#||: Nothing makes things more simple than the prospect of losing everything

[auntie-browning]

||: Back from soul searching with a Promethean Spirit in tow. Might not have the vast waterside trails of Gilleleje like Kierkegaard had but walking around the block really helps get the spirit back up.

[acaciusbride]

Heat (Ezra x F!Reader)

Summary: mutual attraction and a pair of sinfully tight sweatpants lead to more than you or Ezra could have expected. (There’s no plot, it’s just smut).

CWs: Spitting / slapping / mutual pining / cumplay / unsafe PIV sex / absolutely filthy talk / oral sex (f receiving) / praise kink / f masturbation / implied squirting /

Masterlist

For @miller--trash & @serenaxpedro ❤️

You’re starting to think you’re losing your mind, or at the very least getting close to it. This was meant to be a simple expedition, dangerous or not. Drop in, spend a month prospecting, drop out again, hopefully get rich enough to never have to return to The Green.

Getting a big stupid crush on your companion wasn’t meant to be part of the plan, but then Ezra had come along with his stupid drawl, broad frame, and that stupidly attractive smirk. 

Everything about him pisses you off, but that’s less to do with him and more to do with how increasingly needy you are where he’s concerned. 

Is it just you, or is he taunting you? You feel as if he’s more than aware of your interest, using it against you in a subtle way. 

Like right now, for instance. He's taken to coming out the sanitiser still half damp, hair sticking to the nape of his neck, no shirt in sight, barefoot. That would probably be easy enough for you to ignore, and you had, quite successfully, for some time, until he'd found the damn sweatpants.

Dark grey in colour, they leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. You wish you were exaggerating, but you can see absolutely everything outlined in those sweats. Every thick, slightly curved inch.

Honestly, the damn things are obscene, and if you were on any sort of civilised planet, he’d probably get fined for public indecency. But you’re not on a civilised planet. The Green is lawless territory, and anything goes.

You wish you could remember that a little more often, or useful facts from the prospecting guide, but instead you have the outline of your companion’s arguably sizeable cock imprinted firmly into your brain. Great.

You have to force your expression to remain neutral. Force your eyes to move past him, look at anything else, because god knows you’ve already been looking too long. Long enough for that slow, lazy smirk to creep into his features as he leans against the closest countertop, watching you.

Why the fuck is the lander so small? Or maybe he’s just big and imposing. Who cares. You flop down in your bunk, try to return your attention to your book, but honestly? The prospecting manual isn’t exactly a riveting read at the best of times.

Still, it must work to take some of the heat off you, because he stops slouching against the bench, practically saunters across the small space, hauls himself up the short ladder to the top bunk, and stays there.

You don’t like heights. Not even bunkbeds. Almost ironically, you’re starting to wonder if sleeping on the bunk below his is as close to getting beneath him as you’ll ever get.

Your cheeks heat at the thought.

The lights in the lander go out at a touch of the control panel set beside the bunk, leaving only the faint glow of the emergency lighting, the sign that the security system and the air filters are still running at full capacity.

You could still read by overhead lamp, but it’s easier to put the book aside and pretend to be asleep. It’s only when you hear Ezra’s breathing become more steady and lazy that you dare to move again.

It’s embarrassing, honestly, the way you’re dancing around the subject. Reduced to getting yourself off in the sanitiser or in your bunk, trying to keep yourself quiet.

You’re almost certain you’ve heard him do the same once or twice, but you’ve been genuinely half asleep and unable to tell if you were hearing what you wanted to hear.

The thought of him wrapping one of those big, scarred hands around his cock, stroking himself slowly, trying to muffle any sound, is enough to make you soak your panties. His hands are big enough. You’d probably need to use both.

The idea of sleep is now the furthest thing from your mind, the ache between your thighs far more pressing and needy than anything else. Carefully, trying not to make too much noise, you tug your panties down, kick them off under the blanket that’s suddenly too hot.

