over.”

Anthony didn’t say anything, and you didn’t fill the silence though you felt his gaze upon you. Suddenly, though, you felt the heaviness of fabric over your arms.

Anthony’s jacket, you realized when you looked at him. Your lips parted, words stuck in your throat, but he didn’t give you the chance to get them out.

“You were cold,” he shrugged, answering your question before you could ask it. “It would be unfathomably rude to force my dearest betrothed to freeze.”

“You noticed,” you said.

“Always,” Anthony said.

You care.

You could not help but stare at him, if not just for a moment, because— because God, the man was beautiful. There lay no use in denying it. There was a reason that, despite being the ton’s most infamous rake, he was still so desired by countless ladies.

His eyes almost as dark as the night around you holding a kindness he didn’t share with many, his white undershirt with slightly-rolled sleeves in stark contrast to it all, the curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose and the barest coif of his chestnut hair.

He was beautiful, and he was the one thing you could not have.

“Miss Worthing?”

Which did not matter, because you did not want him.

“My apologies.” You blinked and cleared your throat, Anthony breaking you out of your spell, and you gestured with your head as you continued along your way. Heat burned inside of you, all the way from the tips of your ears to the soles of your feet, and you could hardly stand it.

“You seem… distracted,” he said.

That was one way to describe it.

“Apologies,” you repeated with the slightest of smiles. “I’m merely… in my head, is all.”

This was all fake. You had to remember that, even if you had to bash it into your head for it to stick. The charm practically oozed off of him, and though you’d been near immune to it when you were able to despise Anthony, it was much more difficult not to fall victim to it now that you considered each other… friends.

You are a lady, and he is a gentleman, you could picture your mother saying. It is nature’s oldest tale. There is no shame in it.

He is my brother, and you hate him, you heard Eloise scoffing in the same vein. The thought made you smile.

“Where are you taking me, Miss Worthing?” Anthony’s coy voice brought you out of your stupor once again, and you blinked.

As you looked around, you realized you’d already made it there. You turned to Anthony with a smile, your hands out as you gestured at the open field of grass behind your estate.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you asked. “I’ve brought you here to stargaze.”

“Stargazing,” he repeated, and he laughed a bit. “I’ve never…”

“You’ve never stargazed?” you finished, and he nodded. “It makes sense. A serious viscount such as yourself cannot be bothered with such frivolities.”

Anthony shrugged. “If you enjoy it, I would love to try.”

“It isn’t something you try so much as you just do,” you said as you sat down on the ground. You smoothed out your skirts and then looked up at Anthony, amused by the expression on his face.

“It’s alright, my lord,” you said. “I promise, the grass will not hurt you. My maids have worked out many a stain in my youth, so I assure you that will be alright as well.”

“I have a carriage coming,” he said.

“They can wait,” you said. “Can they not?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then his lips quirked into the slightest smile as he took a seat next to you. You took his hand, ignoring the skip of your heart, and you pulled him back so you were both lying down.

“How do you feel?” you asked. “Have you fallen ill yet?”

“Very funny,” Anthony said wryly. “I am just fine. Your worries are much appreciated.”

“I would never worry about the great Viscount Bridgerton,” you said haughtily. “He has everything handled at all times.”

“Hardly,” he countered, and he let out a sigh. “Lately it seems as if I’ve got nothing handled at all.”

You made a noncommittal noise. “Then you are quite the actor, my lord. You’re very good at looking perfect.”

“You think I look perfect?”

You turned your head to see Anthony looked at you, a sly smile on his lips, and though your rolled your eyes you could not hold back your amusement.

“Yes, Viscount Bridgerton,” you said playfully. “Quite perfect.”

“It is good to know that my betrothed no longer hates me.” Anthony allowed one of his hands to rest in the grass, and you could feel his eyes on you.

“Oh, we are not betrothed yet,” you said offhandedly. “The way my mother acts, though, you would certainly think so.”

“Well, then,” Anthony said, “would you further prove your devotion by showing me some of your constellations?”

You chuckled. “Of course.”

Your gaze turned to the sky, squinting slightly as you searched for your favorite. When you did, you made a sound of triumph and you sat up on your elbows. “There— do you see those?

He frowned as he pushed himself up as well, and in his focus he unconsciously leaned closer to you. “I do not see anything,” Anthony said, and you laughed.

“Right…” you shifted closer to him, and you took his hand in yours as you held it up to the sky. “There.” You traced the outline with his finger, and you glanced at him. “Do you see it now?”

“I do, but…” Anthony’s lips twitched into a smile for a moment. “It is just… lines. A triangle with lines.”

You laughed, full and bright. “It is, that much is true. But it is the constellation of Libra, in relation to astrology.”

“I did not know you were educated on astrology.”

“Oh, I am certainly not,” you said. “But it is the sign of my mother’s birth month, and it was the first constellation she taught me to find. Now, it is always the first one I seek out on nights such as these.”

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “You used to stargaze with your mother?”

You hadn’t truly realized the implications of what you’d said until his words, and you paused for a moment before you took your hand away from his and laid back down.

“It is alright if you do not want to talk about it,” Anthony said softly.

“It is not that,” you said, and you sighed. “It is just… that the relationship I have with my mother is a complicated one.”

You felt Anthony’s eyes on you still, and you bit your lip.

“I have always felt so small whenever I look to the stars,” you murmured. “I think it is part of the reason I still do it— for the perspective. To remind myself of how minuscule I am in the broad scheme of things.”

“I… think I feel the opposite, funnily enough,” Anthony said. “I do not stargaze, obviously, but I have always viewed an individual’s contribution as meaning far more than I can even imagine. Each and every person who has walked through my life has made some sort of impact— you have been, and still are, one of those.” He looked over at you with a surprisingly earnest expression. “You are certainly not minuscule. Not by any sort of margin.”

You found your cheeks heating up from his words, and you could not hold back your smile. “Why, Lord Bridgerton, that was quite a compliment. Are you sure you are feeling well?”

“I feel wonderful,” he said, his eyes still not leaving yours. You felt your cheeks heat and you had to look away.

“I know my mother only wants what is best for me. She pushes me so because there is no other choice, and she truly believes that it will just… click for me someday.” You pulled Anthony’s jacket tighter around your arms, but it was of no aid when the chills came from within. “And I feel as if I am failing my entire family by not being able to accept it.”

“I understand what it is like to have the weight of your bloodline on your shoulders,” Anthony said after a moment’s hesitation. “It is my job to ensure that my family stays afloat, that our finances are handled, that my siblings are provided for, that everything runs smoothly without a hitch. It is…” he huffed a small laugh. “It is overwhelming, I cannot lie. But it is my responsibility as the head of house, and so I take it on.”

“You are saying that I should pursue a real courtship,” you said dryly.

“That is not what I am saying,” Anthony countered with a glance at you. “You were correct when you said that I could leave at any time if I so desired. I do not, but if I wanted to, I could. I am pushed on through even the most difficult moments because of my love for my family. Everything I do is for them.”

“I still am not following.”

“If you want to be happy, then you must find your motivations,” Anthony finally said, “and you must follow where they lead you. No matter where that is.”

“So you are supporting my ill-advised rebellion.” You sat up, looking down at him with the beginnings of a smile. “Is that it?”

“I thought that quite obvious the moment I agreed to this ruse,” he responded wryly. “You are a bad influence, Miss Worthing. I am a man of honor.”

“Of course.” Your words were laced with mock austerity, and you sighed. “I just do not understand why I was born the sole daughter of a struggling family. It seems a cruel joke when there is none I despise more than marriage.”

“We are quite similar, you know,” Anthony said offhandedly. “We both have the fate of our families on our shoulders, and we both know what we must do for our name. It should be woefully easy, but… it isn’t.”

You shook your head. “We are not similar, my lord. Perhaps in structure, but not in much else.”

He raised his eyebrows, silently urging you to go forward.

“You are a man,” you said simply, “and you have everything because of it. You can have whatever life you please. It is not required of you to marry, though your mother might like it to have an heir from the first son. But I have nothing— I am nothing— without a man. The life that I so desperately want is one that I will never be able to have, not without giving up everything I hold dear.”

You swallowed thickly in your throat, turning away from Anthony to not give him a view of your imminent tears. “I either have to marry a man I will never love or abandon my family and become a disgrace, but I do not want either. It is as Eloise has always said — I just want so desperately to fly. Unfortunately, my wings are doomed to be clipped.”

“Miss Worthing…” Anthony started, but he trailed off just as quickly. He could not seem to find the right words to quell your worries, and it infuriated him beyond any sort of reason. He did not have a way with words like Eloise, he did not have the effortless charm of Colin nor the presence of Benedict, and he most certainly was not able to comfort others like Daphne — and yet the need to fix problems he himself was incapable of fixing washed over him so suddenly and so intensely he could hardly bear it.

“I am truly sorry.” It took him far too long to break the silence that hung in the air, only punctured once by your sharp intake of breath in an attempt to hold back tears. “I wish there was more I could do for you. There should be more I could do for you as a viscount, but…”

Sure that you would be able to hold back any tears should they decide to pester you once more, you turned to face Anthony with what you hoped was a convincing smile. “You need not apologize, my lord. You have already done far more for me than any rational man should have in your position.”

“One could argue it is because of you I’ve done all this,” he said. “You have a way about you that makes a rational man want nothing more than irrationality.”

That brought a genuine smile to your face, thankfully able to avoid the tears you thought were sure to come.

“You flatter me, Lord Bridgerton,” you said wryly.

“Anthony,” he said, and you blinked.

“Pardon?”

“I believe we are far past Lord Bridgerton,” he explained with a slight smile. “What, with how many times you have bared your soul to me this season, I should think Anthony is perfectly acceptable.”

You felt your cheeks heat up under his warm gaze as you nodded. “Then Anthony it shall be.”

Trying to recover from the embarrassingly soft moment, you cleared your throat and turned away once more. “Of course, your permission is not needed to refer to you as your name rather than a title, but I suppose it cannot hurt.”

This time, the smile was nearly palpable in his words. “Of course, Miss Worthing.”

You shook your head as you said your name. “If I am to call you Anthony, you shall call me by my given name as well. It is only fair.”

He raised his eyebrows. “When has fairness ever been a concern of yours in regards to me?”

“Anthony,” you said, though not without slight mirth, “will you do it?”

“If it is what you desire.” Anthony then said your name, and you could not deny how your chest spurned in such a way at the sound.

There was so much you yearned to say, so much on the tip of your tongue, nearly all of it relating to the man in front of you. How could there be so much of him on your mind, when just a mere fortnight ago you were joking with him about how much you could not stand him?

After ensuring none of your inner emotions were visible on your face, you turned back to him and offered a small smile. “It certainly is.”

But as he smiled back at you, that slight quirk of his lips that softened his features and brought out the light in his eyes that you had grown to appreciate but he did not have nearly enough…

You feared you were beginning to desire much more.

You looked at the sky above, and the stars twinkling back at you suddenly made you remember as you turned back to Anthony.

“We should get back,” you said. “It would be woefully inappropriate for a man of honor to miss his carriage.”

His lips twitched at your words. “You end our outing so soon?”

“You were against it in the first place,” you pointed out. “And I believe this has lasted far longer than I initially planned.”

“I was also against your ruse,” Anthony said, and when he stood up, he offered his hand. “But you seem to be quite skilled at changing my mind.”

It was so different from all the others, when he offered his arm for a promenade or took you to the dance floor, and it was why you hesitated. But you pushed the thought aside as you took it, and Anthony pulled you up from the ground.

“I suppose I am,” you joked.

“Thank you for this.” He brushed off his clothes, a smile as genuine as the others pulling at his lips. “It was enjoyable.”

“Just enjoyable?” you asked playfully.

“My apologies,” Anthony said. “This was fantastic. Incredible. Is life-changing satisfactory?”

You nodded, biting back your smile. “I believe so. Nothing with me is anything less than life-changing.”

“That is certain,” he agreed.

Anthony offered his arm and the two of you began walking back to the front of your estate. The silence was comfortable as it lingered in the air, only broken once you stopped in front of the carriage that he was indeed late for.

“I do mean it,” Anthony said, “my thanks for this. Sincerely so.”

“Of course,” you said. “If you ever find you are in need of some stars, my yard is always open.”

His lips quirked into a slight smile. “The stars do not have much meaning without you beside me to give them one.”

You huffed a slight laugh as your gaze turned upwards again. “Well, that is Cassiopeia,” you said with a gesture at the sky, and you managed a wry smile. “Though you will probably just see more lines.”

“If you tell me they are more than lines, then they are more than lines,” Anthony said. “That much, I know.”

You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks, and you curtsied to him. “I will see you tomorrow, Lord Bridgerton.”

“I will see you tomorrow.” Anthony hesitated, gazing into your eyes with abandon. He lifted your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to it, murmuring your name before he let it go.

And then he entered the carriage, though there was some form of reluctance in his movements. You waited until his departure, even longer after until he and his men were nothing but a speck in the distance, and it wasn’t until then that you could breathe freely.

“My lady?”

Your focus was broken at the sound of your lady’s maid’s voice, and you blinked a multitude of times as you turned around.

“Julia,” you said. “What brings you here?”

“You, my lady,” she said with a slight laugh. “You’ve just been… standing out here. Alone. Doing nothing.”

“My apologies,” you said with a practiced smile, though you wrought your hands together. “I appear to be in my head tonight. You needn’t come out here for me.”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Julia said. “Is the viscount gone?”

“He is. I saw him off.” The skin where his lips touched still burned, and you felt a swell of something inside of you. “I— I should be settling in for the night.”

You began walking in at a hasty pace, but Julia easily matched it. “Of course. I will help you get ready.”

You shook your head, and you couldn’t help but cast one last glance out the door before it closed. You cleared your throat and looked back at Julia. “All I request is that you help me into my dressing gown, and then you can retire. I would like some solitude tonight.”

She nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

“Is my mother still awake?” you asked as the two of you walked up the stairs together.

“No,” Julia said. “She retired shortly after you and the viscount took your leave.”

“Good,” you murmured. You did not think you could deal with her much tonight. Not after… whatever it was that went on between you and him.

Julia did as asked, helping you out of your layers and into your nightgown before she took her leave.

Lying in bed alone, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.

All you could think of was Anthony. His eyes boring into yours, the heat of his lips against your bare hand, his willingness to do something he likely saw as ridiculous merely because it made you happy. The weight of his jacket against your shoulders, the attentiveness he had towards you for him to have realized.

The softness with which he said your name, every syllable a symphony in your ears, more beautiful than anything simply because Anthony spoke it.

Oh.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the realization struck.

Oh.

You were doomed.

Split down the middle. It was an apt designation for how you felt in the coming days and weeks.

One part of you—the idiot, lovesick part—wanted nothing but to spend more time with Anthony Bridgerton. A singing heart every time Julia told you he awaited you in the drawing room, weakened knees when he offered his hand to pull you onto the dance floor, an unavoidable smile throughout any of your conversations. You finally realized what all those ladies saw in the Viscount Bridgerton.

The other part—the intelligent part that knew this was the one thing that could absolutely not happen—wanted nothing more than to ignore his every call. To stay silent during promenades, to refuse his dance offers, to stay shut in your room when he called on you. To be able to avoid him in every possible way because you could not encourage your feelings further.

It was terrible. Awful. Horrendous. You were quite sure that you loved Anthony Bridgerton, and the one thing you were meant to do was not love Anthony Bridgerton.

The more time you spent around him, the more you thought about him, the more you felt for him, and there was not a single way to avoid it because his courtship was the only thing keeping you above water.

You really were doomed.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You blinked as Eloise said your name, and you looked over at her. “I apologize. I was in my head.”

“You’ve been in your head quite frequently as of late,” Eloise said, and she huffed a sigh as she flopped onto the couch next to you. “I can only assume my brother is to blame.”

You felt your cheeks heat. If only she knew how true that was.

“He is part of it,” you admitted, turning your head slightly so she could not see any visible embarrassment. “It may not be easy to be a Bridgerton, but it’s by no means easy to be courted by one, either.”

“I can imagine,” she said with another sigh. “For how serious Anthony always is, he certainly is dramatic.” Eloise eyed you. “Would you like me to speak plainly?”

Your brows creased slightly, though you still didn’t look at her. “Always.”

“I honestly think he may be enjoying this,” she said. “Anthony has never been much for… anything, really. Anything besides duty. He’s pleasant around us for the most part, and I love him with all my heart, but he’s always so serious.” She shrugged. “It appears that you’ve brought out another side of him.”

Your breath caught in your chest for a moment. You still could not bring yourself to meet her eyes. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Eloise nodded. “When you end this, I believe he’ll come out the other side a better man. So I suppose I should thank you for this whole ruse.”

A smile played on your lips for a moment, but it fell just as quickly. You’d always known it was going to end—the ruse was your idea in the first place—and yet you were the one fighting against her impossible feelings. You were a damn doomed fool.

You had to fight the urge to hit your head against the back of the couch. You felt as if you were going insane, but you could not reveal the whirlwind inside your mind to anyone.

“There is no need to thank me,” you finally said. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“A pleasure,” Eloise said dryly. “Really?”

You nodded, finally sitting up and looking at her. “Yes. Anthony was a bit of a nuisance at first, but…” you smiled just at the thought of him. “We’ve become friends after all this time. Quite close friends.”

Eloise’s nose wrinkled, and then she sighed yet again. “I suppose it is a good thing if you two are getting along. As long as you will still trade barbs with me about him.”

You chuckled. “Always.”

You couldn’t tell her. You wouldn’t tell her, because there was no use in creating such a problem for no reason.

You loved Anthony, you were sure of that by now, though you had not previously thought it at all possible. And none of it mattered, because by the end of the season, your courtship would be a distant memory.

You and Eloise continued your idle chatter, but your heart was not in it. How could it be, when you could only think of Anthony? You could only think of Anthony, the one man you never thought you would want and now the one man you can never have.

It was ridiculous. He turned you into a ridiculous woman and you would never forgive him for it.

You’d always wondered how you would end your ruse when your mothers had grown so attached to the courtship, the idea of you as a Bridgerton.

Your mothers were no longer the problem.

The middle of the season came and went, your feelings for Anthony growing ever stronger—your disdain for those feelings grew alongside them.

Your parents were working harder than ever as the peak of the season approached—your father spent most nights bent over documents and papers regarding the finances, pushing pennies so that you would be able to afford the frivolities of the ton and appearing on the arm of a Bridgerton.

Your mother had a job of equal difficulty—she had to maintain the Worthing image and name. It had never been the best to begin with as one of the poorer families of the ton, but Anthony’s courtship had pushed you through the ranks. Your mother was determined to keep you there.

The pairing between you and Anthony should have remained the same stagnant charade, but it was difficult to act the same as always with your feelings evolving ever so. It did not help that both your mother and Lady Bridgerton were convinced a proposal was to be just around the corner when nothing could be further from the truth.

And it was not as if they were wrong for holding that belief. Were this a traditional courting, Anthony would likely be preparing to get down on one knee—instead, your promenades consisted of discussions on how best to end your situation.

(“Perhaps you could have a meltdown,” Anthony had suggested once. “It would certainly not come as a surprise to the ton—they would merely see it as what has been coming all along.”

“Your faith in me is truly astounding, Anthony,” you said dryly. “It is sure to be a mystery on how we did not work out.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I am only trying to work with you. Must I remind you that it was you that started this, all because you did not want to get married? This would simply be an extension—you’ve never wanted to marry a man before, what is one more to add to the list?”

“Yes, but…” you shook your head and sighed. “I fear we may have performed our act too well. At this point, it feels as if any means of our splitting will hurt our mothers and cause a riot in the ton, no matter how we do it.”

“I think you may be right,” Anthony said, and he frowned. “I do not know whether I want Hyacinth to find out you will not be her sister through Whistledown or through me—I know I could not handle the look on her face, but to let her discover it through gossip seems even worse.”

You could not help a sly smile at that. “Are you telling me I have charmed your family even more than I had before?”

He offered a smile of his own. “I believe I have charmed your family just as much, if not more. Your mother adores me more than ever.”)

No, it did not help that your mother adored him, and it did not help that Hyacinth and Gregory adored you. Every second spent around Anthony and his family pushed you further to your doom, and what a lovely doom it was.

Seeing Anthony dressed up at every ball was also not of aid, and you could not help but smile when your eyes met at the latest ball. You knew of your mother’s watchful eye over both of you, but you found you didn’t care when he offered his hand.

“You look beautiful,” Anthony murmured so only you could hear it as he led you out to the dance floor. You took up your positions and started the waltz—you had Anthony to thank for the increase in your skill, for the amount of dancing you did these days made it impossible for your ability to remain stagnant.

You chuckled a bit. “Thank you, Anthony, but nobody can hear us. You do not need to keep up appearances.”

The smile remained on his lips for just a moment too long before he blinked and nodded. “You are correct. I suppose it is just becoming a habit.”

Butterflies erupted in your chest, and in your flustered state, you fell out of the rhythm and missed your next step. If it hadn’t been for Anthony leading so well, you would’ve fallen.

How could he just say those things? How could he just say those frustratingly charming things without blinking an eye, words that made you trip over your feet and spurned warmth in your core and drove you insane?

Did Anthony even know what he did to you?

“Are you alright?” he questioned, and for a moment all you were able to do was stare into his eyes. They were beautiful.