Your shirt comes off too, tucked up by your pillow. It’s a lot more comfortable this way, naked under the blanket, your hands wandering across your body. In the dark it’s easier to imagine the hands are his, even if they are far too small to realistically be so.

You dip a single finger into your soaked core, spread your own slick across bare skin as your other hand slips upwards, cups a bare breast, fingers pinching a sensitive nipple into a hardened bud.

It’s not enough; you add a second finger, consider the thought somewhere in the back of your mind that his hands are so big, you’d probably need to fit three or four of your own fingers inside yourself to take two of his.

The thought makes your cunt clench around your exploring fingers, a soft whimper almost escaping before you bite down - hard - on your bottom lip to keep it trapped.

Not trusting yourself to keep quiet enough, you release your nipple, cover your mouth with your hand as you start to rock slowly onto your own fingers, chasing release, mind foggy, nothing mattering in the moment more than the feeling of pleasure beginning to overwhelm you as you imagine him inside you…

“I can hear that undoubtedly sweet pussy singing for me from up here.” His drawl interrupts your fogged, hazy mind; you almost sit bolt upright, almost jump, but instead you freeze.

“Don’t stop on my account… unless of course you’d be more acquiescent to the idea of my assistance.”

You’re used to the way he speaks, like something from an old world poetry book. Even in the fog of your brain, you understand what he’s saying. What he’s offering.

“Get the fuck down here.” Your response is far less eloquent, but then again he’s the one with the words.

You swear to god you hear the smug bastard laugh as he rolls out of his own bunk, slides down the ladder.

“Normally I’d make certain you knew I disapproved of your uncouth manner of speaking, but… in this case? I suppose it can be forgiven.” He shrugs in the dim light; you can see the smirk on his face as he leans against the bunk frame, watching you.

“You gonna just stand there and watch? I thought you offered assistance.”

You don’t even care how needy you sound; he’s caught you completely off guard, your fingers still soaked with your own slick, desperate and hormonal and definitely not thinking with your brain.

“Patience is a virtue, sweet girl.” Still, he obliges you, tugs down those sinfully tight sweatpants, leaving him entirely bare to your hungry gaze.

Fuck.

The outline may have been impressive, but it’s nothing compared to actually seeing him. He’s big and broad, carries himself with a sort of easy swagger, but even that doesn’t prepare you for how fucking perfect his cock looks. Just as thick as you’d expected, big and slightly curved, soft curls framing that and a pair of heavy balls that you want, desperately, in your mouth.

“Please… get over here… right now.” You remember your manners this time, even if your mouth is watering and your pussy dripping at the sight of him.

Maybe asking nicely does something to him, because he doesn’t taunt you this time, just peels back the blanket, dark eyes taking in your naked form before he crawls on top of you, leans in to devour your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You cling to him, hook one leg around his waist to keep him there as your fingers drag up his back, across broad shoulders. His tongue plunders your needy mouth in such a way that leaves no room to doubt that he wants this, wants you, just as badly as you want him.

You can feel him pressing against your thigh, the hot, heavy weight of him, and your pussy clenches around nothing yet again at the thought of him inside you.

“Now, what were you doing down here?” He breaks the kiss to ask, one hand crawling down your torso, cupping your drenched pussy lightly.

“Ez, please…” you’re so fucking needy for him, want him inside you so badly it aches, uncaring if he’s too big to take.

“Patience, dove, it’s not my intention to hurt you. When I have you screaming, I want it to be purely in pleasure.”

Then he moves, effortless, so your thighs are resting on his shoulders, his face so close to your cunt that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

“I heard you, of course, but I know I can do an undoubtedly superior job… all you have to do is sing for me, sweet dove.”

Then he leans in close, spits on your cunt, and traces a lazy pattern on your clit with the tip of his tongue, uncaring of the mess he’s making, what with his own spit and your slick coating his tongue, your thighs, the sheets.

“As sweet as nectar, just as I suspected.” He half murmurs it against your skin, slides his tongue inside you and moans, completely without shame at the taste of you, at the way your smaller hands fist into his hair as you grind yourself against his mouth.

He pulls away from you, drawing a disappointed whine from your lips.

“So needy,” he sounds half amused, half aroused; you can’t see, of course, not in this position, but his cock is aching and throbbing against the sheets of your bunk, leaking pre cum into the fabric.

“Ez…”

He lays a soft slap to your overstimulated pussy, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“Patience.” He leans in and kisses where he slapped, traces his tongue around your clit before sucking it greedily into his mouth, releasing it with a lewd sound before delving his tongue back inside you.

He’s about to become the worlds’ biggest hypocrite, and he damn well knows it, because the more he licks and sucks at your cunt, the more desperate he is to just fuck you. Especially when you start whimpering, practically convulsing beneath him with the force of your climax.

He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, uncaring that your slick is dripping off his tongue, into his short beard, coating his moustache.

Moves instead so his forehead is pressed to yours, one big hand cupping your breast as you recover.

“Tell me, dove, have you had enough? Or do you require more assistance? I’d be more than happy to oblige you in whatever you wish for, although arguably I’d be more in favour of you begging me to feed that sinfully sweet cunt my cock.”

A kiss to your lips before he continues, rolling a pebbled nipple between thumb and forefinger.

“I just know you can take me, can just imagine how well those soft, sweet walls will envelope me. Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me that you want it.”

Your brain is so fucking hazy from your climax, from his words, but you’re greedy. Greedy and desperate and you want more. Want him to feed your tight little pussy every bruising inch of his cock, satisfy the desire and need for him that’s been building, neglected, for far too long.

“Please, Ez, I need it… need all of you…”

He keeps his forehead pressed to yours as he releases your breast, keeps himself propped up on one arm, uses his free hand to position your leg how he wants you, before wrapping that same hand around his cock, the tip and underside coated with his own pre release. He strokes himself slowly, thumb caressing the thick vein in the underside of his length, repressing a slight shudder at how sensitive he is already.

He’s halfway to guiding himself to your cunt when your much smaller hand reaches down and starts to caress his balls, soft little touches that draw a groan from him. He doesn’t even bother trying to repress that sound, moans softly as you touch him, guides himself to your heat and sinks inside.

You moan the moment he slides inside you, panting the second he sinks the first inch of a considerable amount into you. Your hand abandons its caressing of his balls, flies to his back to brace yourself instead.

“Slowly now, dove,” he’s trying to be somewhat careful, as close to gentlemanly as he’s capable of being; knows he’s big, doesn’t want to hurt you.

You have other ideas.

“No, not slowly.” You demand, arching up against him, wrapping your thigh around his waist to try and get him in deeper. “Need all of you, need it so bad…”

Ezra is not a man known for his patience, more given to fits of impulse, and it’s that side of him that wins out as he presses deep into you in a single fluid movement, slamming his hips flush against yours.

Oh, but the sound you make, makes it worth losing the prospect of savouring the moment, taking his time filling you up. The way you scream for him, nails clawing sharp lines up his back, leaving little crescent shapes in his shoulders.

He can feel you tighten and pulse around him, cock throbbing and aching in response. He wants to say something, anything, something poetic, but you beat him to it, in your far less eloquent manner.

“Fuck, Ez, you feel so fucking good…”

He likes the shortened version of his name on your lips, even more so when you sigh it like that.

“Do I, sweet girl?”

Fuck, he loves hearing you praise him, praising his cock, feeling you soak him, the way you claw at him.

“So good,” you repeat, leaning up to kiss him as he starts to move, slow, teasing little thrusts that make you whimper.

“Tell me you love my cock, dove,” he moans as you tighten around him again, tight little pussy barely able to take him, and yet…

“I do,” you babble as he starts to move properly, slow, lazy, deep thrusts that brush your cervix and make you gasp in pleasure. “Fucking love your cock, Ez, need you inside me, needed you for so long.”

It’s enough, more than enough, to short circuit his brain; nothing matters anymore but the heat of your smaller body beneath his, the way you arch up against him, moaning and mewling and babbling praise to him that only serves as fuel for the fire burning inside him.