“Yes,” you finally managed, clearing your throat as you glanced away for a moment.

It is just becoming a habit, he said, words that near perfectly echoed your own situation.

Each time you slipped your arm around Anthony’s, each time he was a caller in your drawing room for an early morning—early mornings which you were becoming all the fonder of with each outing—each time he smiled at you in that way of his, each time you looked into those warm brown eyes, each time he was just the slightest bit too close and you were able to feel your heart speed up and your breath hitch.

Being around Anthony Bridgerton was becoming a habit for you, you realized, a habit you did not want to let go of.

You did not realize Anthony was speaking to you until he said your name again and you snapped out of your thoughts, staring at him for a moment before you nodded.

“Apologies,” you covered up, “it seems I am very in my head tonight.”

“It is alright,” he said, smiling softly. “I was merely asking if your outing with your parents the other night went well.”

“Yes,” you breathed, “yes, it was quite pleasant.”

Though you answered, you could still hardly focus. And it was all because of the man you were dancing with, because of the delicate yet sure grip he had on your hands, because of the sweetest eyes you’d ever known gazing at you with reassurance.

You were horribly in love with Anthony Bridgerton, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“…So,” Anthony said as the two of you trailed through the streets, “remind me what you have roped me into?”

“I have not roped you into anything,” you said. “I am taking you to a rally; one for the advancement of women. I believe it would do you some good to see what your myriad of sisters put up with because of men like you.”

“Men like me?” he repeated, having the gall to sound slightly offended.

“Yes, men like you,” you agreed. “Men who do not even question why they are so deserving of their position so high above us, and do not even think to change things because society solely benefits them.”

“Do you ever get tired of your constant bitterness?” he asked dryly.

“No,” you responded cheerfully, “I only get tired of you.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “That is why you have not only decided to be my fake courtee for an entire season, but to willingly bring me along on one of your weekend escapades.”

“I put up with you so I will not have to put up with those even more irritating,” you reminded him.

“And that is why you always smile at me with the strength of a thousand suns while we dance?” he asked. “Why you continue to promenade with me and indulge my conversational whims and accept me without complaint as a constant caller?”

You shrugged, and you hoped the heat rushing to your cheeks was not visible. Perhaps he could read you better than you thought. “As I said, it is so I will not have to put up with those more irritating. I have come to appreciate you.”

“Times like these, I wonder if we are truly faking it,” Anthony said. “We already bicker as much as a married couple — perhaps we have somehow skipped the engagement and the wedding and gone right into the arguments.”

“I believe that is simply called friendship, Anthony.”

He raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips as he said your name. “You see me as a friend?”

“And now I regret saying it,” you laughed.

“Oh, do not lie,” Anthony said wryly. “Why have you brought me here, if not to argue on the way?”

“It is simply a learning experience for you,” you scoffed. “It is actually quite enriching, Anthony. You may want to take your leave now though, lest you end up learning something.”

“You are truly hilarious,” he said, devoid of emotion. He glanced down at the basket you carried in your hands before looking back to you. “And what is in there?”

“Any goods I can spare,” you said. “I am one of the poorer ladies in the ton, but I am still more fortunate than many of the women that attend these rallies. They are often working mothers and sisters trying their best to support their families, but it is hardly ever enough. I do what I can to make it even the slightest bit easier for them.”

Anthony went silent, and when you glanced at him he had an odd look on his face, his gaze set on you.

“What?” you asked, and he offered the smallest smile.

“That is quite a gesture,” he finally said. “Most families in society tend to ignore anyone beneath them. They would not be caught dead in a place like this.”

“They are not beneath me,” you corrected. “They are not beneath any of us. None of them have chosen the lives they lead; wealth begets wealth, and poverty the same. It is a vicious cycle that hardly anyone is able to break out of. I see no reason why I should not use my privilege to make anyone’s life even the slightest bit easier.”

“Besides,” you said with a raise of your brow, “you are here with me, are you not?”

Anthony nodded after a moment. “I suppose you are rubbing off on me.”

You smiled. “I am glad to have gotten through to you on at least one thing. Helping others with your wealth is perhaps the best thing for you to pick up from me, I think.”

“You are quite good at ruining the moment, are you aware?”

“Oh,” you said with a cheeky smile, “I absolutely am.”

You soon made it to the opening where the rally was being held. Though some were underground in the metaphorical sense, this one was rather out in the open. It was in a darker corner of the city, so you supposed the organizers did not think they would be disturbed.

You wandered around with Anthony for a bit as you emptied your basket to a variety of women and youths, and by the time the first speaker had begun, you had handed out everything you’d brought.

You took Anthony’s hand and pulled him behind you as you moved through the crowd to get closer, and when you tried to let go of his hand, he wouldn’t let you. You smiled up at him, and it seemed as if he’d only realized what he’d done in that moment.

“I do not trust this part of town,” he whispered to you. “It is for your protection.”

“Of course,” you whispered back, though you could not hide your mirth as you turned back to the speaker.

It was wonderful. She spoke of all sorts of things relating to women and the betterment of your sex, how they deserved a place in Parliament and a voice and respect for more than motherly duties, how—

“This is unseemingly,” Anthony huffed.

You frowned. “How?”

“This is hardly a proper place for anyone.” His eyes darted around.

“This is where I am to end up if I do not figure out a better way out of the ton,” you said. “This is how a majority of London lives.”

“I am aware of that,” he muttered. “Do not think me so naive that I do not understand my privilege. I just…” Anthony shook his head and sighed. “No matter. How many of these have you been to?”

“Five, I believe.” You frowned. “Six, actually. There was the time I told my parents I was ill and snuck out.”

“It is a miracle you are still alive,” Anthony marveled.

You shrugged. “I never said I was intelligent. Merely smart.”

He laughed, genuine and full, and you found yourself smiling.

And then there was yelling.

Your brows creased again as you looked to the front, only to see a man. His burly and unkempt appearance weren’t the only off-putting things about him. He spat rhetoric against everything the rally stood for, and the look in his eye was chilling.

You’d heard of this happening before, of men from the city who indulged their baser instincts and liked the world just the way it was now, invading rallies and meetings held by women just to create problems and spread fear.

Some cries ran out around the crowd, and your head whirled around to see other men like the one yelling pushing through the sea of people, intimidating and snapping their way through. You went to take a step back, but Anthony was already ahead of you as his grip on your hand tightened.

It appeared that this was one of those times.

“Ah,” you said, beginning to back up alongside Anthony. “I forgot to mention one thing to you.”

“And that is?” he asked, annoyance coloring his words.

“This gathering is not exactly legal.” You winced as a pairing shouldered past you, but you held fast onto Anthony’s hand. “I’d say it’s quite illegal, actually. Which is why it can be interrupted in this fashion.”

“Wonderful,” he breathed. “I’d say that it is time to take our leave. Would you agree?”

“Yes,” you said, “I would.”

The glint of a knife caught your eye even from afar, gripped in the hand of one of the men, and a lady’s scream pierced the air.

And then full-on chaos broke out.

Everything after that was mostly a blur. Something triggered inside of Anthony, clear in the wild look in his eye, and his only thought was seemingly to get you out unharmed. It worked for the most part, to his credit, though you didn’t get away completely unscathed.

You also did not get away together. Somewhere in the middle, someone had barreled between the two of you and broken your link. Anthony had lost you in the rush, and he felt as if he was going insane.

This may have been your idea, illegal as it was, but he was not going to allow anything to happen to you. He couldn’t allow anything to happen to you— he couldn’t.

He shouted your name, once, twice, three times, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried his best to navigate through the insanity. This was no longer a rally, this was a riot, and with you missing Anthony truly feared the worst. His stomach twisted into knots just thinking about it.

He’d just passed an alleyway when a hand darted out of nowhere and pulled him to the side; though his first instinct was to break away, the weight of his anxieties disappeared when he saw who had dragged him over.

Anthony said your name with complete relief, his shoulders dropping as the tension faded away. “I couldn’t find you, and I thought the worst— thank God you’re safe.”

“Thank God you are safe,” you murmured, and he chuckled as he shook his head. Somehow, in this situation, you were worried about him.

“I still cannot believe you are here,” Anthony huffed. He moved to the edge of the alleyway to watch, waiting for the chaos to clear out. “Is this truly what you are engaging in every weekend? Barbaric riots where its attendees are lucky to make it out alive?”

“I promise,” you said through a shaky exhale, pressing your aching fingers to your chest as you held your good hand against your bleeding nose, “they are never like this.”

His eyes darted back over to you, and that was when he noticed the injury. “God, what happened to you?”

You opened your mouth to diminish it, but Anthony moved over and began examining you for worse injuries. You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. “I am fine, Anthony, trust me. Men in these parts believe in one vein of equality, at least, seeing as I was punched in the face.”

His eyes widened and it only made you smile more. “Do not worry. I punched him back.” You held up your hand, bunching it into a fist. “I believe my knuckles will bruise something fierce later, though.”

Anthony shook his head, another breathless laugh taking him. “You are truly something else.”

“And I am fine,” you assured, though the slight strain of your voice said something different. Anthony did not notice, though, and he moved back to his spot on the edge watching for clearings.

“You said you have been to six of these before,” Anthony said. “And they have never been like this?”

“Never.”

“Then I assume this riot was something special they planned just for me.”

“You jest, but you may not be far from the truth.” You chuckled but immediately winced. “You are bad luck, Anthony.”

“I am bad luck?“ He turned and fixed you with a pointed look. “You are the one who threw herself into the middle of a fight; it is fortunate you got away with so few injuries.”

You huffed a laugh but a sharp pain once again shot through your chest, far more extreme than the last, and you barely managed to stifle your gasp of pain. You took your hand away from your nose and pressed it against your side, but all it caused was an even greater ripple of pain throughout your entire body.

When you took your hand away, every part that had been against your dress was coated in a shimmering layer of blood, a small drop falling from your finger and splattering to the ground below. Your heart caught in your throat as you weakly pulled at the hem, crimson red seeping through the laceration in the fabric as a confirmation of the injury below.

So it seemed you had not been lucky enough to get away with only a bloody nose and bruised knuckles.

“...Anthony?” you managed weakly, your limbs growing heavy as your vision began to blur. “I… it…”

Anthony’s head whipped around. His eyes were the last thing you saw, wide with fear and lips moving in silent panic as he lunged towards you.

And then the world around you faded into darkness.

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator @louderfortheback

bridgerton tags: @theonewithallthemilkshakes @rach2602 @milkiane @korol-lantsov @heyyitsreign

not so simple tags: @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #x reader #bridgerton imagine #sadie writes

2K notes · View notes

topochicoslut · 1 month ago

Text

everybody wants to rule the world: prologue

fic synopsis: A young woman is sent on what is sure to be a suicide mission to spy on Ryomen Sukuna by a rival curse user who has heard rumors that the infamous King of Curses might have found the secret to true immortality

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader rating: 18+ ONLY!!!!!! MDNI!!!! IF I CATCH YOU, I'LL BLOCK YOU!!! word count: 1.1k

warnings: none for this chapter! but overall fic warnings include but are not limited to the following- slow burn, enemies to lovers, eventual smut/p0rn with plot, descriptions of violence and gore, language, horror elements, morally grey characters, me having an aneurysm while trying to properly describe cursed techniques, true form sukuna (eventually), etc etc. each chapter will have the appropriate content warnings added to them based on subject matter : )

a/n: hiiiii! so this idea has been bumping around in my head for the past few weeks, and I finally decided to do something about it. idk the world has just been kinda crazy lately, so I figured why not write something super self indulgent about sukuna to help take my mind off of things. this is just the prologue, the next few chapters should be dropping soon-ish after this. I just need to tidy some things up (aka edit the fuck out of everything i’ve written so far🫠🥲). just a couple of quick things- this is a Heian era AU fic, and while I did do a lil research before I started writing this, there will probably still be a couple of historical inaccuracies here and there. so for that I just wanna apologize in advance and say my bad. I have the entire story outlined, including the current number of chapters it will probably take to wrap everything up, but considering this whole thing has sort of taken a life of its own at this point idk what to expect anymore lol. I'll do my best to update it when I can based on life and work and everything else. !!!please note!!!: the first few chapters focus more so on reader's back story and world building, so sukuna won't make his first full appearance right away, but he IS mentioned periodically leading up to that. so please bear with me until he arrives in all his glory lol. anyway, thanks for everyone who has shown interest in this story since I first posted about it the other day! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it 🖤 divider by sweetmelodygraphics

Southern Japan, 888 AD

Your head was pounding when you woke up. Just as it had been ever since you’d arrived at the temple.

Well, arrived was too kind a way to describe what had really happened. Being forcibly kidnapped and imprisoned was a much more accurate description of how you had landed in your current situation. But the specifics didn’t really seem to matter all that much anymore.

Nothing did really.

You were still laid out in the middle of the floor of the small shrine you’d been confined to for the past two- or maybe it was four?- days now. You eyed the carafe of water to your right, and if you weren’t feeling so groggy and sick you would’ve crawled over to it and gulped it down. Hoping that the refreshing chill of it would help clear your head finally.

But moving felt impossible, and you were so, so tired.

A few days ago sleep would’ve been a welcome escape for you, but now it was just another prison you were stuck in thanks to the numerous talismans that were hanging on the walls around you. They had been smart to not leave any light sources in the room with you, or else you would have grabbed the nearest torch and burned them all to ash so you could try and make a run for it. But the only source of light you had came from the moonbeams that were shining in through the tiny window above you.

The air was thick with smoke from the incense that had been burning ever since you’d been sealed in this room. Its sickly sweet aroma had made you retch when you first arrived, but now all it did was keep your mind fuzzy and your body heavy and sluggish. That paired with the ofuda that hung from floor to ceiling was just another tool used to keep you subdued and prevent any hope you had of escape. You couldn’t cross the threshold of the shrine even if you could get your body to cooperate.

The faint chittering sound coming from the shadows let you know you were not alone. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look in the direction they were coming from. You didn’t want to see the empty black eyes of the creatures that had been assigned to watch your every move day and night. Not when you now knew the sickening truth behind how Hisato had created them. Binding dead flesh and bone together with-

You couldn’t even think of it.

Your former master had never been one to shy away from showing the world exactly what kind of man he was. You knew that he was cold and cruel when you had willingly joined his side all those years ago. But somehow even you hadn’t thought he would be capable of such grotesque acts of depravity in his quest for immortality.

Or perhaps deep down you’d known all along what sort of monster he truly was, choosing instead to ignore it by willfully turning a blind eye to his unhinged cruelty because of the protection and comfort that had been provided to you by dutifully serving under him for so long.

You had been a fool.

If Sukuna were here, he would wholeheartedly agree with you.

He was somehow the one thing you could still see perfectly clear in your mind’s eye. You pictured him standing in this small room with you, towering over your limp body, his tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest as he glowered down at you with those fiery eyes of his. Challenging you to get up off your ass and do something. To fight like your life depended on it, because it did.

‘Foolish, pitiful, girl,’ He’d say. ‘This is pathetic. You’re being pathetic.’

You’d honestly give anything to hear him say those words to you right now, and the thought had you suddenly giggling to yourself. You didn’t care that your laughter was bordering on hysterical, but it was just so bitterly ironic that you found yourself wishing that the King of Curses was here to mock and scold you, considering that just a few months ago you had slapped him as hard as you could right across his face for insulting you and calling you names. It was funny how things had changed between the two of you in such a short amount of time.

The knowledge that you might never get to be near him again weighed on you. To hear him tut under his breath at you for bothering him with your ‘useless blabbering’ even though he was the one who so often sought you out. To feel his blazing red eyes follow you from across a room. To be overcome with the heat of his large body moving in tandem over yours. If you closed your eyes you could almost taste the sweat of his skin, and smell the rich, musky, scent of cedar and smoke from the incense that filled his chambers. In your mind it was so sharp it could almost mask the disgusting smell of the incense in your prison.

Almost.

You wished you could warn him about Hisato. You wished you could go to him and let him know that you were alive. You wished you could tell him where he could find you. You wished you could tell him to stay far, far, away. Because even if Sukuna did somehow manage to find you, even if he did somehow arrive here and challenge Hisato, there was only a limited window before the ritual would begin, and if Hisato was successful, not even Sukuna would be able to grant him a true death like he deserved.

In the distance you heard the sudden ringing of the large bronze bell that lived in the heart of the temple. It rang loud and clear- once, twice, and then a third and final time. Despite your distance from it, you felt your bones rattle with every swing of its giant body.

The chattering from Hisato’s creatures resumed, and this time it was feverish and loud. Their little shrieks and screams filled the room, and you could hear their talons scraping against the wooden floor as they moved their decaying bodies in excitement.

The moonlight that shone into your room was brighter than it had been only moments before. It pierced through the thick wisps of smoke that filled the air like a sword cutting through a blade of grass. You turned your head and stared out the window as you watched as the edges of the full moon that hung so heavily in the night sky began to twinge with red. Red like blood. Red like Sukuna's eyes.

It was time.

tag list: @after-laughter-come-tears @officialholyagua @clp-84

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna fanfic #sukuna fanfic #sukuna fic #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk fanfic #everybody wants to rule the world fic #topochico writes things #can’t believe i’m writing fics again after a nearly three year hiatus #hopefully this doesn’t suck too bad lol

68 notes · View notes

softpascalito · 1 month ago

Text

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter III

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we finally get a little glimpse into the life of the vestals in this chapter. i'm trying to write this in a way that requires no prior knowledge of them, but if it sounds interesting to you, i'd highly recommend reading up on them, it's very interesting! also wanted to mention from here on we will dive into how acacius and our vestal get to know each other (until we reach the plot of gladiator II again). enjoy! <3

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) vero - yes paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials bonam noctem - good night

Chapter III

211 AD

You whisper small apologies under your breath as you carefully pierce the needle through Acacius' skin, feeling him tremble under your touch. “Only one more, then I am done. I promise,” you mumble, casting an anxious glance at his face and the cold sweat building on his forehead. “Take a deep breath. Stay with me, vero?”

He nods, his voice rumbling deep in his chest when he speaks up. “I always stay with you.”

“That is not what I meant,” you mumble back and wince as he tenses at the last stitch. You quickly tie the loose ends of the thread together and lift the wet rag to his arm again, wiping down the fresh blood that's trickling from the wound. It’s not too much but you do not need to be a medicus to know that he has lost too much of it today.

Your hands shake as you reach for your gown, ripping a long shred off it. Acacius raises his head at the noise, staring at you. “What is this for?”

“What do you think it is for? That wound cannot stay unprotected.” You reach around his arm, beginning to tightly wrap the linen around it, soon covering the red stains that slowly appear on the first few layers. You have seen him wounded–in fact, you can barely recall a time where he has been completely healthy. But you haven't seen him so weak before. His head keeps drooping, like he will fall asleep in his seated position in mere moments.

With a satisfied nod you tie the bandage into place, nudging the General's shoulder as you make to stand. “Acacius.”

Soft brown eyes stare up at yours, a sliver of something odd in them. It only lasts a moment–then he shakes his head as if to get rid of the ill feeling settling over his body. “You have to go.”

“I cannot leave you alone when you are like this. You need someone to watch over you. You’ve lost blood and the wound–” You are cut off by a strong arm curling around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap like it costs him no effort at all. At least he is limiting his movements to his unwounded arm.

“Acacius–” Before you have a chance to speak properly, his lips crash onto yours. The kiss tastes of blood and wine and desperation. You do not have it in you to put up any resistance, instead letting him take what he so clearly needs in this moment. Your hand creeps up his chest, ghosting over his red tunic and the exposed skin of his neck until you reach his hair. A small sigh travels from your mouth into his quite involuntarily when one of his soft curls wraps around your index finger. The world could crash and burn around you. He would still find time to press his lips onto yours, to hold you tight.

When he pulls back, you’re both panting, his chest rising and falling next to you. His arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist and you reach for his hand, intertwining it with your free one. A squeeze is his immediate response. His eyes fly back and forth between your eyes and you can practically feel his words coming. You’re half tempted to kiss him again, just to keep him from speaking.

“Dulcissima, I need you to listen to me.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives a firm shake of his head. “No. There is no time. I need you to take the path at the back of the house. Go back to the Temple. If anything happens–”

“What would happen?” You interrupt, your voice shaking slightly. Your stomach lurches slightly as you think back to what he has told you mere weeks before. His troops, that will be landing in Ostia and marching towards Rome.

“If there are riots–”

“No. I'm not leaving you. Not now,” you choke out, raising your voice slightly. It echoes eerily in the otherwise silent atrium. You know your tears are as imminent as the riots outside the door.

“If there are riots–” Acacius repeats, and you hate how controlled and stern his voice sounds. You aren't one of his soldiers. Yet he speaks to you like one. You’re ready to follow him no matter where he goes. But he is not your General. “–I will personally make sure some of our best soldiers are sent to protect you and the others. We have always protected the Vestals with our lives, you know we have.”

A choked sound leaves your throat because he is already speaking like a man who doesn't plan to return in the morning. Acacius pulls you in closer, wrapping both arms around your trembling form. His dried blood leaves stains on the linen of your white dress. No matter how careful he is with his hands, he always leaves you stained. Red, no matter where he goes. He turns flourishing cities into battlefields and their citizens into grievers. Wives into widows, children into orphans.

No more.

“Rome will fall. Won’t it?” You whisper into his chest and you feel him sway slightly as he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath before nudging your head back just enough to press his forehead against yours.