It feels like simultaneously no time at all and an eternity have passed before you’re convulsing beneath him again, lips parted in a desperate, broken moan as you soak his cock, giving him better friction to drag himself out of you, slam back in.

His stamina is moderately impressive, but he’s not going to last, not like this, not when you’re so perfect for him, one hand clawing at his back, the other fisted into the sheets.

“Better tell me where you want me, little dove,” he breathes it into your ear, “or I might just be inclined to plant my seed in this sweet cunt and claim you forever.”

You whimper, lock your legs around his waist, make him smirk in satisfaction.

“Oh, you’d like that?”

You moan your affirmation, pussy tightening and throbbing around him at the very thought, the idea of him filling you with endless ropes of his seed…

“I did say I was happy to oblige your every wish,” he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, leaves a soft bite to sensitive skin before he pulls himself into a mostly sitting position, both hands on your waist, dragging your smaller body onto his cock again and again, using you for his own pleasure until he feels his balls tighten, cock aching as he finds his release, spilling endless heat of his cum into your waiting, needy cunt.

You whimper, wriggle beneath him, desperate to keep every drop he’s given you inside. He stays there, looking down at you with something like feverish adoration, until he feels himself start to soften inside you, pulls out of you, watches some of his spend drop from your swollen cunt onto the sheets.

“What a waste…” he murmurs it almost to himself, before he moves down between your thighs again, fingers catching what’s dripped out and pressing it back inside.

“Ez?”

“Hm?”

“What’re you doing?” Your voice is thick with fatigue, and yet lust still hangs heavy from every word.

“I want to test the hypothesis that our tastes combined are sweeter than any possible drug I’ve had the fortune to sample in my time.”

You blush as you realise what he intends to do, his hands already spreading your thighs as he leans in to taste himself inside of you.

It’s going to be a very, very long night, and you’re going to love every last moment of it.

[childhoodadventures]

Shells

“I found one!”. My sister’s voice pressed the crashing waves into the background. 

“Nai!, Diego!, over here!” 

I held a seashell the size of a jar lid in my hand, lifting it up to examine the rings that rippled across the top. The flicker that caught my eye was an illusion of what I believed to be a glossy rainbow shell- a rare sighting and a potential prospect to my collection. I reached into the sand to pull it out only to discover that the glimmer was just the reflection of the sun on a wet dull canvas of a white shell. 

“Oh… nevermind, it’s a false alarm”

My sister takes the shell from my hand and turns it in her fingers while my brother peeks over on his tiptoes. 

“We can still keep it, we can say it has sentimental value”. My sister always had a knack for optimism even when it didn’t call for it. 

“I’ll take it!, I only have a few but they all match the one you found so it fits right in”. My brother, on the other hand, sees everything as if it's the most amazing thing he has ever laid eyes on. I never considered this optimism but the purest of infantile innocence. My heart radiates loudly at his words turning my mild disappointment into comforting relief. 

My sister smiles and holds out her hand for us to see. In her palm lies a small horn. The beach is filled with these which I learned to identify as a wentletrap. To the common tourist, these are the most average looking shells on the coast. They are much prettier than the plain shell I picked up, but still nothing special compared to the exotic conches sold by indigenious sellers. Yet, I stiffen my gaze on the shell and notice that colors remind me of the scales on a mermaids trail. Polished pink and blue pastels are barely noticeable but radiate when the sun hits the shell at the right angle. This one is special.. 

“Put it in your pocket and don’t lose it, we can make you a nice necklace with that shell”  I tell my sister.

“Com’on, let’s keep looking for more” 

As long as I can remember, our trips to Mazatlan were mostly spent hunting for the coolest or biggest shells. My mom began this tradition when she was newly married and I continued the ritual well into my 14 years. Although we stopped going to Mazatlan, my siblings and I spent the rest of our childhood summers on the beach back in Vancouver hunting for crabs that hid underneath sharp rocks. Instead of looking for pretty tropical shells, we found shells of empty homes that once belonged to a small type of crab. As an adult, the transition would have been frustrating, but back then, the only difference we noticed was the frosty water of the west coast. Our enthusiasm never faltered. 