“No. The Emperors will fall. Rome will rise out of their ashes.”

His face tells you that he is speaking the truth. And this is precisely what scares you. “I want to stay with you. You cannot make me leave,” you whimper, squeezing his hand so tight that it must hurt. He presses one last kiss to your forehead before nudging you up with his leg, forcing you to stand again.

“Truthfully, I cannot make you. I can only ask.” A sad smile decorates his lips as he looks up at you, his eyes gone soft. “Besides, it is bad luck to touch someone marked for death, dulcissima. You of all people should know that.”

***

209 AD

You carefully balance the slender pot of water between your hands, the ceramic cold against your fingertips. Tending to the herb garden is one of your preferred duties, allowing you to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin while you work. The temple is never cold, not with the fire of Rome burning in its middle. But the longer your shifts become, the more weary you become of the lack of the sky and sun above.

Tipping the pot over ever so slightly, you let a thin string of water flow down onto the row of small herbs that stick out of the ground. Your head tilts upward towards a blue sky, just enough to peek over the roof of the house that you and the other Vestals live in, located right next to the temple of Vesta–and conveniently at the foot of Palatine Hill.

You can see the General’s–no, you mentally correct yourself, remembering your conversation with him–Lucilla’s house from here, at least the part that is not hidden by trees. You haven't seen him again since taking his will and storing it safely in one of the upper chambers, labeling it carefully and placing it on its assigned shelf, to be retrieved only in one of two cases–on his command or his death. The thought makes you shiver and you mumble a quiet prayer for him to the earth below you.

You see people, mostly women, come to the temple to pray to Vesta. To ask the goddess of the house and hearth for safety, for enough food on their table, for the health of their family. You pray with them, of course. You pray for each and every citizen of Rome. But you remember what one of the older Vestals said to you when you arrived at the house as a mere child, picked for nearly a lifetime of service.

Her eyes had been kind as she had bent down, adjusting the veil that was still much too big on your form.

“She is not just in the flame, my child. She is in the smoke that rises above and the earth that stretches below. Vesta will always hear you. She will always be near.”

You bow your head towards the earth at that, setting the pot aside to instead place your hands between the green and brown, fingertips grazing the earth that feeds you.

It is one of your tasks to pray for all of Rome, often with a special few words for the soldiers, to ask Vesta for their safe and victorious return. But the image in front of your eyes shifts as you speak the prayer that falls off your lips so naturally. It summons the memory of the gentle, brown eyes that promised you their trust.

Keep him safe.

It is a prayer you repeat over and over again, sending it into the earth as well as the air as you kneel under the roman sun, asking for the gods to hear you.

When you raise your head again, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust once more to the brightness of the day, he is there.

You called on the gods. But it is Acacius who has appeared.

You see him taking slow steps through his garden, one hand outstretched as he lets it brush past the fields of lavender. Your own hand, still tucked into the bed below you, moves against the herbs absent-mindedly as your eyes stay fixed on the small figure above the Forum Romanum.

He’s too far away to make out his expression–or even his face. But the broad shoulders, the red paludamentum, the gentleness with which he carries himself–they all let you know it is Acacius you’re looking at. It’s like he has heard your prayers and instead of waiting for one of the gods to answer, he has taken them upon himself.

It happens more frequently after that. The courtyard garden of the Vestals spans almost the entire length of the house, with two small pools lowered into the ground on each side. You pass around it by day and by night and your gaze flies between the columns and upward more frequently than ever.

Just in passing, of course. Just for reassurance. A constant, a joyful moment when you spot his figure. A pinch of something else in your stomach, something you force yourself to ignore, when you see Lucilla's robes billowing in the wind while she walks beside him. He rarely wears his armour, but when he does, it glistens in the sun, reflecting the rays of light, almost blinding.

You often wonder what he is thinking about. If he is pondering the next campaign, possibly even politics, though you have rarely heard about him being involved in them. He strikes you more as a soldier than a politician. A man as loyal to his army as he is to the Emperors.

“Senator Gracchus told me that they are moving some troops south,” Severa announces as you settle down for your evening meal. She is about your age, having been chosen in the same year as you. And she has taken the most interest in politics out of all the current six priestesses, often volunteering to deliver and pick up scrolls from the palace or the senate to hear the news of the day.

“Did he say why?” You ask as you reach for the carafe of wine, motioning towards her glass and, at her nod, pouring her some. You repeat the motion with your own glass before leaning back again.

“No. But I suppose the people further south are not happy.” Her voice drops slightly as she speaks. “They do not wish to risk an uprising, that I am sure of.” You nod carefully, casting a glance to the other side of the room where the two eldest vestals are taking their meal. It is not your duty to meddle in politics. You are the guardians of the hearth of Rome. Day and night, one of you is always in the temple, watching over the flame. Making sure it does not burn low.

If extinguished, it is not just the fall for the Vestals. It predicts the fall of Rome. So now more than ever, you do your duty carefully.

“May I ask you something?” Severa leans towards you, always keeping one careful eye on the others. Making sure neither of you are drawing attention to yourself.

You nod, adjusting your voice to her level as you set down your glass. “Of course. Is something the matter?”

She gives a quick, short shake of her head. “No, not the matter. I was just curious–” You raise a brow at that, though you both know neither of you mean each other harm. “Curiosity is a dangerous trait for a Vestal.”

“Curiousity is a dangerous trait for any woman,” Severa whispers back, lowering her eyes onto the floor. You understand why. It is not easy to speak ill of something. It is simply not in your nature. It goes against the years of teaching you have sat through. “You brought the will of the General, did you not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly at the mention of Acacius and shift onto your side, hoping that the dim light inside the room hides the way your face flushes. “Yes. The first one I collected, actually.”

“You collect Generals now?”

Neither of you can successfully stifle the giggles that follow her question and you quickly bow your head, just as one of the older Vestals calls out to you. “If you are finished with your meal, please retire to your quarters and get some rest.” You both nod, whispering apologies into their direction as you stand up.

“I am to guard the flame tonight,” Severa adds softly and the other of the two women nods.

“Then you may take your fellow priestess to her quarters and head to the Temple after.” You mumble your good nights to the others, walking along the courtyard in silence. The noise of cicadas fills the night that has settled over the valley. When you stop outside the door to your cubiculum, you pause. “Why did you ask about the General?”

For a moment, you think Severa will not answer, her shoulders shrugging slightly as if to dismiss her prior interest. “I heard some of the Senators speak of him. I merely wondered how he seemed to you.”

“Kind,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He was kind to me.

Her brows furrow slightly but then she nods, giving you a gentle smile. “I better go and not leave the others waiting. Bonam noctem.”

“Bonam noctem,” you repeat quietly. A few moments later, you pull your door closed behind you and begin to undress. When you crawl into the bed placed near the far end of the room, your mind is already distracted and you allow your thoughts to slip out of the small window and rush up the hill. They settle between a field of lavender and wait for a light to appear in one of the windows of the house, just as you extinguish yours.

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

101 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 10 months ago

Text

IV. “I Trust You Know What You’re Doing?”

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

Struggling with the forced separation of your transfer and promotion, it does not take long for you and Bucky to plan a trip to London together. But even while you're on leave, the world around you continues to do its best to tear itself apart.

Warnings: Language, Grief, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral - f receiving, implied virginity loss, protected vaginal sex, condoms, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: Welcome to this massive installment. I have no excuses, only apologies. Also I only had the fortitude to proof this once, there may be more errors than normal, but I didn't want to delay it any longer - I will correct things as I find them. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

ETA: The image descriptions for the letters contain the text within to allow for a screen reader or anyone who cannot read cursive. Click the ‘ALT’ button to access.

Word Count: 8497

-------------------------

Wycombe Abbey could not have been more different than Thorpe Abbotts if it had tried.

The private, or in a most confusing twist ‘public’ as the Brits called such institutions, girls’ school had begun its life in the 17th century as a manor house before being transformed into a much grander residence near the end of the 19th century. The school had opened in 1896 with only forty students, but that number had swelled to over two hundred by the time the building was requisitioned for use as the Headquarters of the 8th Air Force.

Stained glass windows, stonework, archways, and wood panelling now replaced squat concrete buildings and rough-and-ready Nissen huts. Though everything was just as drafty, so at least the temperature provided some familiar consistency to your new surroundings. As you descended from your quarters tucked away in some forgotten corner of the attic, down a set of precarious servants’ stairs, you nearly took a wrong turn – again. To your credit you had only been here three days and the maze of corridors and rooms further divided into offices for USAAF purposes was nearly unnavigable.

Chiding yourself softly under your breath that your office was to the right and not the left, as though the sharpness of your tone might really drive it home this time, you quickened your steps still hoping to beat to postal clerk to the outgoing mail box that sat on the corner of your desk. It had been more of a challenge than you were expecting to write the letter clutched in your hand, but the daily meetings that senior operations officers held at 1015, 1600, and 2200 were your responsibility to attend and record via frantically scribbled notes to be typed up in a more professional format later.

These were the meetings at which mission targets for the entire 8th were chosen. The strategic value of various locations was discussed alongside weather reports and aligning with the RAF’s Bomber Command for maximum impact against Nazi Germany. After the first meeting, it would be decided if a mission would even be conducted the following day, and each Division, Wing, and Base involved would be put on alert to allow them time to begin planning the operation. By the time the last meeting ended, the target and approach would be finalized, and the official field orders would be issued.

It made for a remarkably long day, even with breaks for meals, and though you were guaranteed every other Friday off because of this, by the time you crawled into bed near midnight, you only had enough energy to add a few lines onto the letter you had begun to Bucky as soon as you arrived. It made for a rather disjointed and rambling piece of correspondence, in your opinion, but you could not bear to keep him waiting any longer – not wanting him to assume you had forgotten to write and not knowing how long the thing would take to reach him regardless.

Dashing into the office you shared with Myrtle, a very stoic young woman with dark hair and thick eyelashes from Rhode Island, you exhaled in relief to see the post still waiting to be collected and added your letter to the pile. Unlocking your desk drawers, you began setting up for the day, hoping it would reach him quickly.

His reply arrived in your inbox just over two weeks later, near the end of September. Sliding it into your brown leather utility bag, you did your utmost to ignore its very existence throughout the first daily meeting, and your subsequent production of the official report thereof. Taking your lunch break a little earlier than usual paid off in that the line was much shorter at that time. You inhaled the mystery stew and rolls, hardly tasting them, before taking your letter outside to read in the rare afternoon sunshine.

It was short, and it was unspeakably adorable that Bucky did not write in cursive, but there was no lack of his personality in his response. It was as though the very essence of him had been distilled into the ink itself and you could not help the broad grin that bore its way into the muscles of your cheeks, making them ache as you read it.

Glancing quickly at your watch, you realized there was still time to send a reply before the second post pick-up but based on the length of time it had taken for this exchange of letters, it was unlikely another would reach him with enough time to plan for October 8 – your next Friday off. Worrying your lip between your teeth as you considered your options, you landed on a rather devious idea, one that quite honestly would have never come to you if not for the deep need to reach Bucky immediately. Vi had a telephone on her desk in the weather office, a number that you had access to given the strategic importance of weather to the senior operations officers.

Myrtle would be on her break for another fifteen minutes…you had not even realized you had made up your mind before your feet began to carry you back inside, up the stairs into the mercifully still-empty office. Digging out the directory, you found the number for Thorpe Abbotts’ weather office and took a shaky breath as you sank into your chair.

‘Keep it brief, keep it free of classified information. Worst you’ll get is a reprimand.’

The devious, deceptive voice in your mind was a new one, fostered, perhaps, by the rather carefree man you found yourself deeply entangled with, but it was not one you were about to disobey. Lifting the handset of your phone from its cradle, you cleared your throat as the operator answered.

“Norfolk 7315, please.” You tried your best to sound calm and collected as the line clicked and began to ring.

“Phillips.” An unexpected voice answered, and you gulped, knowing Ruth would be less likely to participate in some romantic scheme.

You greeted her in kind, trying to ignore the ache of loneliness as she gasped softly.

“I was hoping you might pass along a message for me?”

“To a certain Major?” You could hear the grin in her voice and felt the pressure on your chest ease.

“Indeed. October 8. I will arrange accommodations.”

“Your line should he need to reach you?”

Hesitating a moment, you ultimately decided to provide it as well, wanting to ensure he could in fact contact you if something came up. Or perhaps any of them could – should the worst happen.

‘Don’t think about that.’ You chastised yourself internally.

“You’re well?” Ruth asked and you smiled softly.

“I am, please tell everyone I miss them terribly.”

“Will do, have to go.”

There was a ‘click’ as she hung up and the line went dead but the lightness in your heart could not be extinguished.

Nine days later you found yourself waiting on the platform at Liverpool Street station awaiting the arrival of Bucky’s train from East Anglia. Given the proximity of High Wycombe to London, you had arrived much earlier that morning and checked into the hotel already, dropping off your small bag and come to wait for his train – well you assumed he’d be on the first train of the day, but as the carriages disgorged a sea of humanity and you had yet to spot him, your brows began to furrow in doubt.

You were about to fish the folded schedule you had picked up from the ticket counter to check the next arrival time when he was suddenly wrapping an arm around you, pulling you tight into his chest as you gasped softly in surprise.

“There you are doll.” Bucky sighed, dropping his bag at your feet to slide the other arm around you as he pulled back to nudge your cap out of the way and deliver a breathtakingly thorough kiss that you were not entirely sure was appropriate for the public setting you were in.

Not that you stopped him, you own arms snaking about his midsection to cling to him tightly.

Pulling back, his eyes raked over your features lovingly as you both inhaled deeply to fill your greedy lungs.

“Well, well 1st Lieutenant.” He smirked proudly as he lifted his hand to stroke the chrome insignia you now wore on your lapels courtesy of your promotion, leaving smudges of his thumb print.

“You are leaving my uniform in disarray, Major.” You chided playfully, unable to hold back you grin, even for a moment, to sell the joke.

His forefinger hooked behind the knot in your tie, tugging it out from beneath your jacket and pulling you closer – eliminating the last few inches of space that remained between your bodies.

“Good.” He rumbled against your lips before kissing you deeply, severely undermining the infrastructure of your knees.

The loud racket of the train cars as they shunted into one another jolted the pair of you apart, making you realize you were among the last few remaining on the platform as the now empty train left the station.

“Let’s get you checked in and your bag dropped off.” You murmured, clearing your throat as you unbuttoned your uniform jacket to straighten and re-secure your tie.

His hand slid into yours as the pair of you made your way out of the station and he happily followed you to a hotel you’d found near his station, knowing that he’d be here longer than you and it would be easier for him to find his way back to base this way. Sitting patiently in the lobby as he checked in and ran his bag up, you smiled as he returned to hold his hands out to you.

“C’mon doll, I have a whole plan.”

Taking his hands, you rose to your feet, raising your eyebrows curiously. “A whole plan?”

He leaned in to murmur against your ear, “you’re not the only one involved in planning you know.”

You pulled back quickly, eyes wide with a touch of panic. You were quite certain you had never told him just what your new position entailed, and there was no way he could simply guess it.

“Easy doll, your phone line.” He winked as he maneuvered your arm through his, turning to lead you out the front door.

Slowly exhaling, it clicked into place. Of course. Just as you were able to find Vi’s desk number in a directory, it seemed Bucky had been doing a little research of his own.

“Well, shhh.” You chastened him firmly, laying a finger over your lips, looking very much like an anti-slander campaign poster.

His hearty laugh in response did little to convince you that he took in the message.

“Now, how do we get to Hyde Park…” He murmured, pulling a crumpled leave guide out of his pocket.

“The underground.” You answered easily, leading him back towards the very station he had arrived at but this time down to the tube station entrance where the pair of you purchased your tickets.

His touch rarely left you – even if he was forced to release your hand, you could feel his palm pressed against your lower back as you made your way through the crowded subterranean space. You were glad to have him with you this time, not particularly a fan of this mode of transportation, but it certainly was an efficient way to get around London. Pressed close together on the train, you took the opportunity to simply gaze at him, basking in his presence after nearly a month apart, not missing the way his mouth ticked up at the corner cockily.

“Missed you too, doll.” He winked and ducked a kiss to your ear before guiding you off the train at your stop – once he had confirmed with you it was indeed your stop.

Blinking your way back into the light of day, you pointed at a directional sign guiding the way to Hyde Park.

“Perfect, now apparently there are…sandwiches!” He crowed and tugged you over to a sandwich truck that seemed quite popular based on the line of waiting patrons.

Your face was starting to hurt, driving home how infrequently you had found the opportunity to smile in his absence, making you squeeze his hand fondly. Bucky looked back to you quickly as he joined the queue.

“You really did plan everything.” You gulped quickly and he beamed proudly.

“Anything for my girl. What kind would you like?” He gestured at the menu written on the side of the truck.

By the time you reached the front of the line, Bucky was able to easily place your order, including two bottles of lemonade, insisting on paying. Opening your utility bag, you carefully packed the lunch away, earning a rather damp and enthusiastic kiss on your cheek as he snatched your hand to continue onto the park.

“May I ask what it is about this park in particular?” You inquired as the pair of you dashed across the road.

“You can ask…” His cheeky reply had you scoffing in return as you entered the canopy of trees, following a path further and further away from the traffic of downtown London.

Plenty of men in uniform seemed to be out, enjoying the nice weather with women on their arms. Women who, unlike you, enjoyed the luxury of being allowed to dress as they chose during their leisure time. It had been one of many reasons that nearly twenty-five percent of women had chosen not to remain enlisted during the transition from the WAAC to the WAC, the army requirement to remain in uniform even when off-duty. In all honesty, you had not really missed your civilian clothes until just then.

Watching the sheer femininity of those women as they swirled about in their colorful fabrics only drove home how drably olive and plainly cut your uniform truly was.

“You’re a million miles away, doll.” Bucky’s voice cut through the dark clouds that had gathered in your mind and you looked to him quickly.

“Sorry Bucky, it’s beautiful here. Like another place entirely.” You offered him a smile but by the way his eyebrow lifted slightly he did not seem to be entirely buying it. “Have the leaves started changing around the base yet?” You tried changing the subject.

He shook his head, releasing your hand to slide his arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. “Seems everything will happen later here than back home.”

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing ahead and gasping a little at the glimpse of a sizeable body of water that seemed to be filled with rowboats.

“That’s why were here.”

You turned back to him to see a broad grin had overtaken his face and laughed in excitement as it was terribly romantic.

“If I had known, Major Egan, I would have brought my parasol.” You grinned and he snorted, squeezing your hip fondly.

“No need to put on airs, 1st Lieutenant,” he smirked, “the ride will be enjoyable all the same.”

“Bucky!” You hissed sharply, slapping his chest as he laughed deeply, ducking your head slightly as more than a few passersby shot glances your way.

“C’mon doll.” He chuckled and led you over to the booth beside the dock, paying the fee for a thirty-minute rental before the pair of you headed down to climb into one of the waiting row boats.

Setting your heavy bag on the floor, you carefully stepped into the rather unstable watercraft, settling on the passenger’s bench – denoted as such by the ornate ironwork arms. Bucky followed, seated across from you at the oars, his knees nearly brushing against yours, legs too long for so small a boat. Unbuttoning and sliding off his jacket, he tossed it and his cap to you before rolling up his sleeves and began to row the pair of you out onto The Serpentine, you now knew the small lake to be called.

“I trust you know what you’re doing?” You asked as he appeared to easily manage the oars, seeming at ease in the small boat.

“Mostly.” He teased with a wink before laughing at your slightly aghast expression. “Grew up on the shore of Lake Michigan, doll. Boats are like planes to me, easily managed.” He soothed.

It was difficult to decide which view to settle your eyes upon, the verdant green of the still-lush trees, the throng of boats around you, or Bucky working up a remarkably attractive sheen of sweat with his forearms on display as he propelled the rowboat through the water. A feathered fan would have been a very useful tool in that moment, to hide behind or cool yourself down, or perhaps both.

Belatedly, you realized that Bucky had been speaking this whole time – about events back at Thorpe Abbotts. Giving you the update about the people you knew, the trouble Meatball had caused with a farmer down the road, but he trailed off when he realized you were staring once more in dumbfounded silence at him.

“Doll, you’re going to give me a big head if you keep looking at me like that.” He winked as he lifted the oars from the water, letting the water sluice from the blades before tucking them into the boat on either side of you.

“Y…you’re good at that.” You replied lamely and shook your head. “Hungry?” Leaning forward for your bag, which was in all honestly a lot closer to his feet in the floor of the boat, you froze as everything tilted precariously in response to your movements.

Bucky lay a gentle hand on your shoulder to steady you. “Allow me.” Bending down slowly, he scooped up your bag and opened the flap to retrieve your sandwich and lemonade. “It’s sure tight in here, how did you even make this all fit?”

He tugged a little harder on the packet containing your lunch and your eyes widened in horror as, while he was triumphant, he also managed to send the three condoms you had tucked into your bag scattering to the floor of the boat. His eyes followed the distinct, square, paper packets and you could see his throat bob as he swallowed viciously.

“Doll…” His voice came out rough as a gravel road as he slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. “…been doing some planning of your own?”

“‘A WAC is always prepared.’” You quoted in a mortified whisper, struggling against the urge to lunge forward and hide the evidence, knowing it would only send both of you over the side and into the lake.

You watched another swallow ripple down Bucky’s throat before he offered your lunch to you, carefully collecting the offending items and returning them to your bag before he retrieved his own food.

“Would you mind,” He spoke after taking a rather ruthless and oversized bite of his sandwich, words muffled between slices of bread and chicken salad before he swallowed to start over. “Would you mind if, instead of following the rest of my plan, after these thirty minutes are up, I take you back to the hotel?”

Taking a thick swallow of your own, you shook your head slowly as you felt your cheeks heat up at the implications of that invitation. “I would not mind, no.” You clarified breathlessly and he nodded sharply, gesturing for your as-yet-unopened bottle of lemonade.

Handing it back to him, you watched silently as he lined the edge of the cap with the metal plate holding the oarlock in place, popping it off the bottle with one sharp blow of the heel of his palm.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly as he passed you the opened drink, taking a deep sip as he repeated the process with his own, draining nearly half the bottle in one go.

Tilting your head back to take in the feel of the sun on your face, you slid your cap from your hair, adding it to the pile of his neatly folded items on the bench beside you, continuing to enjoy your picnic on the lake.

“You heard about Dye hitting twenty-five?” He broke the silence, sounding much more like himself again and you nodded quickly.

“Big news, everywhere in the 8th. Lucky crew all heading home – how did Lil take it?” You tilted your head curiously, raising your bottle to your lips, his eyes following the motion closely.

“Hm? Oh, she’ll be alright…they’re both good at letters.” He nodded, leaning back a little.

You knocked your knee against his affectionately. “Don’t sell yourself short you sweet man, I thoroughly enjoyed yours.”

His eyes flicked to yours quickly as a small smile curled his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded firmly. “Yeah. Promise to give you more to reply to soon, phone was just necessary to make this happen.”

His hand landed on your thigh gently and he squeezed the flesh through your skirt. “Worth it. Just how long are your days though, doll?”

Your fingers played along the empty glass bottle, and you shrugged. “As long as they need to be.” You replied evasively.

“Mm, I’m going to get a better answer out of you than that.” He threatened playfully as he leaned forward to grasp the oar handles, swinging the blades back into the water and taking the pair of you on a loop around the corner of the lake before returning you to the dock.

Bucky climbed out first, taking his cap and jacket before helping you out easily, kissing you firmly as soon as you were on solid ground. “Let’s take a cab…” He breathed impatiently and you laughed, shaking your head.

“The cost would be astronomical, come on.” You affixed your cap on your head as he rolled down his sleeves and slid his jacket back on before the pair of you made your way back to the Underground.

Bucky’s body was practically pressed against yours the entire trip back to Liverpool Street station, seemingly unable to tolerate any form of separation. As you neared the hotel though, you looked to him slowly. “We should go in as colleagues…I booked us that way.”

He looked at you utterly confused, and you swallowed.

“We’re unwed, there was no way I could book us here together, and they will be none to please if they realize I’ve tricked them. I’ll get my key, you get yours, I’ll come to your room…”

He nodded slowly, arm reluctantly unwinding from around your waist before holding the door open for you to step inside.

“Thank you, Major.” You nodded, sliding your cap from your head as you stepped inside, heading to the counter to fetch your room key as he did the same, the pair of you walking up the stairs to the fifth floor together before parting ways so you could fetch your small overnight bag.

It was rather a waste of money, to book a room knowing you would most likely never sleep in it, but such things were necessary for women like you. Women who chose to go to bed with a man they were not married to in the long light of the afternoon. Taking a steadying breath, you left the perfectly made bed behind, walking down the hall to Bucky’s room and knocking on the door softly.

It promptly swung open to reveal a smiling Bucky, his jacket and cap long gone, along with his necktie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He stepped back and gestured for you to enter his much larger room with a small brown paper wrapped packet clasped in his hand. Once the door was closed behind you, you let out the laugh you had been holding.

“I did book this under Major John Egan, I suppose they felt the need to give you a nicer room than a Lieutenant.”

He smirked and kissed your cheek, taking your cap and bag from your hand, then pressing the package into it. “Before I forget, again.”

“Bucky you didn’t have to get me anything, you came to see me…”

“Open it.” His eyes danced with anticipation, and you began to pull at the piece of twine holding the package closed, unfolding the utilitarian paper to reveal a brand-new pair of stockings.

You let out an audible gasp as your jaw fairly fell to the floor.

“To replace the pair that got wrecked when you fell.” He smiled, obviously pleased by your reaction.

“How on earth did you…?!” You trailed off, staring up at him in wonderment.

“A man never reveals his secrets, doll.” He grinned and let out a grunt as you launched yourself into his arms, kissing him fiercely at the thoughtfulness of his gift and in recognition of the sheer determination it must have taken to achieve such a feat in rationed England.

His fingers gently plied the items from your grasp, setting them on the bedside table, freeing your hands to latch onto his arms as he cupped your face gently.

“You sure about this, my beautiful girl?” He whispered and your breath hitched in your throat at the tender look on his face just inches from yours.

“Yes.” You nodded quickly, sliding your fingers into his hair to pull his lips back to yours greedily.

A pleased noise rolled from his throat and across your tongue as he coaxed your mouth open, his fingers shifting to make steady work at the buttons on your jacket before he unwound your hands from his dark curls to slide the garment off, tossing it in the general direction of the chair that held his. You could not help the giggle that bubbled up from your chest at that as you moved to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one.

The tug of his teeth on your lower lip quickly transformed your laughter to shuddering breath as you held tightly to the open sides of his shirt, feeling him tug your tie free from your collar before it joined the pile of clothes somewhere on the plush blue carpet of the hotel room floor. Your shirt and skirt were quick to join it, leaving you in your brassiere and slip, garter belt and underwear still hidden from view.

“You have a remarkable number of layers on, doll.” He huffed as his mouth descended along your throat to suck at the crook of your shoulder, installing a dramatic curve in your spine as you arched against him wantonly with a half-swallowed cry of pleasure.

“Y…you have almost as many…” You protested, tugging the ends of his shirt from his trousers before pushing it from his shoulders only to be met with his undershirt.

The sheer broadness of him had never quite been so very apparent and had you licking your lips as you struggled with the last barrier between you and his torso, your ID tags rasping metallically against his.

“Not nearly as complicated though.” He muttered as his fingers worked at the hook and eye closure of your bra until you felt the band go slack and he leaned back to slide the straps down your arms, making you shiver as your breasts were revealed to his hungry gaze.

Bucky’s heavy exhale fluttered against your collarbone, grown cool by the time it traversed the distance between you, and you shuddered slightly, looking to the side shyly. He leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly, pecking your lips.

“Whatcha hiding for, gorgeous?” His tone was gentle and had your eyes slowly sliding to meet his, an action he rewarded with a deep kiss.

He continued to distract you with repeated meetings your lips, each time with growing intensity as his palms slid upwards along your sides to cup your breasts. The meeting of flesh had you inhaling sharply through your nose, hands seeking anchor as your fingers twisted into his beltloops where his trousers hung open around his hips – yet again delaying you in your purpose of undressing him. As his thumbs honed in on your sensitive peaks, Bucky elicited all manner of noises from your throat only to eagerly devour them.

“D’ya have any idea how soft you are doll?” He sighed against your lips as he kneaded your tender flesh. “’Cept right here.” He smirked as he tugged at your nipples and you whined his name, pressing impossibly close against him, realizing he was anything but soft.

Your shimmies and writhes against him seemed to serve as a reminder of the greater purpose at hand and Bucky’s fingers ceased their torment, sliding down to your hips to divest you of your slip before beginning to work at your stockings. Toeing off your shoes, you pushed his trousers from his hips, letting gravity do the rest.

“So many hooks and straps and loops…” He muttered as his mouth dipped to the hollow of your throat, though his fingers seemed more than capable of stripping you down to only your underwear.

Seizing your hips, Bucky guided you back onto the bed, and you could not help the sigh at that flew from your mouth at the feel of a real mattress with springs and a duvet, drawing a broad grin across his face as he crawled over you, coaxing you to lay back.

“Precious women like you should always have luxurious beds like these. None of those stinking Army cots…” His hands slid beneath your spine to half guide, half drag you up to rest on the obnoxious mountain of pillows.

Staring up at him in awe, at a complete loss for words, you settled on pressing up onto your elbows to kiss him firmly, hoping to convey your appreciation physically rather than trying to summon speech. As his lips parted from yours to begin sliding down your body, you let out a slight huff of annoyance, earning a chuckle against your collarbone which rumbled through his chest and into your body. He lifted his head slightly as his fingers wove through the ball chain of your ID tags as he seemed to notice them for the first time.

“I always wondered if you ladies had these.”

You bit your lip to smother your grin as he never hesitated to say what was on his mind, a constant stream of commentary on the world around him, and rather than annoying, you found it utterly adorable.

“Are you laughin’ at me, doll?” He smirked and gave a gentle tug, pulling a genuine laugh from you, to which he responded with a brilliant grin. “Alright then, I’ll give you something to laugh about.” He bowed his head to drag the flat of his tongue across your nipple, your resulting whimper bouncing off the walls as he resumed his teasing of your opposite breast.

“B…Bucky…” Your eyes shot wide as his plush lips sealed around that tender peak, applying a positively euphoric suction that had you burying your fingers in his hair and pressing your body closer to his mouth in silent demand.

With careful precision, his knee slid its way between your thighs, applying coaxing pressure to each in turn until you provided enough room for him to settle between them. The feeling of his hard length slotting against your core with only the thin barrier of your underwear separating your intimate flesh had your jaw dropping open in a silent ‘oh’ – a revelation unto itself despite all the experiences you had enjoyed with him thus far. Undulating your hips against his experimentally, you shuddered at the ragged, abbreviated groan he pressed against your sternum, caught in the midst of traversing your chest. Thoroughly encouraged, you repeated the action, savagely gnawing on your lip as he bit off a curse before his mouth reached its destination and laved at your neglected nipple.

Nestling tighter against you, Bucky began to roll his hips against you in earnest, obliterating your ability to think and scheme against him at the blinding pleasure his combined actions induced. You could feel the smug angle of his lips against your abdomen as his mouth was trailing lower on your body, his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear to peel it from your body. Shifting back to free the interfering item from your legs, he gazed down at you with almost black eyes, his pupils having nearly devoured his irises in his arousal, before stretching forward onto his stomach.

Blinking rapidly, you raised up on your elbows to watch him hoist one of your legs over a strong shoulder and then the other, shuffling embarrassingly close to the apex of your thighs.

“Bucky?” You squeaked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow up at you, his pink tongue darting out the wet his lips, nearly matching the flush that had painted its way across his cheeks and down his neck. “Yes, doll?”

“What…” You swallowed thickly as your throat clenched erratically.

“Making good on a promise.” He replied seriously before stretching forward to deliver a thorough kiss to your folds that fairly sucked the air from your lungs, an odd whistling sound echoing through you as you savagely burrowed your fingers into the bedding.

When his tongue narrowed in on that sensitive bundle of nerves, it was your turn to bite off a curse, slumping back onto the pillows as he hummed against you in what was surely mock sympathy as he most certainly did not let up, his efforts only doubling. As your hips began to jerk and writhe, he slung a heavy forearm across your pelvis to pin you in place, only shifting closer and tracing his forefinger around your entrance teasingly. It was all you could do not to kick and wail as you felt yourself becoming embarrassingly slick, the noises he was making growing ever so obscene and filling the hotel room.

“Fuck!” You whined against your palm as his finger finally sunk into your wet heat, its passage remarkably eased by your arousal, hips bucking hard enough to jar his arm slightly.

“Damn you’re delicious, doll.” He growled against you, lips smacking loudly as he began to suck at your pearl, finger working you open enough to add a second before beginning a demanding rhythm.

“Oh…oh...god…” You cried out in agony, too far gone to remember your desire to be quiet, feeling the tension of pending release growing ever closer under his amorous onslaught.

“I know, I know…” He soothed, only quickening his pace, hooking his fingers towards the front of your body, sending your back into a dramatic curve from the mattress, a tortured moan ripping from your throat. “Oh, I have to see that again.” He rasped and sought that precise spot with a ruthless single-minded precision until he was rewarded with not only the same reaction, but your strangled cry as your orgasm slammed into you with breath-taking force.

As you returned to earth from your visit to the celestial plane, the first sensation you became aware of was tender, damp kisses being pressed to your inner thigh as Bucky murmured soft words of encouragement to you.

“There’s my gorgeous girl, holy hell that was incredible, did you enjoy that half as much as I did?”

You managed a wordless noise in the affirmative that summoned him to your side, his lips feathering kisses up your jaw to your ear, the tickle of his moustache making you laugh breathlessly.

“Good?” He murmured and you nodded quickly, turning to look at his still-expectant face.

“Yes.” You cobbled together a verbal response, and he blessed you with a warm smile which you leaned in to press your lips against in gratitude.

“Good.” He swiped his tongue along your lips before suddenly slipping from the bed, making you raise your head in confusion.

Stalking over to find your utility bag amongst the sea of discard items and clothing, he proudly retrieved the three condoms that had announced your hopes and intentions for you by appearing in the rowboat, unceremoniously shucking off his boxers as he made his way back to you. You had held his length before, stroked it to completion, but that paled in comparison to seeing the full expanse of him in the light of day.

“My gorgeous doll, you might not say a lot, but you sure don’t mind looking at what you like.” He smirked unabashedly as he set two of the paper packets on the night table beside you, unwrapping the third to unroll the protective latex onto his cock.

Rather than letting his teasing words dissuade you, though they did cause your teeth to sink into your lower lip, you chose to allow your eyes to linger on his actions, rather fascinated by the whole process. By the male anatomy as well. Task managed, he was climbing over you once more, blocking the golden light of afternoon that was filtering in through the windows with his body, warmth radiating from his skin. He settled easily between your legs once more, still parted from his early activities as you really had not summoned the wherewithal to move yet, and stroked his length through the lingering slick gathered along your folds.

A broken sigh fell from his lips before they clashed with yours, not quite aligned, but the sentiment was still there, body shuddering as you slid your arms around him to cling to his shoulders. It was difficult to tell just whom Bucky was teasing as he continued to rut against you, the tip of his cock brushing against your overly-sensitive bundle of nerves, both of you huffing through your nostrils until at last he began to sink into you.

Tearing your lips from his, you sucked in gasping breaths at the feel of the foreign intrusion, appreciating the fact that his pace seemed to slow in response to that. Appreciating the pause he afforded you when his pelvis slotted snuggly against yours once he was seated fully inside you. Cracking open your clenched eyes, you gulped tightly as they were immediately met by Bucky’s, crowned by a furrowed brow, but flicking over your features studiously as if awaiting your instruction.

“I’m ok.” You breathed and he nodded, immediately seizing your lips in a kiss once more as he rocked forward, earning a ragged moan as your fingertips dug into the skin of his back.

His familiarity with this sort of activity had always been apparent, but was exceptionally obvious now as he slowly began the rhythmic push and pull to drive you both towards climax. The sheer intimacy of it was too much and yet it was not nearly enough, your body craving ever more, ever faster, with increasing desperation. The rare moments that Bucky’s lips were not on yours, they were filling the room with choked-off moans or statements of the filthiest order.

“God doll, you feel so fucking good around me.”

“So tight. I can feel how wet you are too, even with this rubber on.”

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t ya? You’re gripping on me like a…fuck I can’t think when you do that…”

His ability to even speak while experiencing such mind-numbing pleasure, rambling though it was, was fairly awe-inspiring. Your responses were limited to moans and whimpers and cries of his name as his supposition was correct – your orgasm was indeed imminent. All it took was the solicitous stroking of his forefinger against the apex of your pleasure to send you flying over the cliff into paradise, clinging to his body as you cried out in ecstasy.

A string of rasped curses mixed in with several sighs of your name heralded his release as Bucky finished not long after, rocking against you sloppily before sinking down onto your chest with a comforting heaviness. Stroking his back tenderly as he nestled into your neck, you grinned stupidly at the ceiling as you felt quite pleased with your choices.

The pair of you made good use of the rest of the condoms you had brought, with a short break for a meal Bucky procured while you took a bath. He returned with a bottle of brandy as well, finding you still in the bathtub. A lot of water ended up on the floor, a pile of water-logged towels your testament to the attempted clean-up. Eating in bed, you shared stories of your childhoods – Bucky’s about growing up on the shores of Lake Michigan, yours of the small two-storey house with its screen door and front porch from which you had watched your brother play with the neighbourhood boys.

You fell asleep in one another’s arms after the final condom was disposed of, the sun long set, but awoke sometime in the night to the unsettling sound of an air raid siren. Not as common in 1943, yet being as close as you were to Canary Wharves, the Luftwaffe still made the occasional bomb run. Startled to find the bed empty, you sat up sharply to see Bucky sitting in front of the window, completely naked, intermittently illuminated by the flashes of distant explosions and anti-aircraft fire.

“Sorry doll, didn’t mean to wake ya.” He muttered and you shook your head, sliding to the end of the bed.

“You ok?” You tilted your head, blinking into a particularly bright flash.

“Hmmm…” He replied noncommittally, turning back to the scene before him with a frown. “I’ve dropped a lot of those. Done a lot of killing.”

Swallowing tightly, you slid to your feet despite the way your heart was pounding in your throat, padding across the carpet towards him.

“Done your job, Bucky. Done what was asked of you.” You assured him, coming to stand behind him, setting your hands on his shoulders.

“If there’s any balance to all this, my ticket was punched a long time ago.” He muttered sullenly and it was your turn to frown.

Bending down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, you stepped in front of him to block his view, perhaps, hopefully, to block his darker thoughts as you shifted to sit on his thighs.

“Whatcha doin’ doll?” He quirked an eyebrow, mouth falling open in a silent moan as your fingers slid between your bodies to gently stroke his length.

“Lightening up.” You replied, invoking the words of your dead brother’s inscription.

It was impossible to think of a more important piece of advice or a more importance source in that moment. A young man who would never get the chance to spend one more time in his lover’s arms, who knew you better than anyone in the entire world. And you were most certainly going to follow it. You had to be up in less than three hours, to catch the first train to High Wycombe, and you would not pass up this moment with Bucky. The future was unknowable, your brother’s death had certainly taught you that.

Bucky’s fingers curled into your hips as his mouth descended onto yours greedily, clearly in agreement with your plan, despite the lack of remaining condoms. Shuffling closer, you guided his now fully hard cock into your body, your soft noises of pleasure colliding with his in the space between your parted lips. Working together, with plenty of guidance from his firm grip, you began to rocking your hips, using his shoulders for leverage. His head fell back to stare up at you in awe, jaw slack, adam’s apple bobbing viciously.

“Christ, I love you…” His face betrayed such vulnerability, lips trembling slightly, that you quickly lifted your hands to cradle his cheeks, even as your lashes grew suddenly damp.

“I love you too, John. So much.” You replied thickly, rather resenting the dramatic wobble in your voice.

The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips before his face grew serious once more and he lunged forward to kiss you hungrily, hands anchoring your shoulders so he might thrust up into your body with a sudden need. It was all you could do to hang on, though pleasure itself still managed to sweep you away, leaving you only with the vague recognition of him half pulling out mid-release.

It was terribly difficult to leave him in that comfortable, if messy, bed a few hours later. He did not make it easy either, impossible to untangle from your body like an unwieldy piece of seaweed. Yet somehow you managed to make your trains and arrive at your desk at the appointed hour. Focusing on the task at hand with the pleasurable ache between your legs was altogether another challenge, forcing you to sit on first one hip and then the other.

You had just returned after the lunch break when your phone rang, your greeting barely out of your mouth before Bucky’s question came down the line.

“Did you know you know where they played yesterday’s match?” He asked flatly and it took you several seconds to comprehend that he was speaking in code and just what he was getting at.

You swallowed painfully. “Yes, I did sir.”

Of course you did, you were in the room on Thursday night when they had chosen Bremen as the target for yesterday’s mission.

“A lot of our best players struck out, you know. Buck included.”

He sounded utterly unlike himself, cold and distant, not the man you had left just hours ago in that hotel room in London. All the same, your heart broke for him, and for yourself too. You liked Major Cleven – this war was nothing but cruel.

“I’m so sorry B-Major Egan.” You corrected yourself quickly, eyeing Myrtle across the room.

“Well I hope you all pick a better field for tomorrow’s match because I’m pitching.”

You opened your mouth to reply as your heart dropped through the floor, but the sound of the handset slamming into the cradle resounded over the line before it went dead, giving you no opportunity to speak. To wish him luck or, heaven forfend, goodbye. You hung up your phone with a slightly shaking hand as a deep sense of dread threaded its way through your stomach.

-------------------------

Read Part Five - "I Trusted You!"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan imagine #john egan fic #john egan #john bucky egan #mota fic #masters of the air fanfic

314 notes · View notes

cirilla-fiona-riannon · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 Part 2 Preview

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not a full translation.

Mitsuhide: "Oh? It seems we have a guest."

Sasuke: "Pardon the intrusion. Lord Kenshin."

(Sasuke!)

While everyone's attention shifted, Sasuke casually walked in from the hallway.

Kenshin: "You're late. You finally caught up."

Sasuke: "Please don't go ahead on your own. Stalling the guards was pretty tricky."

Kenshin: "Struggling against just a few opponents? Pathetic."