We never made the mermaid shell into a necklace. In fact, I believe it fell out of my sister's pocket and got lost in the sand. We did not notice until we were packing to leave the resort when my sister spent most of her time looking for the shell she thought she misplaced. Discouraged, she sulked on the plane ride home. 

The shells we collected once upon a time have been eternalized by glass jars displayed in the guest bathroom of my parent’s home. We don’t think about that pink shell anymore for it was not only lost in the sand, but in our memories as well. If I were to look for shells now, it would be for different reasons than when I was a child. I would do it as a portal to go back in time and experience the simple life of a child, to spend time with my siblings, and to pass on this sentimental tradition to my own children. 

Short story by Natalia Echeverria

[prograntsandproposals]

Get started with basics of writing proposals by Pro Grants & Proposals.

First and foremost, keep in mind that all writing is intended to convince the reader. Those who need it will read what you've written. This person might become a customer or a business partner. These statements are intended to influence the target's decision-making process.

This is an excellent approach to tie everything together. Before beginning to create the proposal, it is critical to understand the following aspects of the target market:

This individual is preoccupied with their wants.

They will want to read or review your proposal as soon as possible.

Keeping this in mind, consider the following while preparing your proposals

Tell them, then tell them again, and so on.

Proposals reveal nothing about your personality.

Concentrate on the positive.

Make an effort to be as specific as possible.

Try to be as concise as possible without losing clarity.

Include all of the information that the reader will need.

Pay attention to the present moment.

Just keep telling them what you've previously told them.

An ancient proverb instructs us how to prepare an excellent proposal or presentation.

Please don't be shy in telling them.

Remember to expand on what you've previously mentioned.

It would help if you heeded this sound advice. Whether you accept it or not, hearing anything more than once is beneficial. When you tell someone the same thing twenty times, they will begin to grumble since they have already heard it twice. If you bring it up once, people will almost certainly forget.

It would help if you centred the proposition on the other individual.

People often forget the golden rule throughout the proposal process: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." You probably dislike individuals who constantly speak about themselves. As a result, you should not strive to be like that. I get why you want to write ten pages on how fantastic your business and services are.

People no longer have the time or want to read ten pages about you. Tell the world about them and how they may benefit from your skills and expertise in a written article. Give specific examples. It's critical to continuously repeat yourself, "It's not about me," throughout the proposal process.

Inform folks about what it can achieve for them.

The concept behind "Selling the Benefit" is simple. The individual reading your remarks should be able to see how selecting the choice you are advocating would improve their life. You must tell the reader what nice things will occur if they follow your advice.

When writing proposals, it's easy to get caught up in talking about how fantastic your company is and neglect to mention how it would benefit the reader or link them to it. Because most readers dislike "fluff," this part will likely be skimmed or skipped entirely.

Be as precise as possible.

Writing a proposal is similar to playing "The Dating Game" with a prospective client: you must persuade them that cooperating with you is the best alternative. You will need more than ambiguous and deceptive language to get you anywhere.

Keep it as brief as possible without diluting the purpose.

Many proposal writers make the mistake of assuming that their readers are eager to read their lengthy materials. They'll put in the effort to draught a four-page cover letter, sure that the receiver will read it.

But I'm very confident that if I wrote them a four-page letter promoting my marketing supply firm, most of them wouldn't even bother to read it. As a result, it is critical to be concise. Nobody wants to spend time reading your nonsense, so immediately get to the point.

On the other hand, some proposal managers prefer to provide a concise summary. If your presentation is long, you can avoid losing your audience and failing to achieve the desired objectives.

Too much text is less likely to be read, and too brief material is more likely to be viewed sceptically. This should be a red flag that there are better decisions than collaborating with this firm.