Sasuke: "Being a ninja in this chaotic era is one of the worst jobs ever."

Sasuke: "But at least I got to meet my idol, Tokugawa Ieyasu, so I guess it's all good."

Ieyasu: "Huh? I think I just heard my name."

Sasuke: "Yes, can I shake your hand?"

Ieyasu: "Why are you holding out your hand so seriously? There's no way that's happening."

(Oh yeah, Sasuke's a history buff and a huge fan of Ieyasu.)

Kenshin gave Sasuke a piercing glare.

Kenshin: "Sasuke, stop wasting time. Where's Kanetsugu?"

Sasuke: "Kanetsugu is..."

Sasuke glanced towards the hallway, and someone gracefully entered the room.

Kanetsugu: "Where's Lord Kenshin?"

Kanetsugu: "Hm? The sliding doors are broken. Was there an attack?"

(This is my first time seeing Kanetsugu.)

Kanetsugu looked down at the broken sliding door as Ieyasu let out a sigh.

Ieyasu: "That's the work of your lord, you know?"

Kanetsugu: "I see. The blade technique is impressive."

Mitsunari: "Yes, it looks like the sharpness has been improved even more since the last time I saw it on the battlefield."

Ieyasu: "Don't start analyzing the door."

Sasuke: "This is serious. This is a valuable sliding door and a historical artifact."

Sasuke: "To the members of the Oda army, I'm really sorry."

Nobunaga: "You're the one apologizing?"

Sasuke: "Well, my boss would never apologize even if the world turned upside down, so I might as well apologize on his behalf."

Nobunaga: "That's an unusual statement. Interesting."

Nobunaga: "How about you join the Oda army as a ninja?"

Kenshin: "Oh? If you're trying to pick a fight, I'll gladly accept."

Sasuke: "Headhunting, huh? I'm honored. But first, let's use this for now."

Sasuke pulled out of his pocket a round, brown-shaped thing.

(Is that the kind of packing tape that's always found at hardware stores!?)

Hideyoshi: "Hey, what on earth are you planning to do in someone else's castle?"

Sasuke: "Don't worry. I'm just going to repair it."

Kanetsugu: "How exactly are you going to use that tool?"

Kanetsugu curiously crowded around Sasuke.

Sasuke: "This is something I recently developed, the Sticks-to-Anything Tape."

Sasuke: "It's a strong adhesive applied to a sturdy strip of paper."

(He's saying this so casually.)

Mai: "You can even make things like that? As expected from you, Sasuke!"

Sasuke: "Thank you; I have my background in astrophysics to thank."

Sasuke: "By the way, I originally came up with this at Yukimura's request to keep Lord Shingen from stealing sweets. Though that plan ended up being scrapped."

(Better not to wonder how he planned to stop Shingen with it.)

Sasuke: "Lord Hideyoshi, could you hold this for me?"

Hideyoshi: "Hmm? Like this?"

Sasuke: "Thanks. Kanetsugu, you hold that side."

Kanetsugu: "Why me? Hey, isn't it a bit off? Measure it precisely."

Sasuke: "Understood. Trying to minimize the area to avoid damaging a national treasure painting is tricky."

Kanetsugu: "Then, Keiji, you lend a hand too."

Keiji: "Alrighty!"

Masamune: "Need my help as well?"

Kanetsugu: "One-Eyed Dragon, I didn't say you could step into my view."

Masamune: "No need to be so wary."

Kanetsugu: "Don't speak to me so casually."

(I'm definitely not imagining Kanetsugu giving Masamune that glare.)

Hideyoshi: "Mitsuhide, stop grinning over there and help."

Mitsuhide: "Sorry, but I'm far too busy cheering you on."

Hideyoshi: "You're obviously just relaxing."

Mitsunari: "Then I'll help. I just need to put the adhesive here, right?"

Ieyasu: "Great, now I've got that thing on my sleeve. Don't touch me, and don't come near me!"

(Oh no! Ieyasu's kimono is all messed up.)

Still, the work somehow progressed, and Sasuke wiped the sweat from his forehead when he finished applying the tape.

Sasuke: "Phew, I managed to fix it somehow, thanks to everyone's help."

Kanetsugu: "The strength looks sufficient."

(I'd heard Kanetsugu's name many times as Kenshin's brilliant retainer, but…)

This was my first time meeting him in person.

(He looks so unapproachable, but since I finally got to meet him, I should introduce myself.)

Mai: "Kanetsugu, nice to meet you. My name's Mai."

As I stepped closer and extended my hand, Kanetsugu coldly avoided it.

Kanetsugu: "I haven't yet acknowledged you."

Mai: "W-What?"

(Hasn't acknowledged me?)

Startled by his harsh words, I returned his gaze, looking into his purple eyes.

Mai: "Could you tell me why? If I've made a mistake, I'll correct it."

Kanetsugu: "Hmph."

Kanetsugu: "I have no intention of accepting that you've become the lover of Lord Kenshin."

(That's the reason?)

(Wait, no, that's really unreasonable!)

Kenshin: "Kanetsugu."

Kanetsugu: "I apologize. Please forgive my immaturity in questioning my lord's thoughts."

Kanetsugu bowed his head quietly under Kenshin's low reprimanding voice.

Nobunaga: "Oh, so the strategist of Uesugi isn't fond of Mai?"

Hideyoshi: "What's wrong with our Mai? Go on, say it!"

Masamune: "We can't just let someone like him be around Mai, can we?"

Ieyasu: "Masamune, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Mitsuhide: "If you don't find this amusing, there's something wrong with you."

The warlords exchanged light banter, but their gazes were intimidating, creating a tense atmosphere.

Mitsunari: "Lord Kanetsugu, Lady Mai is a wonderful person."

Keiji: "I just met her, but I think so too."

Sasuke: "Everyone in the Oda army, you're all being overly protective; ahem, I mean, please calm down."

(He said overly protective.)

Sasuke: "To put it simply, Kanetsugu worships Lord Kenshin, so it doesn't matter who becomes his lover."

Sasuke: "He doesn't particularly dislike Mai, so please understand that."

(I've heard rumors about his devotion.)

(Apparently, Kanetsugu's loyalty is absolute; he's been completely devoted to Kenshin since he was young.)

Kanetsugu: "You're saying unnecessary things."

Facing the disgruntled Kanetsugu, Sasuke nonchalantly pushed up the bridge of his glasses.

Sasuke: "Kanetsugu is just being Kanetsugu."

Sasuke: "He's not a mother-in-law who refuses to accept a bride based on personal feelings."

Kenshin: "Bride, huh? That has a nice ring to it. Say it again."

Kenshin pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

Kenshin: "You think so too, don't you, Mai?"

#ikesen translations #ikemen sengoku #ikesen jp #ikesen #ikesen kenshin #kenshin uesugi #cybird #otome

66 notes · View notes

obessedwithfictionalmen · 11 months ago

Text

I'll come pick it up after pt.4

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: The morning of the mission, Bucky becomes overprotective of HIS nurse.

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ Swearing/ insults/ blood/ violence/ use of Y/n/ crying/

Word count: 1,8k

When they both went to sleep that night, they kept thinking about what just happened in the woman’s office. They almost had sex, in her office. Bucky was thinking about her hand on his crotch, and his hand on her breast. And he kept thinking about the fact that she put his hand there. His jacket had her scent, it drove him mad. Buck was apologizing for interrupting them, he felt bad. ‘’Buck, I told you many times, it’s okay. You’re right, I have to sleep. I’m not mad at you, and I don’t think Y/n’s mad either’’ he said to his friend. ‘’So, Elodie, uh, what did you say to her?’’ they talked about the young nurse, how Buck was nervous to talk to her, but he went anyway.

Y/n was tossing and turning, she couldn’t sleep. Egan’s touch was still in her mind, she couldn’t get him off her mind. So, she got up, she was dress in her night gown. She put a vest on top of it, so if she got cold, she could have something to warm her up. She made her way to the kitchen, to take an apple and something non alcoholic to drink. When she entered the kitchen, there was a light on. Curious, she made her way to the light, cautiously she announced herself. ‘’Hello?’’ a voice responded. She entered the kitchen to find Harry Crosby. ‘’Oh, Harry, it’s you.’’ She said relived. ‘’Didn’t mean to scare you, what are you doing up at this time?’’ he asked. ‘’Can’t sleep, you?’’ ‘’Same thing’’ they both smiled at each other. ‘’I saw you, at the party, but you were busy with Egan, I didn’t want to interrupt’’ he starts. ‘’How are you adapting to the base?’’ he asks. ‘’It’s fine, the girls are amazing, and the soldiers are, welcoming.’’ She smiled at the last word she pronounced. ‘’I heard that you got the eyes of Egan. Is that why you were with him all night’’ Y/n chuckles and blush a little. Crosby’s eyes went on the necklace she was wearing. ‘’And why you’re wearing his necklace, what’s going on between the two of you?’’ She looked at her friend. ‘’Honestly, Croz, I have no idea. I just know that there’s a tension between us and yeah.’’ She spoke. For the record, she had no idea what her relationship with Bucky was. ‘’Just be careful, he’s a lady’s men’’ he warned her. ‘’Trust me, I know that, but thank you for caring.’’ She was thankful for Harry Crosby. When he came in her office for the first time, it was because he kept vomiting when he was in the air. After that, he came back to tell her that the medicine she gave him, worked. They kept talking, but they were great friends, since he was married, Y/n didn’t have to worry about him making a move on her.

Y/n woke up at 4:30 am, she and her nurse had to make breakfast for the soldiers. She put on her blue uniform, her hair was still in the braid crown from yesterday, so she kept it that way. When the nurses came in the kitchen, they were surprised to see Gale Cleven already there. Elodie smiled at him, Meatball, as usual, went to see Y/n. ‘’Hi doggie! How are you!’’ she petted the animal, while his owner came towards her. ‘’Good morning, Y/n, can I speak with you?’’ he asked. ‘’Sure, just give me one minute, I need to tell the girls the menu’’ she instructed the girls what to do and went to speak to Buck. They seated at an empty table. ‘’What are you doing up, this early?’’ ‘’I want to apologize for yesterday, for interrupting you and Bucky. What you guys were doing is none of my business, and I just wanted to apologize’’ The girl smiled, the men in front of her looked nervous. ‘’Thank you for apologizing, but don’t worry, Bucky is a soldier, he must have a good night of sleep before a mission. I’m not mad at you’’ she reassured Buck. He looked relived. ‘’Can you look after Meatball when we’re not here? And I promise to look after Bucky’’ he extended his hand, to make it official. She smiled and shook his hand.

The boys were starting to come in to get their breakfast. Y/n was supervising her girls, making sure everything was okay, that none of the soldiers were mean to them. ‘’I told you, my food is cold, bitch!’’ a soldier yelled at one of the nurses. Y/n quickly came at the scene. ‘’What’s going on, private?’’ She said to the soldier, behind her counter. ‘’God can any of those cunts hear me! MY FOOD IS COLD’’ He yelled, getting everyone’s attention in the cafeteria. ‘’Go help Daisy, I got this Mary’’ she told the nurse that was getting yelled at. She took a deep breath and than, looked at the men straight in the eyes. ‘’First of all, don’t ever disrespect my girls like that, we volunteered, just like you. Geeting yelled at by pricks like you wasn’t in the contract.’’ The men tried to talk, but Y/n shushed him. ‘’Second of all, we serve dozens of men, the portions are already made, you just got one that we made early this morning. If you ask nicely, maybe I can personally warm it up for you.’’ She tried to be nice, but he was getting on his nerves.

The men yelling caught the attention of every soldier. Including John Egan’s attention. His back was facing the scene, so he didn’t see that it was Y/n getting yelled at. ‘’I won’t ask nicely, isn’t it in your contract to serve warm food, bitch’’ He was speaking loudly, but since the room went quiet, everyone could hear the altercation. ‘’Isn’t it basic manners to speak nicely at a woman.’’ Y/n responded quietly. ‘’God this nurse doesn’t let him be mean to her’’ Bucky whispered to his friends. ‘’Isn’t it your nurse?’’ Curt stated, pointing at the nurse. Bucky turned around to see HIS nurse, getting yelled at by the men. He was about to get up, but Buck put a hand on his shoulder, to stop him from getting up he didn't want his friend to get in trouble. Plus Y/n looked like she handled the men by herself. Every man in the room was watching the scene. ‘’What did you say to me, skank’’ The angry men spat in the face of the chief nurse. ‘’Do you want your warm meal, or not?’’ The men took his plate and threw it at Y/n, the plate broke on the glass, but a piece went at her, cutting her on the cheek. Egan wanted to rip his head off, he hurt his nurse. ‘’Congratulation, you lost your meal, and you’re gonna get arrested for assault. Have a good day sir’’ she said as the military police arrested the men. ‘’Everyone goes back to your plates!’’ one of the Corporal said. Egan quickly got up and went to the medic center, which was next door, to see if she was okay.

Y/n was holding a tissue to her cheek, to stop the bleeding. She was still in shook of what just happened. How could’ve stayed so calm? Her head was down, she was just feeling so many emotions at the time. She heard the door open. ‘’I’ll give you my statement after I clean my wound’’ she said to the military police. ‘’I don’t need your statement, darling, I was there’’ Bucky said as she raised her head to look at him. He approached her, getting closer to her, he could see the food on her skirt, the blood on her shirt and her eyes, full of tears. ‘’I’m okay, really, it was nothing’’ she said, her voice breaking down. ‘’Let’s go in your office, it’ll be quieter’’ he proposed. She nodded, following him to her office. Where they were last night, but there wasn’t any tension in the air now. Bucky was angry, this dick had hurt his girl. As soon as the door was closed, she started crying. ‘’I don’t even know why I’m crying. He got arrested and I only have a small cut. I’m okay, really’’ she said with a lump in her throat, she didn’t want to appear vulnerable in front of him. ‘’Let me look, darling’’ ‘’Bucky, I’m okay, go back to your friends’’ she tries to push him away. ‘’Not until you’re okay. Do you need a hug?’’ She nodded and he opened his arms, Y/n came closer to him. She cried in his arms as he reassured her, telling her that everything was going to be okay, that she was safe with him. When she felt better, she took the tissue off her wound, Bucky didn’t know anything about medicine, but he got her what she said she needed and help her, the best he could. ‘’Now, can you give me a smile, darling’’ she smiled to him, it wasn’t a forced smile, she was happy that he was here. ‘’I’m leaving for my mission soon, but when I come back, I’m going to get my necklace back, keep it safe from pirates’’ Bucky joked. Again, she laughed. ‘’Don’t ask anyone to punch you in the face this time’’ she adds, this time, Egan’s laughing. ‘’Be careful out there, come back in one piece’’ she seriously said. He nodded and kissed the top of her head. ‘’Kiss me, before you leave, please’’ He did as she asked and kissed her. There weren’t any sexual tensions, they were kissing because she asked him to do so, because even if they don’t want to admit it to each other, this might be the last time they see each other. ‘’I’m serious, Major, come back to me’’ she said as he left the room. ‘’Promise’’ he said before going back to his friends.

It was the time for him to leave, she went to the runway with other nurses. Crosby ran to her, she had to give him medicine, but he wanted to know if she was okay. ‘’Oh, my lord, Y/n are you oaky?’’ he hugged her. As he broke the hug, he looked at her face. ‘’Nothing I can’t fix, here’s your medicine Croz, be careful’’ She handed him the pills. Harry took the pills and left. Bucky and Buck walked towards her. ‘’Are you alright?’’ Buck asked. She nodded. ‘’More scared than hurt’’ she said. ‘’Meatball’s coming, hold on I’ll get him’’ Buck says as he leaves. ‘’No sad stuff. Just think about the cross around my neck’’ she said. ‘’I will darling, I’ll come back, and we can continue where we left off last night.’’ She blushed and chuckled. She gently hit his shoulder, indicating him to go in his plane. Bucky winked at you before getting inside. Buck gave you Meatball. ‘’Don’t forget your part of the deal’’ she said, getting a nod from Buck. He swore to protect his best friend, that’s what he was going to do, until Bucky was back in her arms.

Part 5⬇️

#master of the air imagine #major john egan #john egan x female reader #john egan x reader #john egan #master of the air #austin butler #gale cleven #harry crosby #meatball

221 notes · View notes

dazed--xx · 8 months ago

Text

🌘Rewriting Destiny (teaser) 🌒

Member: Duke! Chan x reader

Word count: 813

Trigger warnings: ANGST, Death (FL), psychological, trauma, poisoning, parental neglect/abuse, arranged marriage, anxiety, Nobility, engagement at a young age, regression, murder, revenge, mentions of magic, PTSD, manipulation, regretful ML, Resentment, betrayal, classism, 17th century ideals, homophobia(mentions), SOME!historical accuracy, LOTS! of historical inaccuracies, BREAK UP!, grief, mourning, denial, failure to let go, etc…

A/N: so I'm still transferring this story from my notebook onto tumblr but I wanted to get y'all excited for the new story so here is a little teaser of the story and don't worry its not too big of a spoiler 😂🤪

The family she had married into had lost use for her...

Y/Ns blood ran cold as she came to the realization. The move to the annex, the maids becoming more and more ruthless, and the lack of guards around her annex becoming more frequent. Her time is slowly coming to an end. She wondered if there was a point to all of this. Would there be a point in running? Her mother would hunt her down and skin her alive if she did. ‘Die a respected Dutchess rather than run and be a divorced beggar’ she could hear her mother say. Y/N watches as the blue clear sky fades into a bright purple and orange hue.

A knock on her door pulls her attention away from her thoughts. “Yes?” She calls monotonously. “The Duke is in the receiving room, My lady.” Area calls softly. Y/N's eyebrows furrow in confusion. “My lady?” Area calls once again when she doesn't reply. “I-Im coming! I apologize, Aera.” Y/N replies as she shakily lifts herself from her seat. The whole walk to the receiving room Y/N worried.

Why was he here? He's never visited of his own accord. What could be happening? Would he cast her out himself? A petite hand grips her own pulling her out of her thoughts. Y/N stares at the owner, as Aera gives her a comforting smile. Y/N lets out a sigh, the butler pulls open the door. She hesitates for a moment, it had been a year—one full year, since she had last seen her husband. A lot could change in a single year. She feared how her husband had changed; it was never good for her. She entered the room, her heart sank into her stomach. There he sat, at the head of the room. A flurry of maids standing about waiting on baited breath for his every command. His hair was no longer the clean-cut style but overgrown, sitting raggedly over his forehead and disheveled. Evidence of his bath dripping onto his loose black shirt. He sat a scowl on his plush lips as he sipped his tea. “To what do I owe the honor, Your grace?” Y/N questioned monotonously. “Should I have a reason to visit my dear wife?” He states smugly as he places his tea on the table in front of him. “Especially when I do not receive her greetings after a year-long monster-hunting expedition and come to discover she no longer lives in the same house as me?” Y/N stares at him in bewilderment and confusion. “Your grace?” She stammered “Please, take a seat” He gestured to the loveseat in front of him, his face no longer containing any emotion.

Y/N sits nervously as she begins to question her husband. “I apologize, but what do you mean? I’ve received your letter and followed your instructions.” Chan furrowed his eyebrows as his ears perked up “What letter?” Y/N's attention is pulled away from him by the slight clink of a teacup being placed on the table in front of her. Y/N's eyes remained focused on the maid for a moment, she couldn't quite put her finger on it but something felt…off. “Have you gone deaf in the past 5 minutes?” Chan questions frustratedly. Y/N shakes her head taking hold of the teacup and taking a sip. “No, I apologize. I've not been feeling well today” Y/N states calmly. Her throat begins to feel a small burning sensation. “What letter? When did you receive a letter from me?” Chan asks stoically. Y/N coughs slightly “My apologies, I received your letter about one months time ago” She takes another sip of tea trying to alleviate the growing discomfort. Chan stares at her with his eyebrows raised “And you are sure it was addressed from me?” her throat begins to burn incessantly. Her eyes widen as her mouth fills with a coppery tast as she coughs again.

“My lady?!?!” Area exclaims worriedly “Y/N?!”

Only then does Y/N make the connection. The maid—She works in the main manor, and she’s Kari’s personal maid. Y/N stares at the teacup in her hand, dropping it in a panic. Her eyes meet Chan’s for a moment. He sat stoically, but his eyes never once left her. Y/N rushes to her feet, reaching out for her personal maid “Aera!” She calls. Her tone gurgles and hoarse as crimson cascades out of her mouth. Her legs give way beneath her as she feels arms around her. The room begins to grow blurry as she feels the life fading from her body.

No…No not yet, please God! Don't let me die! I didn't get away…I-I was never happy please! She prays God please let me be happy. “If I could do it all over again…Id have never married you. My biggest regret was walking down that aisle…” She croaks as everything fades to black.

Taglist: @yangbbokari @lovesunshinefelix @oddracha @msauthor @azazelstays @rylea08 @skzfelixlove @blondechannie @moonchildlv @kibs-and-bits @5starlee @pnutbutter-n-j-elyy @lizzetmv @hwanriri

#skz angst #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids reactions #bang chan au #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #stray kids bang chan #skz bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan historical Au #skz chan angst #skz chan scenarios #skz chan teaser

94 notes · View notes

another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

Text

KARASU x gn!Reader 1k Words | NSFW | Making Out | Dry Humping | Marking -> Prompt: “You don’t know how long I waited for that.” [ 2K Event Masterlist ]

When you wanted to have a relaxing date night with Karasu, he invited you to his home. It was in a quiet part of the Devildom, close enough to the House of Lamentation that he could walk you home after, but far enough way that it felt more intimate.

The added benefit of Karasu's home was his lack of roommates. The brothers were far too nosy and demanding of your attention for his liking, and it set his nerves on edge. He couldn't relax knowing at least one of them was hovering nearby.

Since the early days of your friendship, he compiled a list of human world television shows and movies that you liked or recommended. He used his contacts at Akuzon to special order the titles that weren't technically available for sale, and he had a substantial collection waiting for you to choose from when you visited.

He preferred the historical dramas best. He found sci-fi movies equally amusing and frustrating; he giggled at the dated special effects and rolled his eyes at the technical inaccuracies. He was indifferent to musicals and animated films, but he watched them if you wanted to watch them.

He insisted (like always) that you pick tonight’s film. Afterwards, there’s an empty chip bowl on the table and the credits are rolling quietly in the background. He turned off the lights before he put the movie on. You're both bathed in the static glow of his television and the moonlight trickling in through the windows. One of his arms is draped over your shoulders and you're both smiling and pretending that neither of you are misty-eyed after that particularly tragic ending.

"I've seen this movie a dozen times and it still makes me cry," you admit with a laugh as you wipe away the tears stinging your lash line.

"I'm not usually this affected by films, but despite it's sad ending, I found the movie overall was very enjoyable," he admits quietly. He pulls you closer and sighs against your temple.

Normally this is the point in the evening where he announces it's time to get ready so he can walk you home, but neither of you want to move. There's a slow realization that you've built something of a routine together, and it gets more difficult each time you have to say goodbye.

You know if you stay too late, one (or some) of the brothers will make a fuss about it. You’re not sure what they’re concerned about. You're still enjoying the shy intimacy of your relationship with Karasu and the most you've done together is share sweet, chaste kisses when you found moments alone together, but—

"I like having you here," he whispers. His quiet confession feels shockingly loud, or maybe you feel that way because he's admitting to you what you're too shy to say to him.

His hand rests on the cushion between you, and you cover it with your own. He still hasn't looked at you properly, but you can tell when he shifts his gaze to your fingers that slowly stroke his. You're not sure if you're trying to comfort him or tease him or invite him, but when he finally looks up, there's something hopeful shining in his dark eyes.

He makes a soft sound when your lips meet, and your noses brush together when you try to slot your mouth more comfortably against his. The kiss is hardly scandalous—it’s not desperate or sloppy, and you're not trying to curl your tongue with his own—but heat still blooms inside you. You don't even realize you're whimpering into the kiss until he pulls back and gasps your name.

He stares at you so intensely that you think you've overstepped, but he cups your cheek before you can look away and utter an apology.

"You don't know how long I waited for this," he murmurs. He licks his lips and you subconsciously mirror the movement; he stares at your tongue and you watch his throat bob when he swallows.

He surprises you when he leans forward. You expect him to kiss you again, but he moves shockingly fast; he swings his leg over your lap and when you blink, he's straddling your legs and leaning forward on his hands. You're caged between his arms and you can hear his fingers clench the leathery material of his couch on either side of your head.

When he finally comes to some sort of decision, he pushes away from the couch and leans back slightly. The shy, hesitant demon you know seems to fade into someone more confident, more sure of what he wants. He slips his glasses off the bridge of his nose and folds them carefully before he tosses them aside. He rolls his shoulders and you're awestruck when his wings unfurl behind him. They surround you like a black feathered veil, and all you can see is him.

His crimson pupils seem to glow in the darkness; they draw closer when he leans his face towards you again, and his chest just barely presses against your own. His fingers hover over your cheeks and he strokes them so gently with his fingertips like he's still in awe of you.

"We have a bit more time," he says thickly, and his voice is rougher and deeper than you've ever heard it. Your hand curls around the back of his head so you can tangle your fingers in his hair, and when his mouth crashes against yours, the kiss can only be described as hungry. His movements are unskilled and rushed at first, but the slick glide of his mouth moving against your own grows more confident, more daring, and you swallow each other's desperate sounds.

He cradles your head so gently, even when his hips start grinding down against you. He moans against the skin of your neck when he licks at your pulse point and dares to leave a little mark there for you to find tomorrow. You roll your hips against his to find friction to take the edge off your own blazing arousal. His gaze turns predatory and you move together in the feathery darkness he made for you.

By the time he walks you back to the House of Lamentation nearly an hour later, both your lips are kiss-swollen and desire still surges like a current between you.

(He had to change his pants when he slid off your lap; you were too embarrassed to admit that your thighs were warm and sticky from his ministrations too, but part of you liked it. The satisfied tilt to his smirk when he bid you goodnight gave you the impression that he liked it as much as you did.)

#obey me #obey me fanfiction #obey me karasu #karasu x reader #gn!reader #obey me x reader #obey me smut #obey me oc #my oc: karasu #jes.2k event

461 notes · View notes

stellabk · 29 days ago

Text

FVRY OF THE FIRE

Part III

Hi! So I completely forgot to mention I was going to start by posting every other day since this time of year at work is CRAZY. I still hope all of you enjoy the story when I do post it, and yeah I think that’s all. Enjoy!

Summary - Deianira has sulked in her room in the days leading up to her wedding, worrying everyone of the court, her sister, and even the Emperor she is meant to marry.

Warning(s) - verbal abuse, shouting, throwing things, historical inaccuracy; please let me know if their are any warnings I missed or grammar mistakes

The few days leading up to the wedding, parties were held in the grand hall, though Deianira did not attend. She was sure that Emperor Geta would send soldiers to knock down the door and carry her there against her will, or maybe even would’ve done it himself, yet she still sat in her room, only leaving to go to the bathhouse with Aelia. Her sister had come to visit her the night she had not attended the first celebration, finding Deia in the bed unmoving. Publia instructed servants to bring her meals and told them she was ill.

Now, here she was yet again, lying in the plush bed with fresh, soft linens and looking up at the mosaic covered ceiling. Aelia entered, not even earning a startled jump from her mistress.

”I have brought your lunch, Empre- Deianira,” she corrected herself. Upon being told that Deia was ill—though even she knew she was well—she brought her breakfast and called her empress. Deia had stood to her feet and was shouting that she would never be empress, though she did apologize profusely to Aelia after realizing she was taking it all out on her only companion other than family.

“Leave it. I wish to be alone before I walk the aisle toward my demise,”

”Miss Deia, it can’t be all that bad. Being married to the emperor gives you so much freedom, your children shall be legitimate, and not to mention they will one day inherit the throne.”

”You wouldn’t understand, Lia, and I would not expect you to.”

Aelia sat on the bed, facing her future ruler. Her red hair appeared on fire in the sunlight that shone through. “It might surprise you just how much I understand.”

Deia looked at her, Aelia now noticing the puffiness of her eyes, so red they matched her hair.

“You know, malady, I was once married.” Aelia smiled at her hands resting in her lap, not noticing the shock on Deia’s face as she shot to sit up. “He was lovely. We were of no nobility, but I was given the liberty of choosing my own marriage. I had two beautiful sons as well.”

”What happened to them?” Deia grew closer to her companion, scooping up her hands in her own and holding them tightly.

”He was taken from me. I shall spare you the details, but he passed, and once my sons were of age, they wished to avenge their father. They were met with the same fate.”

Aelia wiped a stray tear, Deia still cradling her hands and stroking her knuckles in comfort.

”I should not burden a woman with such woe the night before she is to be married. Would you like to go to the bathhouse? We have new imported oils to use for your wedding… a gift from Emperor Geta.”

“I suppose since I am trapped, I may as well appreciate the gifts I have been given.”

Deia sat in the warm water, running her hand over the top to create ripples that distorted her figure below the surface. Aelia washed her hair with a pomegranate and fig soaps and oils to signify female fertility and long lasting commitment.

”I was in love like you once,” Deia broke through the silence. Aelia continued to wash the long red hair that had darkened from the moisture. “He promised that we would be wed after… after everything in my village began to quiet itself.”

”What was he like?”

”He was kind. He had brown eyes, though one was blinded and scarred from fighting to protect me once while we were still young. He grew to be so strong, as well. He was… everything a woman hears of in stories.”

”He sounds marvelous, my lady. I understand now… I am sorry that you are not with the man you wished for, but perhaps you will fall for the Imperator in time.”

No other words were said between the two of them, but it had been enough. Geta had heard tell that his future wife had left for the bathhouse and though he would never voice his concerns, he did grow worried about her. When he had arrived, Deianira had began talking about her love lost back home. He fumed, not moving as he clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms and blood dripped onto the marble floor.

”Imperator, are you alright? Do you wish to return to your room?” His servant cowered behind him, praying to the Gods that he would agree and they could both avoid the altercation. His prayers were in vain, as Geta pushed the door open, hitting it against the wall and letting the sound reverberate though the bathhouse.

”Oh, so sorry to startle you, wife, I thought you would still be in bed.”

”well, I am feeling much better with Aelia’s care. I can take my leave and give you the bathhouse for the rest of the afternoon,” she shifted to rise while Aelia used a linen to guard her from the emperor’s gaze, but he held up his hand.

”Nonsense. We are to be married; it is no concern of mine if you were to stay. In fact, I insist.”

Deia nodded, sinking back into the water as Aelia refolded the linen and resumed scrubbing the lady’s hair.

“Although I understand that you wish to spend your days in the bathhouse with another man of much lower standing. It does not suit such an important standing woman as yourself.”

”I don’t know what you are referring to, imperator. I am to be your wife, whether I wish it or not,” she brought her knees to her chest to shield what little of her figure he may see through the water.

”There’s no need to lie to me, Deia. I am emperor and must hear all the voices of Rome and their woes,” his jaw ticked as he splayed his arms out against the side of the pool.

”I assure you, I have no need to lie to the man I am to marry.”

He stared at her with blooming fury, using his hard gaze like he usually had to make people cower and confess, but it only made him angrier that she was an exact mirror. The silence was thick enough to cut with shears, and the servants’ movements were tense at the interaction.

”I was beginning to wonder what ailment had fallen upon you. You have not been to a single celebration in honor of our engagement, and yet here I find you, being pampered like a most loved pet. With the fineries I bought you, no less.”

”I am quite alright. I was not feeling my best, but I shall be ready for tomorrow. Do not fret too much about me,” she didn’t look at him as she continued playing in the water as if it were far more intriguing than he was. Aelia had finished washing long ago, but she could not bring herself to interrupt the emperor in fear of losing her head.

”Are you quite sure you’re ready? You must be certain. After all, if you discover you are not, and I catch wind of any infidelity on your part, even just a man looking at you, I shall cut their tongues out and serve it to you before locking you in my bedchambers for the rest of my life, little snake.”

”You believe me to be a whore? I am offended you would call your soon-to-be wife something so sinister, emperor. I shall be faithful, as this marriage is at least legitimate, whether I were to love you or not.”

Aelia held up the linen, letting Deianira climb out of the water shielded, before wrapping her and fastening her dress just to wear back to the room.

”Forgive me for my departure, emperor, but I must go prepare for our wedding tomorrow,” she bowed to him, eyes cold as she stared at him the entire time. “I shall see you tomorrow at the altar.”

Deia’s hair had been dry for some time now as she twisted the glossy red waves around her finger and took in the new scent. She sat in the small chair in the corner next to the ornate mirror, picking up her hairbrush and combing it through as she stared at a shell of herself looking back.

The door swung open, Geta marching toward her. As soon as she looked toward him, he was right in front of her, snatching the brush from her hands and throwing it against the mirror causing it to shatter and pieces to fly across the floor. She dared not to flinch and show that he frightened her or he may become more hostile.

”You dare embarrass me like that!” He shouted in her face as she stared at him with the same lifeless eyes she had given him earlier.

”How did I do such a thing, emperor?”

“You have not been to a single celebration. You made excuses that you were unwell that made people worry for you, when really you were sulking,” he spit the last word. “You lied right to my face about what I overheard just outside the bathhouse, and in front of the help, no less. I should have you confined to my room for the rest of your days!”

“I pray you do! I have been ill: I have been sick of the idea that I must marry you of all people. I wish to be home instead of being forced to marry someone like you!”

”My little snake, your insolence knows no bounds. I would give you all you could ask for and it still would not be satiable for you, would it? I have tried to be gentle with you, dear, but it is hard for me to believe that anyone could ever have loved you!”

Deia stood her ground, but she felt choked. Her eyes and throat began to burn as she held back her bitterness for the words

“It is hard for me to believe that anyone could ever love you!”

Geta faltered at the sight, her brown eyes staring at him angrily as they glassed over. He felt the pang in his chest and couldn’t comprehend its origins. He pulled his face back to stone, not letting her see that her emotion caused him to stumble before he walked out the room briskly, slamming the door behind him and rattling Deia’s insides.

#emperor geta x fem reader #emperor geta x female reader #emperor geta fanfic #emperor geta fanfiction #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #gladiator ii smut #gladiator 2 smut #gladiator ll #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #joeseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn

28 notes · View notes

ssinnerplazahotel · 5 months ago

Text

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Ten*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC: 8k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, toxic elvis, manipulation, drug use, it’s the 50s/60s, painful-difficult-devastating-life-changing-extraordinary love

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Disclaimer: full of inaccuracies, inaccurate timeline, inaccurate depictions of Graceland, historically inaccurate themes and items

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Graceland hadn’t changed—not upon first glance anyway. There were several unfamiliar faces but amongst the bunch there was Dawn and Cynthia. No longer serving at the pleasure of The Presley’s but there to welcome you back to town after your brief MIA stint.

You hugged Dawn enthusiastically. She was thrilled to see you and Joel—you had talked several times but nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“How’d this happen?” She asked, referring to you and Joel as you sat next to her at the dining table.

“It just happened.”

“I followed her around until she agreed to marry me. She refuses to tell anybody that story.”

“Well look what the cat done dragged in.” Sonny appeared suddenly—Jerry and Red trailing along. “Just as ugly as the day he left.”

Joel stood to greet them before re-introducing you. “My lady.”

“My lady, I hate to steal your gentleman, but we have unfinished business to attend,” Red said, throwing an arm over Joel’s shoulder.

He started to say he couldn’t but you reassured him that it was fine.

“I’ll come check on you, I promise,” He said as they dragged him away.

You sighed after he was gone. “They’ve been up all night. I don’t know how they manage.”

“They manage.” Dawn chuckled. “So, how have things been? How’s Atlanta?”

“Busy,” You responded.

Dawn hummed, glancing past you for a moment before speaking again in a lower voice. “Why’d you come back?”

“Elvis invited us.”

“Things seem to be going well, you and Joel seem happy.”

“We are happy.”

“You don’t think being back here will stir things up? I mean knowing what we all know…”

You knew exactly what Dawn was saying. You hated that she was choosing to be the voice of reason instead of being happy to see you.

“Joel begged me to come, I didn’t want to. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I am. But I don't want Joel to get hurt.”

“What about me?”

Cynthia appeared again, this time with Andrea. You froze for a moment but recovered quickly and forced a smile.

“Well well well." She grinned—she was as radiant as the last time you saw her. "Look who finally decided to show her face in these parts again."

"Andrea.” You stood to hug her.

"Mhm," She hummed, hugging you back. "I don’t appreciate you skipping town and never calling me again. You get too busy in the city and forget all about us?”

“No, I just…I was going through a lot,” You said. “I’m sorry.”

“I might be able to forgive you.” She took a seat at the dining table. “What’s this I hear about you marrying a white man? What’s the point if you’re only gonna be married in 19 states?”

“Drea,” Cynthia complained.

“Joel from Hawaii, right?”

“You remember him?” You asked.

“Yeah, he’s cute.” She took your hand and examined your ring. “Did you guys run away together or something?”

“No,” You laughed. “We ran into each at a restaurant.”

“Wow. If you bothered to call me at all I’d know these things.”

You started to apologize again but you were interrupted by Elvis’ voice as he approached the table.

“How are my girls doin?” He asked, walking past you to Dawn. He kissed her cheek and then Cynthia’s before leaning on the back of an empty chair. “Andrea.”

“Elvis,” She said—looking off with a bored expression.

“It’s been a long time,” He said, he seemed to enjoy the fact that she despised him.

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner,” She started. “I was waiting for a good hair day.”

He laughed shortly before his eyes found yours. You averted your eyes. He spoke again, addressing the table. “If y’all need anything you can let Nancy know, she don’t mind. And don’t let the guys bother you, they’re outta their minds.”

Cynthia and Dawn laughed, agreeing that they were indeed crazy. When he finally walked away his hand rested on your shoulder as he passed, sending a jolt down your spine. When you looked up Dawn’s eyes were on you—so were Cynthia’s. You felt like a spectacle.

“Somebody outta take him down a notch,” Andrea said with an annoyed eye roll.

“What’s he ever done to you?” Cynthia laughed. “Keep on blocking your blessings like that.”

“Oh, mama.”

“Don’t ‘oh mama’ me.”

You smiled as they bickered—they hadn’t changed.

Andrea snagged you from the table and the two of you walked around outside. You spent most of the afternoon catching up before she had to eventually take Cynthia home.

“I wish you could stay,” You said, hugging her. “They’ll probably be out all night.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Andrea said. “But I have an appointment tomorrow morning. Divorce court starts early.”

“I’m so sorry, Drea.”

“It’s for the best. We didn’t want to wait until we hated each other to get it over with.”

“I’m glad you’re in a good place about it.”

“Anyway, I have some errands to run.”

“I understand.” You smiled. “I promise I’ll call. Even if it’s every once in a while.”

“You better,” She said. “I mean it. I want to know what’s going on with you. And don’t forget to send me an invite to the wedding.”

Dawn left with Cynthia and Andrea. She didn’t bring up your brief conversation from earlier but you could tell by her expression that she still felt the same. She had no faith in you. You figured if you could go on avoiding him like you had been, the weekend would go by seamlessly.

You guys were put in the spare room upstairs—your old room. It felt like some kind of inside joke when Jerry helped Joel carry your things up.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, just downstairs.”

You forced a smiled in an attempt to hide your disappointment. “You’re gonna be out late, then?”

“No, probably not.” You wondered why he lied. “What?”

You noticed that you’d let your smile drop a bit. “Nothing.”

Joel gave you a look and stepped forward to wrap his arms around your waist. “Let me have it.”

“It’s just that…I’ll hardly see you this weekend and we’re going straight to Virginia afterwards so you’ll be wrapped up with work~”

“Oh, about that,” He started suddenly. “I talked to Bibby and he needs me to head down earlier than I expected.”

“Really?”

“I tried to get out of it, but you know how he is. He said he would let me leave early if I came ahead of time so I’m gonna head down in the morning and get it out the way before the weekend’s over.”

“When are we leaving?”

“I was gonna go tonight and meet you back here Saturday. I figured you could go spend some time with Dawn, she seemed happy when I told her you’d be over tomorrow.”

“You aren’t going to ask me how I feel about any of this?”

“I thought you’d be happy.”

All you wanted was to tell him to call everything off and take you home—but you didn’t want to ruin his time. You could get through the rest of the night, then you’d be able to escape to Dawn’s house.

“Hello?”

“Birdie?”

You froze when you heard his voice coming through the receiver. Your first instinct was to slam the phone back on the hook. You stared at it until it rang again, startling you when it did. You hesitated before picking it up again.

“Joel’s not here,” You said, moving to hang the phone up again.

“Don’t hang up,” Elvis said quickly.

“He already left.”

“I-I didn’t call to talk to Joel, honey, I called to talk to you.”

“You can’t…” You closed your eyes for a second and sighed. “I shouldn’t be talking to you while he’s not here.”

“Should I call when he gets back?”

“No.”

You heard him laugh on the other line, prompting you to roll your eyes. “You shouldn’t call at all. There’s no reason for you to talk to me.”

“Oh, well, I beg to differ.” He chuckled. “I think we have a lot to talk about, actually.”

“We don’t. I’m engaged.”

“I’m not trying to come between you and Joel.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

You shook your head, falling silent as you tried to quiet the storm you had brewing inside.

“I want to talk to you,” He continued. “Is that alright?”

“No, it’s not.”

“I think you want to talk to me too, birdie.” His voice dropped and was suddenly drained of any humor. “It’s been a long time.”

“It hasn’t been long enough,” You said. “I don’t want to talk to you. I never want to see you again, Elvis. If you can’t understand that~”

“I do understand.”

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?” You asked, frustrated tears threatening to form in your eyes. “I’m happy. I love Joel and I love the life we’re building together.”

“Who are you trying to convince?” He interrupted. “I never said you didn’t.”

“You’re disrupting everything.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

You laid back against your pillow with the phone to your ear. “Just tell me what you want.”

“I want to see you.”

“No.”

Silence settled between the two of you for a moment before he spoke again.

“You don’t have to,” He said. “I want you to, that’s all.”

“I can’t,” You whispered.

“Why?”

“Joel…”

He hummed on the other line, you couldn’t decipher his tone. “Well…I-If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I’m not going to.”

“You don’t have to. I’m glad you came down this weekend anyway. Dawn really misses having you here.”

“Why are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“I’m not, honey.”

There was another beat of silence before the line went dead.

You held the receiver to your ear even after he was gone, listening to the mechanic hum of the dial tone. You checked the clock on the dresser.