Cleaning up the whole procedure

Clients often need a great deal of information, especially regarding bids. How will you live up to their expectations if you can't compose the next War and Peace?

Lists of bullet points

Using bullet points may help break big paragraphs into smaller, more understandable chunks. This makes it easy to read the material. As a result, anything in the form of a bulleted list is more likely to be read entirely since it involves less mental effort from the reader. Many times, a bulleted list may be a better method to communicate the same thing as a paragraph. Bullet lists are also helpful in summarising essential points and displaying crucial information.

What good are bullet points if you have to build a list?

Readers will find it easier to grasp.

We utilise fewer words to convey the same message.

 Aids in drawing attention to essential issues.

Graphs, diagrams, and charts

Many businesses utilise charts and graphs to display information that would otherwise have to be written down in great detail. It is advised that charts and graphs be used as much as possible when presenting marketing data.

Pictures

Many people feel that the expression "a picture is worth a thousand words" is accurate. That is usually the case. Use a graphic to assist explain or illustrate a point. You may offer the reader a respite while keeping their interest by employing images effectively. Make sure, however, that they contribute something relevant to the discussion.

Remove Extraneous Words

Look over your work for instances where you left out terms that don't belong. When you write concisely, you leave out all the unnecessary information and concentrate on what is vital.

The meaning of each word determines the overall meaning of the phrase. Every word on the page should be there for a purpose.

Conclusions

Managers should be able to get information formally, rather than merely informally, in the elevator and comprehend how their choice would influence everyone before acting. Managers want proposals because they may be used to market ideas and demonstrate what they require.

They allow you to express your thoughts and facts straightforwardly and compellingly. Having a professional draught, your proposal demonstrates to your supervisor that you considered the concept and care about the issue.

[soobnny]

don’t go — yang jungwon. classmates to lovers. zombie apocalypse au. fluff and angst. 

synopsis. you never would’ve expected meeting your class president under these circumstances, but here you are, in a barricaded classroom with your hand in his. when night falls and the undead sound a little quieter, jungwon makes it his responsibility to check for any possible routes of escape, but it’s a little hard when you’re begging him not to go (1.7k words)

go to “all of us are dead” series masterlist

“I’m scared.”

The sound of heavy footsteps is all you hear, echoing around your school hallways in senseless direction and stretching all the way towards the staircase. At least, it’s all you hear from where you’re hidden with Jungwon, just a few meters from the things that roam the halls. 

“Jungwon, I’m so scared.”

Your temporary sanctuary is in a locked classroom, windows and doors barricaded to keep a barrier between the pair of you and the undead. It’s dusty, and your only notable memory of the place is crying while having to push at the bodies of the people who used to be your classmates, the ones you had to kill if you wanted to survive. 

They weren’t who they used to be, is what you repeat in your head over and over as you try to justify your actions. And yet, flashes of memory still sneak their way in. You refuse to acknowledge them, afraid of getting killed if you let yourself get distracted by who they were before they turned.

Everything had happened in a flash, you don’t even remember much. It passes you like a blur - the screams, finding the warmth of a hand, running away until you couldn’t catch your breath anymore, and shoving yourselves into any room you found that was unoccupied. Now, it’s almost a day later and you’re left wondering what your plan of action was supposed to be.

You lean against Jungwon, desperately trying to reassure yourself that you still had someone. Not that you and the class president were necessarily close before this had happened. You’ve only shared brief interactions in class, or when you were tasked to bring papers into the Council office with him, or even short greetings in the hallways. Nothing more than simple hello’s and small waves.

Now, you’re clinging onto him with the prospect of never letting him go. 

“Are you okay?” He’s asked you this several times within the day, and all you can really do is nod. You don’t really know the answer yourself, but given the circumstances, being alive was more than enough to consider that you were okay. 

Jungwon has his head leaned against yours and he’s holding onto your hand just as tight as he did when he was pulling you down the hallways, seeking for safety. You reason that he was just like you - he needed something indicative of being constant. 