Joel would be halfway to his conference by now. He’d get to his hotel and call you by eight like he promised. He’d ask you what you were doing and you’d reassure him you were okay—even though there was nothing he could do if you weren’t. Then he’d talk to you for over an hour, hoping that the lengthy phone call would appease you while he was away. He’d promise to call every chance he got—he always did—before ending the call saying: “I love you, I’ll be thinking of your sweet voice all night.”

To which you would laugh and respond: “I love you too.”

You’d blow him a kiss through the receiver and say goodnight. It was the same routine every time he went away. You knew in your mind that going to see Elvis was a bad idea. You knew the effect he’d have on you—he knew it too.

You hung up the phone and sat up to grab your case of cigarettes from the dresser. You opened the case only to find it empty.

You felt the weight of your decision before you’d even made it. A crushing weight in your chest that only nicotine could combat. It was overwhelmingly unlike you. Despite the guilt already consuming you, you knew your mind was made up before you could talk yourself out of it. There were too many feelings swirling around inside of you, old and new.

You had hoped that, maybe, you could put that part of yourself to rest once and for all by going to see him that night.

You fidgeted anxiously, smoothing down the skirt of your dress as you waited in the deserted hallway. You knocked but grew anxious after waiting a minute or two and raised your hand to knock again. You hesitated before knocking in the same gentle pattern that you had used so many years ago. The door opened almost immediately and you were met with Elvis’ familiar eyes.

“Birdie,” He muttered with what looked like a genuinely shocked expression.

“E,” You said back. Your heart hammered rapidly against your ribcage as you stared back at him. “You weren’t going to leave me standing in the hallway were you?”

“I-I didn’t know it was you.” He chuckled, still shocked by your presence. “Come in.”

You stepped inside the room and watched him close the door. It was silent aside from the tv blaring loudly. The room was dim, lived in but tidy—just like you remembered.

“I didn’t think you’d show.” He walked past you to turn the tv off.

You stood still, fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. For a moment you felt disconnected from yourself and reality. When you looked back at the door you wanted to leave. You shouldn’t have been there.

“Don’t just stand there.”

You met Elvis’ eyes, shaking your head as you tried to process your emotions.

He met you where you stood and slipped his hand into yours. “I wanna talk to you, honey. That’s all.”

He led you over to the bed and kept a decent amount of space between you as you sat down.

“You’re quiet,” He said, shifting to face you. “That’s one thing you never were.”

“You called me here.” You pointed out. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”

“How can I? You’re ice cold.” He smiled as he spoke. “How d’you like Atlanta?”

“It’s alright. We like it.”

“You and Joel?”

“Yes.”

Elvis nodded, his expression growing amused.

“What?” You asked, instantly annoyed.

“Nothing, nothing. You seem different,” He said it as if he knew something you didn’t. He always made you feel like he understood you better than you understood yourself.

“I am different.”

“I can tell.” He looked away. Was he upset by the change he saw in you?

“Tell me what it is you needed to tell me.” You waited for him to respond. “E?”

His smile had faded and his expression was thoughtful now. “I should’ve gone after you.”

You remembered standing in the hall waiting for him the night you left. You remembered the inkling of fragile hope inside of you fizzling into nothing the longer you stood there—waiting for him.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“If I had gone after you, you wouldn’t have stayed?”

“You know I would’ve stayed. I loved you.”

“I loved you too.”

You scoffed lowly, turning your head.

“What was that?” He asked.

“What was what?” You responded.

“That sound you made. You don’t believe me?”

“No, Elvis. I never believed you when you said that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I think you want it to be the truth. But really you only ever said it to make me happy. Not because you meant it.”

“Why can’t you accept the fact that I cared about you?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. “I still care about you.”

“I don’t believe that,” You said. “I think you got what you wanted from me while we were together and that was it.”

“That’s what you want to think, birdie.” He looked upset but he didn’t sound angry. “You tell yourself that because you want to hate me. Because it’s the only thing that makes sense to you~”

“Don’t tell me what I want to think,” You said. “You used me, you know you did.”

“I never used you. I came to you because…” He fell silent, choosing his words carefully.

“Just come out and say it,” You insisted.

“You made me feel good. When I was with you, it was just us. Me and you. No acts, no games. You didn’t expect anything from me, and I didn’t have to worry about you taking advantage. When I talked to you, it felt like you actually gave a shit and I needed that. So if you call that using you, then hell, I guess I fucking used you. That doesn’t change the fact that you were important to me.”

You looked up as you warded off tears. You didn’t want to cry, you’d cried too many nights over him.

“You can hate me.” You tried to pull your hand away but he grabbed it anyway. “You can blame me for everything that went wrong, I don’t care. But don’t tell me I never loved you.”

“Don’t~” You started when he took your face between his hands, trying to avoid his touch.

“I’ve thought about you everyday since you left.” His eyes were intense—desperate and all too familiar. “I ask Dawn about you every time I talk to her~”

“Elvis~”

“You’re always on my mind, birdie. Always.”

Tears welled in your eyes despite your best efforts. You stared into Elvis’ sapphire eyes and shivered with nostalgia.

“There’s no future for us,” You whispered. “It’s not our story, E. You know that.”

“I’m not asking for the future,” He responded. “I’m asking for tonight. One more night.”

He closed the space between you in a tender kiss and the taste of his lips brought on a flood of memories. Memories that flashed in short, sweet successions.

Memories of long nights of laughter and love making. Memories of lust and sadness, passion and rage. You felt his arms around you when he held you the night your mother died. You felt the golden chain resting weightlessly against your collarbone as he secured it around your neck. You felt his lips against your skin as he kissed every inch of your body, praising your very existence. You felt the sparks of being in love for the first time, and the excitement that came with the feeling.

You pulled away from the kiss, alarmed at the sudden influx of emotions. You stood and walked away, rushing to the door in a desperate attempt to escape the version of yourself that you supposedly weren’t anymore.

“Birdie,” Elvis called after you, standing to stop you. “Baby, please, don’t~”

“I have to go.” The door was pushed shut before you could open it more than an inch.

“Don’t leave,” He said as he held it shut. “Please…”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. “I love him. He makes me happy, Elvis, he treats me well. He’s a good person, a-and…god, he adores you~”

“We’re not talkin about him.” He put his other hand against the door, caging you between his arms. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“I’m going to be his wife,” You argued.

“You aren’t tonight,” Elvis said. “Tonight we can…we can be who we were. We can feel the things we felt. And tomorrow, we’ll go back to being who we are.”

“Who are we?”

“Right now, we’re who we were.”

“Who were we?”

“We were in love. Weren’t we?”

Elvis slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. You met his eyes and, for a moment, there was nothing. You looked at him and you felt like no time had passed. Like it hadn't been nearly a year between the time you saw him last and now. Your heart hammered wantonly against your rib cage and your body begged for him. There was a rush of excitement coursing through you that you hadn’t experienced since the day you left Memphis. It was exhilarating and it made you feel weightless.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You whispered.

“I need to feel the way you make me feel,” He confessed. “Just tell me you love me. You don’t have to mean it.”

“I love you…you know I mean it. But I can’t do this.”

“I think you need this as much as I do, you’re just afraid to let go.” His voice was low and tempting. “Don’t fight it, birdie.”

He hesitated before he kissed you again, his lips moving slowly against yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Nothing else mattered as he lifted you and carried you to bed.

All you wanted was to be close to him, to feel the desperation behind his touch. You knew you’d hate yourself for it, but you gave in to him completely—unbridled and unrestrained.

You undressed in a hurry, you couldn’t tell if it was an eagerness to be close to him or something else. You straddled him, wearing only your underwear as his hands roamed your body. His touch was familiar, and his lips tasted of nostalgia. You broke the kiss and gazed down at him. You wanted to know what he was thinking. You wanted to know if he was feeling everything you were feeling.

You felt like crying, suddenly overwhelmed. Despite him being right in front of you, you needed to know you weren’t alone.

“It’s okay,” He whispered when he noticed your tearsq. “I got you.”

He kissed you more gently than he did before, but you didn’t want him to. You didn’t want him to be gentle.

He kissed your neck, continuing to trail kisses down your chest and stomach before slipping his fingers under the thin band of your underwear. You breathed shallowly—stripped of your final piece of dignity. He ran a cold finger through your arousal and left a kiss between your legs. You tensed as you anticipated his touch. He wrapped both arms around your thighs and soon you were tensing with pleasure. Once upon a time he’d have you falling apart on his tongue with very little effort and in no time at all. You weren’t that girl anymore—you needed more. You let him have his fun before you rushing him along.

“Easy,” He complained, trying to slow you down.

“Do it now,” You persisted, ignoring his expression as you sat up and took the condom from his hand. If he was going to protest he stopped short when you pushed him back and straddled him, looking down at him beneath you. You leaned forward to kiss him but pulled away after a moment to tear the condom open. He swore under his breath, his hips canting at the stimulation as you rolled it on. You wasted no time letting him enter you.

“Goddamnit, birdie~”

“Don’t talk.”

He tried to meet your eyes but you refused. This wasn’t about him, it was about fulfilling something within yourself—you just didn’t know what it was.

He forced you still, lifting his hips to thrust slowly inside of you. You cried as the pleasure grew more intense. You felt yourself surrendering what little control you had of the situation—you didn’t want to. But the more that knot in the pit of your stomach tightened the less grounded you became.

“Slow,” He instructed in a whisper, freeing you to move on your own. You followed his instructions, meeting his deep thrust until you were trembling. Your fingers twitched around his neck and he nodded—you gave in and tightened your grip just enough.

He encouraged you to continue, his voice straining slightly as he met your thrusts.

You admitted defeat and leaned forward until your chest was pressed against his—letting him take control. He hugged you close, leaving you powerless as he thrusted deeply. He watched your expression the whole time, watching you fall apart.

It was all too much—his touch, his smell, the way his eyes bore so deeply into your soul that you felt connect by something greater than yourself.

It was an intense disaster that left you feeling breathless and completely spent.

You stared at the ceiling afterward, neither of you saying a word. The heat of the moment was gone and you were left with the cold, dreadful weight of reality.

“Don’t get lost, birdie,” Elvis said after a while. You turned your head to find his eyes on yours.

You shifted onto your side, facing him. “I don’t know why you call me that.”

“Birdie?”

“Yes.”

He smiled softly, reaching out and stroking your cheek. “Because you’re delicate, like a baby bird.”

“You think I’m weak.”

“No. I think you’re sensitive and emotional. But I don’t think you’re weak.”

“Sensitive and emotional,” You repeated incredulously, a smile forming on your face.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Elvis chuckled. “It’s what I love about you.”

Your smile faltered. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth~”

“Please don’t say that.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as guilt started to form in your gut. You shouldn’t have been there, you shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did. But it was too late. The act had already been done and you would have to face the consequences.

You sat up, holding the duvet over yourself as you gathered your discarded clothes. “U-Uhm, can I use the bathroom?”

Elvis silently nodded in the direction of the bathroom.

You stood and scurried inside before closing and locking the door. You sighed, leaning back against the door. You tried not to let your mind wonder as you forced yourself to clean up and get dressed. When you left the bathroom you found Elvis dressed in a robe with his arms crossed.

“I want you to stay here.” You couldn’t make out his tone.

“I can’t.” You sat down on the end of the bed to put your shoes on.

“Why not?” He continued when you didn’t answer. “Running off won’t fix anything. Damage is done, you might as well stay.”

“I’m not running.”

“Yes you are.”

You scoffed and stood. “Don’t start, E.”

“I’m not starting anything.” He kept his arms crossed as he walked towards you. “I’m telling you like it is.”

“What do you want me to do, spend the night?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Did you? What the hell were you expecting?” He asked, narrowing his eyes and stopping in front of you. “You’re a hypocrite.”

You looked up at him, your gaze unwavering. “I’m here because you called me. I don’t know, I guess I hoped you’d be different. But you haven’t changed at all.”

“It has to be exhausting making your problems everyone else’s,” He said with a patronizing laugh. “It’s everyone’s fault but yours, all the time.”

“No, this was my fault. I expect too much from you, I always have.”

“You’re forcing a fight because you regret what just happened.”

You shook your head, looking away. Elvis stepped closer and took your chin in his hand.

“I know you, birdie,” He said. “I know what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours.”

“Then you know why I have to leave.” Your voice sounded feeble to your own ears.

“I know why you want to leave.” He nodded. “But I promise that leaving won’t make that thing you’re feeling go away.”

You were silent.

“Stay with me t’night,” He insisted. “T’morrow you can pretend this never happened.”

“I’ll never be able to pretend this never happened.” You sighed sitting back down on the bed.

He sat down next to you and put his arm around you.

“I’ve tried so hard to forget you,” You continued. “I can’t count how many nights I’ve stayed awake crying over you. Even after all this time, I can’t help but…You shouldn’t have this hold on me. I’ve finally gotten to a place in my life where you aren’t the first thing I think about in the morning and you show up and take that all away~”

He cut you off. “You don’t think I’ve had sleepless nights? I’ve worried about you every night since you left. I didn’t know where you were, if you’d gotten hurt. I couldn’t sleep until Dawn told me you were safe. And even then, knowing you were okay didn’t make it hurt any less. I loved you.”

“I have a life now.”

“Okay, how’s that going for you?”

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“If you feel judged, that’s on you. You came here because there’s a part of you that isn’t happy. If you were, you wouldn’t’ve jeopardized what you have with~”

“I am happy,” You stressed. “I’ve learned to love someone other than you. I have, and I do~”

“But?” He waited for you to continue.

You sighed in frustration. “Do you have to make me feel insane all the time?”

“I’m just tryna get you to face the truth.”

“I know the truth.”

“Okay.”

You closed your eyes and suddenly you felt him kiss your cheek.

“Stay,” He whispered against your skin.

“He’ll call to check on me,” You stressed. “I can’t.”

“He won’t.” If his words were meant to comfort you they had the opposite effect. He reached down to remove your shoes. After they were off he proceeded to strip you of your dress as well, leaving you only in your underwear.

You shivered as the two of you moved to lay on top of the unmade bed. You laid with your back against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. You laid in silence until you inevitably started to give in to your exhaustion. You fought to stay awake, to hold on to the moment for just a little while longer.

But soon, you fell asleep in Elvis’ arms…for the last time.

You woke the next morning to find a plain white envelope resting on the pillow beside your head. You lifted the envelope to read the name scribbled across the front.

Birdie.

You sat up slowly, searching the room with your eyes. You were alone. You opened the envelope to find a familiar necklace—holding two rings and a diamond-studded lark charm. You immediately folded the envelope shut and rushed to get dressed. You wanted to be out of the room in case he returned.

You needed to get out as fast as possible. You heard Elvis’ voice from the night before telling you that you couldn’t outrun the guilt you felt—but that didn’t stop you from trying. As you left the room, you left the envelope where it was. You didn’t want it, and leaving it made you feel better. When you walked out of the room you ran into Jerry, who had seemingly been waiting outside the door.

“Oh, hey,” He said, pushing off of the wall.

“J-Jerry,” You stammered, embarrassed.

“He asked me to make sure you made it back.” He interrupted.

“Oh…it’s just right there~”

“I gave him my word.” He interrupted again.

You nodded awkwardly. “Okay then.”

Jerry nodded his head in return. “After you.”

You turned and started walking back to your room. There was an awkward silence as he watched you cross the hall.

“Thanks,” You said when you got there.

“I’ll be around when you leave for Dawn’s. Just give me a shout when you go.” He turned to walk away without another word.

“J-Jerry,” You said before he left. “I’m sorry~”

“Don’t~”

“I know Joel’s your cousin a-and you shouldn’t have to be dragged into this~”

“Don’t apologize,” He said. “Not to me anyway.”

“I’m going to tell him.”

“You should.”

You shifted awkwardly. “I-I don’t want you to think~”

“I don’t think anything,” He said. “It’s a shame, of course but Joel…he’s just a kid.”

You were confused by his response. “Is that what you think?”

He shifted. “I wouldn’t have told E where he worked if I didn’t think he’d get over losing you.”

“What’s that mean? Was this some kind of set up?”

“No…this was always gonna happen.”

You were in shock as he walked away, he seemed completely unapologetic about his role in this entire situation. You felt like an idiot.

You cut the trip short for yourself and called Dawn to let her know. She was sad for you go and made you promise to call. You drove home in silence, the sound of your engine ticking the only thing filling the empty space. You heard Joel’s voice in the back of your mind scolding you for not driving the car enough and causing the tick. He’d pretend to be angry for a moment, then he’d smile and tell you he’d fix it. But only if you promised to “reward his generosity”.

Tears formed in your eyes but you forced them away. You tried to hold them in but ultimately failed when you walked into your house.

You were officially back to reality.

Tears blurred your vision as you showered, cleansing yourself of Elvis’ touch once and for all. You had a knot in the pit of your stomach, it hurt.

You crawled into bed and stayed there for the remainder of the day—well into the night. You didn’t move to eat or even to use the bathroom. You felt detached from yourself and everything else.

Seeing Elvis again, being with him…it made you realize that, maybe, everything you thought you outran had been with you all this time.

The ghost of him and your love had been haunting you since the day you left. It clung to you and showed itself in ways that went unnoticed. It showed itself in the way you loved Joel. It showed itself in the way you waited for your relationship to crash and burn—ignited by the fire you started, the fire you fed.

The ghost of your love for him showed itself in the way you second guess yourself. It showed itself in the way you never thought you knew what was best. Although you had grown to trust yourself more, there was still an infinitesimal part of you that you had every right not to trust. That part of you that was still infected.

You were haunted by him in everything you did. He saw that the moment he laid eyes on you again. He knew that if he called, you’d come.

A lifetime of observation could not aid you in explaining the things you’d do for Elvis Presley. He made you weak, being able to admit that didn’t make you hate it any less.

When the phone rang that night you let it go on ringing. You couldn’t force yourself out of bed in time to catch it anyway. You imagined it was Joel calling, shocked to hear that you’d left Memphis. You cried until you fell asleep. Startling awake from nightmares that you couldn’t remember the details of when you woke.

It was a miserable night filled with shame, regret, and fear.

“There you are.”

“You’re early.”

Joel smiled as you met him at the door, dropping his bags before engulfing you in a hug.

You laughed and returned the embrace. “I didn’t expect you until later. I would’ve gotten dressed.”

After spending the last day and a half lying in bed you had only just started getting ready..

“You look perfect.” Joel pulled away from the hug enough to look down at you. “I missed you.”

“You’re only saying that.” You adjusted his collar, avoiding his eyes. “Seems like Bibby kept you busy this weekend.”

“Not too busy to think of you.” He cupped your chin in his hand, tilting your head and kissing you.

You kissed him back, but something felt…off. You felt off.

“What’s wrong?” You hadn’t even noticed that he’d broken the kiss.

“Nothing.” You forced a smile. “I missed you too.”

You stood up on your toes and kissed him again before pulling away to grab one of his bags.

“Don’t worry, sugar, I’ll get it.”

“I got it.” You chuckled, picking up the smallest bag.

He grabbed his suitcase, watching you with an amused expression. “Don’t hurt yourself, now.”

You laughed, walking ahead of him into the bedroom. Before you could take the bag to the closet Joel was already wrapping his arm around your waist. He pulled you towards the bed, making you drop the carryall in the process.

You complained as he plopped down on the bed with you in his arms, your robe nearly coming undone. “Don’t do that.”

“Something I ain’t seen before under there?” He teased, laying on his side facing you.

“You surprised me, that’s all.”

“How was the trip back?”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I left.”

“You couldn’t help it.”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “What’d you get up to while I was gone?”

You hesitated for a moment. “…Nothing.”

His eyebrows drew together. “You didn’t make book club on Sunday?”

“No.”

“Did you go to dinner with Sinclair and Marc?”

“No.”

He looked disappointed. “Well…why not?”

You shrugged. “When I drove back the car was making that ticking sound again.”

“I don’t like when you’re alone while I’m gone.”

“I was fine, Jo, honestly.”

“I know, still I don’t like picturing you by yourself all weekend.” He sighed. “It makes me feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad,” You said. “I can take care of myself.”

His eyes were focused past you, his lips pursed.

“Baby,” You said, making him meet your eyes. “I promise.”

“I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, putting his arm over your waist. “It’s okay.”

“The car is ticking, though.” You reiterated.

“It’s your fault for not driving it,” He said, a trace of a smile on his face. “You’re killing the engine.”

You smiled without effort for a moment.

“If you ain’t gonna drive it, I might as well let it go to shit,” He said, making you laugh. “I’m serious. Or sell it, one.”

“I take it out as often as I can,” You said. “You’ll fix it for me, won’t you?”

“Only if I’m generously compensated for my labor.”

“How will I ever repay you?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“…At least wash the airport off first.”

Joel laughed, kissing your cheek before going to shower. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You promised as he disappeared into the bathroom. Your smile faded slowly as that feeling returned, that guilty feeling. You had hoped it would go away when Joel got home. You’d hoped that if you tried, you could move on and forget the whole thing ever happened. But his presence seemed to have the opposite effect.

The feeling was growing more intense.

No matter how hard you tried to ignore it, it was still there. It made everything feel different, even as you made love that afternoon. If Joel noticed that something was off he didn’t say anything. He held you like he usually did and made you laugh as he told you about his trip. You couldn’t keep up as he jumped from story to story, your mind was too preoccupied by the secret driving a wedge between the two of you. As you listened to him, you wondered if he noticed.

“I told him I’d deal with it tomorrow.” You tuned back in to what he was saying. “I’m technically supposed to be off for three days after traveling jobs but he’s up a creek with this one.”

“You’re always there for him,” You said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“I guess.”

“No, he really is.”

He laughed a little, kissing your bare shoulder. “I love you.”

You don’t deserve him.

You closed your eyes. “I love you too.”

“Let’s go out tonight,” He suggested.

“I was going to cook.”

“I want to take you out.”

“Do you think I’ll go insane if I don’t leave the house?” You asked, looking over your shoulder.

“No.” He smiled. “You should get out anyway.”

“I guess I’ll get ready.”

“Ten minutes.” He tightened his grip on you. “I don’t wanna let you go.”

“Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“That’s not how negotiations work~”

“Fine, I guess twenty will just have to do.”

You laughed as he threw his leg over yours for good measure. “Is this why you’re Bibby’s top sales negotiator?”

“Yeah, I just hold folks down until they give in,” He said. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

“It’s working,” You chuckled, laying your head down. You’re a liar and a cheat. You don’t deserve him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He kissed your shoulder again. “I love love you.”

“Love love, huh?”

“Love love love, even.”

“That’s just overkill.”

He laughed. “There’s no such thing when it comes to you.”

You don’t deserve~

“I love love love you too.”

You had to tell him. You knew that was the only way to put an end to the guilt threatening to consume you.

You couldn’t eat, you couldn’t sleep, you were anxious all the time. Keeping a secret of that magnitude wasn’t an option—it was killing you.

Things had been going so well. Convention season was over, Joel was home more often and you were happy. As happy as you could manage to be. You tried to find a moment to break the news, but there was no such thing as a good time in this situation.

Joel had been working all morning when you decided to bite the bullet. You figured it would be the best since he didn’t have work for a couple days. Not that having time off would make it any easier on him. You were grasping for any reason to either put off or justify telling him. There was no right time or place.

You were pacing in the kitchen when he got home, a worried look on your face.

“Hey,” He said, meeting you.

“How was your day?”

“It was a day.” He sighed tiredly, kissing your cheek. “Bibby’s secretary—his cousin Marcy, you know her—she got something mixed up with the books. He doesn’t think they’ll break even unless we get a few more cars off the lot before the end of the month. He wants me to come back today and help him. He said he’d call but I think I’ll just go.”

You deflated before you could think not to.

“Is that okay?” Joel asked. “I don’t have to, I was just tryna help if I could~”

“N-No, it’s fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, it can wait.”

“Can it?” He asked. “You look upset.”

“I’m not.” You lied. “It’s fine.”

“Tell me.” You stepped back when he reached out for you. “Baby, what is it?”

“I’m sorry,” You said, leaning against the counter behind you. “I-I’ll tell you later.”

“I want you to tell me now.” He insisted. His expression grew more concerned when he saw the tears forming in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You repeated. “I’m so sorry, Joel.”

“Why are you crying?” He asked, stepping forward and putting his hands on your shoulders.

You met his worried eyes. “I-I…I had an affair.”

He didn’t hear you at first and he ducked his head when you looked away, trying to meet your eyes. “You what?”

“I had an affair,” You stated more clearly.

He looked confused when you looked up. “…With who?”

You swallowed harshly, you didn’t want to say it, but you forced it out. “E-Elvis~”

The phone rang, startling you. Joel was frozen for a moment before he pulled away from you to answer.

“H-Hello?” He turned his back to you. “Bibby, I…yeah, I-I know, I can be there if you just give me half an hour…Just~ yeah….yeah. For fuck’s sake, Bibby, okay.”

He slammed the phone back on the hook, standing there without moving.

“Joel~”

“Don’t…don’t say anything to me.” He walked away, towards the bedroom.

You followed him with a string of futile apologies leaving your lips. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me~”

“Elvis Presley.” He stopped suddenly and faced you. “You had an affair…with Elvis fucking Presley?”

“I can explain~”

“Who are you?” He looked angry, but hurt shone through his expression more clearly.

“It’s me, Joel.” You reached out for him but he avoided your touch. “I’m me.”

“Have I not done right by you?” He asked, stepping away from you. “Have I not done everything I could~”

“You have~”

“When?”

You fell silent, frozen. You felt like cowering under his gaze.

“When?” He demanded.

“When you were in Virginia with Bibby.”

“As soon as I left?”

“N-No~”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t say you don’t know!” You startled in surprise at his sudden change of tone. “People don’t do this kinda shit for no reason.”

“I-I d-don’t know,” You stammered.

“Yeah, okay.” He walked away. “You don’t know? Alright, fine.”

Joel had never yelled at you in all the time that you’d known him. Even when you argued he’d never raise his voice.

You did this.

This was your fault.

You snapped out of your shock and followed him to the bedroom. You found him in the closet pulling his clothes off the rack by the hangers. “Please don’t leave.”

He scoffed, throwing the clothes onto the bed before dragging his suitcase out of the closet.

“Please,” You cried. “I’m s-sorry, I-I’ll~ I can explain.”

He zipped his clothes into the suitcase haphazardly. “I don’t want to hear anything from you. I don’t even want to see you right now.”

“It was a mistake. I regretted it as soon as it happened.”

“But it happened.” He stopped for a second. “It fucking happened.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not okay.” He lifted the suitcase off the bed.

“Don’t go,” You continued to plead as you followed him out of the room.

“I have to.” He stopped at the front door and looked at you. “I have to go because I told Bibby I’d be there, and when I make a commitment, I honor that commitment.”

“I know~”

“It doesn’t matter what you say,” He said, the anger behind his voice already fizzling out and turning into hurt. “I love you, I trusted you, and you…It’s always been him, hasn’t it? Since the day you left Memphis.”

“No~”

“You left because of him.” He sounded so sure. “This whole time, I’ve had this feeling—since we met in that restaurant. This feeling that you were hiding something~

“No~”

“~I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t care, because I loved you. And I thought you loved me~”

“I do love you,” You insisted.

“But you love him too…don’t you?”

The tears you wanted to cry finally formed in your eyes. “I love you, Joel. I only want you.”

Joel nodded, balling his lips as tears threatened to form in his eyes. “I just don’t believe you.”

Your stomach dropped when he turned to leave. The thing you had feared the most was happening and it was your fault.

He was leaving you.

You spoke through a broken sob. “I-I know I messed up a-and it’s my fault. I hate myself for h-hurting you, Joel, I just~ I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

The room was silent for a moment aside from your sniffling. You felt Joel move towards you and you stepped away. Of course he’d comfort you, even now when you least deserved it. He took your wrists and pulled your hands from your face. You kept your head down as he took your face in his hands and thumbed away the tears.

Everything was caving in on you and you had no one to blame but yourself. Things were going so well. You were happy, you were in love, and you ruined it.

You ruin everything.

Joel shocked you by tilting your head back and kissing you. You gripped the front of his shirt, tasting your own tears on his lips.

He stopped suddenly and met your eyes—tear stained and full of shame and regret. He pulled away as if he’d come to his senses all of a sudden. Without so much as another, he turned around and picked up his abandoned suitcase—leaving you there alone and completely shattered.

#elvis presley #elvis smut #elvis x you #elvis imagine #austin butler #elvis fluff #elvis presely smut #black reader #elvis x black reader #the bikeriders #50s elvis #austin elvis imagine #austin!elvis x reader #60s elvis #interracial love #elvis #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n

30 notes · View notes

lostloveletters · 10 months ago

Text

Big Girls Don't Cry (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: After a night out spirals out of control, Holly thinks she's doomed to be a haunted house. Bucky’s brave enough to let the light in.

Note: An angsty first kiss for Holly and Bucky…I’m so overwhelmed by the response to the MotA fics I’ve posted so far, thank you so much🖤 There's going to be a parallel Woody/Brady-centric fic to this, which is why I included a decent ensemble here lol. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Descriptions of a panic attack and related self-inflicted injuries; mentions of death and grief (hurt/comfort). Inevitable historical inaccuracies. Ends on a somewhat suggestive note, but nothing explicit.

Holly was exhausted when Bucky asked her to go to the pub in town with him and some of the other pilots that evening. She initially hesitated, but between his near insisting and her notion that a break from the base would do her good, she accepted the invitation. When she found Woody later on to ask if she was going, Brady had already invited her, a light blush spreading across Woody’s face when she told Holly. The overall group of seven required pushing two tables together and stealing some empty chairs.

“Holly, your drink’s on me. I got $4.50 when you won the last typing contest,” Bucky said.

“You bet on it?” Buck asked.

“I knew she’d win.”

“Beat her own record,” Woody added.

Buck shook his head, smiling a bit. Holly liked Buck a lot, especially the way his face lit up when she asked him about Marge. Seemed to be physically lighter, too, like the weight of being one of the de facto leaders of the 100th was off of his shoulders for that moment in time. He’d get almost flustered if he realized he was rambling, apologizing for taking up so much of her time talking about his girl even though she was the one who asked him.

“Which is why I’m buying my sailor a dark ‘n’ stormy, and the rest of you are on your own.”

She laughed, “Thanks, Bucky.”

‘My sailor.’ He had taken to calling her after they listened to the Nationals-Yankees game together. But she apparently inherited her sailorship from Stan, her preference for rum and penchant for cursing around Bucky (and few others), made him designate her so.

Nevermind she had only been on a boat a handful of times, one of which was the ship that brought her over to England from New York, and no, she didn’t know any sea shanties. He took it upon himself to learn one from a local laborer who worked on schooners at the turn of the century. Of course, Bucky had been drunk when he tried to teach her the song, remembering half of the lyrics and ad-libbing the rest. She left the singing to him.

She still had one secret–an anchor tattoo on her upper arm. An impulsive decision she and Stan made together when she accompanied him to San Francisco the week he shipped out to the Pacific. The same week she met Woody, and the rest of her life started before she could blink.

Being in the pub with everyone was the most normal she’d felt in a while. She hoped could finally shake whatever stormy clouds had made their home in her mind over the past year.

“Hey Holly, you’re from DC, right?” Curt asked abruptly. “You ever meet the President? See him around the neighborhood or something?”

She laughed. “No, unfortunately I’ve never run into President Roosevelt at the drug store.”

“How would he even do that? He’d get mobbed,” Crank said.

Woody nodded. “He’s probably got a mean security detail, too.”

“Well he can’t spend all day in the White House!”

“Why not? Heard they got a bowling alley in there,” Buck said.

“Woody, I’ll get you a beer?” Brady asked, his voice low among the clamor of what President Roosevelt did for fun in the nation's capital.

“Thanks, John.”

Holly sneaked a glance at her best friend when Brady stood up and headed over to the bar. She wasn’t sure if Woody had told him that Holly knew about them. There were few, if any secrets between Holly and Woody, and guys were certainly no exception.

“Look, if I were the president, I’d wanna know my neighbors,” Curt said.

“If you were president,” Buck repeated, toothpick between his teeth as he smiled. “Listen to him.”

“Hey, anybody can run,” Curt said. “That’s what it says in the Bill of Rights or something.”

“That doesn’t mean you should,” Crank said.

“You got my vote, Curt,” Bucky announced, setting his and Holly’s drinks on the table.

“Thanks, Bucky. You’ll be my VP.”

Bucky grinned, sitting next to Holly. His arm settled on the back of her seat, his fingers brushing the ends of her curly hair.

The next few minutes was a game of musical chairs as everyone else came and went with their drinks of choice, Brady taking the seat next to Woody as soon as it was open.

Holly found herself leaning against Bucky as she drank, nursing her dark ‘n’ stormy with the intent of making it last until it was time to leave. He was the only person she felt comfortable enough to be in such close contact with besides Woody. He felt like sitting next to the radiator in her childhood bedroom, and she nearly nodded off after some time, Buck and Bucky in the middle of some conversation she couldn’t follow.

Curt returned to the table with what must have been his third or fourth beer of the night.

“Hey Bucky, some of these blokes are lookin’ to play darts,” he said, motioning behind him.

Bucky nodded. “Hope they’re ready to cover my tab.” He threw back his whiskey and gave Holly’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he got up. “C’mon, doll.”

Holly didn’t remember much of what happened between then and when she heard it. An entire chunk of time morphed into a hazy blur in her mind. Vaguely remembered cheering for Bucky and Curt. Then Curt called an RAF pilot an asshole, and a fight nearly broke out before fizzling down by the grace of god. Or maybe Buck stepped in. Bucky had something to her before his turn, an aside she laughed at, but couldn’t recall.

Different conversations around her jumbled with one another, stringing together in a cruel way only her own mind could conjure up for her. She heard him clear as day.

“Stan?” she whispered, her voice crazed with illogical hope.

Her heart raced. She looked frantically around the room for a sign—any sign of him.

But Stan was dead. There’d been a funeral with a body. His mother wept over the open casket. Her own mother had written as much. Sent her the funeral program which remained hidden among her belongings.

She kept the accompanying memorial card on her person at all times. A nice photo of Stan in uniform. His full name. Dates of birth and death. A bible verse and a little mention of his service in the Navy.

Stan was dead. Had been for over a year.

Her chest tightened, pulling like a rubber band about to snap. As the room closed in on her, she barrelled through the pub patrons, paying no mind to who was in her path, only that they were between her and a door.

The cool night air shocked her skin, but it wasn’t enough to snuff out the burning in her lungs. Panic overtook her brain. With a strangled shout, she curled her fist, unleashing months of unspoken grief directly onto the brick wall in front of her. Pain struck her hand like a bolt of lightning, but she could breathe again.

Her knuckles split open, bruises blossoming across her fingers in the darkness. “Fuck!” she shouted, both in pain and disbelief at herself. “Motherfuck–”

The alley door slammed open, chaos from the bar ringing in her ears as she looked wide-eyed at the person who interrupted her. A tense mortification swept over her body.

She’d been doing so well. Kept the self-destructive thoughts at bay. Used to chew on her bottom lip until it bled, the pain of broken skin and taste of copper strangely grounding when her mind wandered too far. Hadn’t done in it months. But she never exploded. Not quite like this.

Bucky stumbled forward, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Holly?” he asked, his gaze drifting down to her hand. “Jesus, what happened?”

Of course he would be the one to witness her breakdown. She wished it were Woody, but she sure as hell didn’t want to ruin her best friend’s night out with her boyfriend either.

Woody was used to it. Holly was always too embarrassed to go to a nurse, so Woody would sit her down and carefully apply petroleum jelly to Holly’s raw lips, eyebrows knit together in concerned concentration as her fingers brushed across the cracked, scabbed over skin. Didn’t care if she had been working for over twelve hours straight or was in the middle of something else.

But Bucky wasn’t Woody, and she never wanted him to see her like this.

Holly stared at him, trembling as he took a tentative step toward her. Tears welled up in her eyes. She frantically rubbed at them with her sleeve. She let out a shaky breath.

“Holly,” he repeated. “Are you alright?”

“I felt like I was going to explode in there so I came out here and…” She flexed her injured hand and winced. “I heard someone talking. He sounded just like Stan.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, feeling more pathetic as she explained herself. “I guess my wires got crossed.”

“Hey, it happens,” he tried assuring her. “You think you’re the only one?”

Holly shook her head. “Even when I got the letter last year, I still showed up and did what I had to do. Didn’t miss a day.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know why tonight was so different.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He took her bruised hand, whispering an apology when she hissed in pain. Examined it as best as he could in the cover of night. “At least not any more than you already have.”

“I punched a brick wall. I’m not gonna be able to type tomorrow,” she said, quickly adding, “I can’t go to a nurse. They’ll ask what happened, and I’d rather crawl in a hole somewhere.”

He shook his head. “C’mon, I’ll patch up that hand for you. It’s probably not even that bad.”

“Don’t cut your night short because of me.”

Briefly, almost enough to convince her it was just a trick of the moonlight, he looked uncharacteristically sheepish. “It’s the least I can do for making you come out tonight.”

“Bucky, you didn’t make me do anything. I don’t want to be some wilting flower who’s too afraid to keep living. Stan wouldn’t have wanted that for me. I just wish my brain would get the message.”

“Well, I’m sure Stan wouldn’t have wanted you to walk all the way back by yourself if you didn’t have to,” he said.

She smiled weakly. “Yeah, he’d chew me out for that.”

So would Bucky, if this had happened and he hadn’t found her. If she walked back to Thorpe Abbotts alone in the dead of night with nothing but the stars to keep her company. She never cared for them, especially not after Stan. They gave the night glistening teeth that tore her apart far too often for her to be comfortable beneath them.

“Hey, what about darts?” she asked, a good distance away from the pub.

“I pulled Crank in. He can hold his own. Besides, if there’s an angry bartender hunting me down on the base tomorrow, you could probably hold him off for me,” he joked, lightly elbowing her side. “You got one hell of a hook.”

“Stan taught me.”

“He taught you how to fight?”

“Sort of, but he was probably thinking more along the lines of self-defense instead of getting into fights with brick walls.”

“That wall had it coming. If you didn’t punch it, I probably would’ve.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Will you tell that to Chick so he doesn’t kill me tomorrow?”

“He’s not gonna kill you. Might be pissed that his best typist is gonna be out of commission for a few days, though.”

“I can still proofread. Or sort mail. Or—“

“Let me worry about that, alright?”

Holly hesitated. “Alright.”

—————

Bucky had the keys to the Air Exec office, empty for the night, and sat Holly down at her desk. He disappeared for a few minutes, but returned with an armful of peroxide bottles, absorbent cotton, and a roll of gauze.

“Geez Bucky, don’t waste all of that on me.”

“If I brought you to a nurse, they’d use it on you, anyway.”

He pulled up a chair, his knees touching hers as he took a closer look at her hand beneath a desk lamp. His eyebrows furrowed as he considered the dried blood, cuts that had already begun to scab over, and a particularly gnarly knuckle that didn’t sit quite right.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but one of your knuckles got dislocated. I’m gonna clean your hand and then pop it back into place.”

“Fuckin’ A,” she said. “I learned that from Stan, too.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“No. Neither did he.”

He snickered, grabbing the peroxide and some cotton. “What was Stan like, anyway? Sounds like an interesting guy from what you told me.”

“Stan was…” She paused. Nobody asked her about Stan. All anyone knew was what little she offered. What was he like? “He cursed like a—well, he was a sailor. Of course he was a Nationals fan. Loved detective novels. We’d have ones we’d read together and see who could figure out the big plot twist first. His front tooth was chipped, but god, he had the best smile. I’m talking serious wattage—“

“Wattage?” Bucky repeated incredulously.

“Okay, I made that up—think electric! He could light up a whole room with just his smile,” she emphasized with a smile of her own. “You know what I mean?”

He glanced up from her hand to her face for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

“What else…we had this goofy thing going where we’d play tic-tac-toe in our letters to each other. I started doing that because I’m not great at writing letters. I never know what to say, but I wanted him to still look forward to getting them from me.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“I just started secretarial school when he got a job at this fish market up the street from my house. I remember thinking he was so handsome, he almost looked out of place,” Holly said, her voice soft for a moment. “Well, I’d spend so much time there that my mom would complain about how awful I smelled by the time I got home. I asked him out first.”

Bucky laughed. “You’re kidding.”

A wide grin spread across her face. “I wanted to make him mine before he could even think about another girl, so I went in one day and said, ‘When are you gonna take me to see a movie?’ Most guys wouldn’t have liked that, but Stan got a kick out of it. He’d tell the story to anyone who’d listen.” She paused. “I think what really scares me is that at some point, I’ll remember him for longer than I knew him, and I’m always gonna be…like this.”

“I’m gonna set your knuckle back in place now,” Bucky said, his voice low, almost contemplative.

Holly tensed, staring at the ceiling while Bucky pushed against her bruised knuckles. Bone clicked back into place. She groaned. Clenched her good hand into a fist, blinking away tears.

“Barely flinched,” he said. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for, doll.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Bucky.”

They were quiet as he finished bandaging her hand. The room was almost chatty though, buzzing overhead lights, ticking clock on the wall, a leaky pipe somewhere. Among them, a thought broke free from the confines of Bucky’s mind.

“Stan was lucky to have a girl like you waiting for him.”

Glassy brown eyes, wavering with the weight of the world, stared back at him in silence.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Holly. I shouldn’t have—”

She kissed him, her bandaged hand caressing his cheek. Weeks of silently longing, lusting, and wondering, answered in full as she moved her lips against his. Nearly forgot to kiss her back until he felt her pulling away.

He placed his hand over her bandaged one, still tenderly cupping his face. The gauze was rough against his skin, a contrast to the pads of her fingers. He curled his fingers around hers, her blunt nails lightly scraping against his cheek.

She gasped against his lips. “John.”

A shiver rolled down his spine as he brushed his thumb over the bandage he’d just finished wrapping, her knuckle that he set back in place for her. All for her. And she kissed him first.

‘I wanted to make him mine.’

Mine.

Her dulcet tone echoed in his head until he couldn’t think of anything but kissing her again, offering himself to her as the sole object of her affection.

Mineminemineminemine. “Holly, baby—” He was trying so hard to be coherent, nearly choking on his words until finally uttering, “I’m all yours.”

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #bucky egan x ofc #john egan x ofc #masters of the air #bucky egan #john egan #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota oc #masters of the air oc #ch: holly

66 notes · View notes