Did he witness losing a friend just like you did? Did he feel just as guilty as you when you had to kill the people you used to spend every day with?

“You know, if we’re the last people we’ll ever see, you might as well call me Wonie. All my close friends used to call me Wonie…” The latter comes out in a pained whisper as if he was tired of remembering that his friends were gone. 

“Don’t say that, Jungwon.” 

“Wonie.”

You sigh, pulling your head away to take a good look at the boy seated beside you. His appearance looked dusty, blood sprawled across his uniform, and he had a small cut on his cheek. Albeit, hidden in specs of concrete and ash. “We’ll make it out of here, Wonie.”

He smiles at the mention of his nickname. 

“I can’t believe we’re meeting each other under these circumstances.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you feel him playing with your hand - intertwining your fingers together before untangling them and intertwining them again. 

You laugh humourlessly at the intimacy of the action. If the circumstances were anything but, you’d probably be blushing and stuttering over your own words at the feel of his hand in yours. But you knew, behind your miserable attempts of keeping things lighthearted, you two were just as distraught as the other. 

You hadn’t heard or seen anyone else that was alive on this floor and the events were just starting to dawn on the both of you again. 

Your unsuccessful attempt at escaping earlier was one of the scariest experiences of your life, a close second to the outbreak almost a day ago, and the look of horror on Jungwon’s face when he almost lost you was something you never wanted to see again. His strained voice yelling at you to run when he was finally able to pry the zombie that had previously been atop of you echos in your head over and over.

When the room falls silent, you risk another glance at Jungwon. He looks nothing but pained and confused, eyes stern and lips pressed together in a straight line. It hurt seeing him like this, but you knew better than to disturb him when you knew he was thinking of how to get you two out of there.

“Does it sound quieter to you?” You sit up a little straighter, trying to hear more from the hallways outside. He was right, the sound of heavy footsteps you had heard earlier was now reduced to lighter footsteps - you think, maybe they were moving elsewhere. 

“Yeah… is it time?” It stings when he meets your eyes. Jungwon can see the fear flash in them when you realize that it might be time to attempt to escape again. He breaks eye contact with you as soon as he meets your eyes, staring straight ahead of the empty classroom instead. 

“I’ll go alone.”

His words prompt you to pull your hand away from his. “What?”

“I’ll go alone. I’ll try to inspect the floor, see if anyone else is still alive, and see where we could possibly escape from, and I’ll come back to you.”

“Jungwon, you’re not going alone.”

“I’ve made my decision, and I’m going alone. Look, I’m not coming close to losing you again. You’re all I have left.” He sucks his cheeks, and you can hear the slight tremble in his voice. He’s very clearly fighting back a few tears from falling. “I– I almost lost you a few hours ago.”

“Wonie, you aren’t going to lose me.” Your voice breaks as you pull him into your arms. He sucks in a deep breath, clinging onto your blouse and leaving prints of blood where he had your uniform bunched up in his fists. “Stop it. I’m coming with you.” You feel your own body start to shake, and you don’t know where to put your hands, and your eyes are stinging a little bit from the dust and tears building up. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Jungwon, please.” You try to say, but all that leaves your mouth is a hideous sob. He pulls away from your embrace, half-heartedly laughing as he wipes his tears away before moving to wipe yours. “Don’t go. This isn't fair.” You hope the pained expression on your face is enough to make him stay.

Your face breaks further when you realize that he isn’t listening to you, and Jungwon can hear his own heart shatter into pieces. “What if I’m the one who loses you?” You no longer try to fight back the tears that gather at your eyes, and everything seems a little blurry to you. 

Jungwon shakes his head, shushing you quietly as he holds your face gently in his hands, continuing to wipe at the tears falling down your cheeks. 

“I have to do this. I promise I’ll be back.” He tries to put on a smile to at least comfort you for a few minutes. “No, no. Don’t, please just let me come with you. I can’t have you going out there alone. Please, Jungwon. I— If you don’t want me to go, then just stay with me. Please stay here, for me.”

He falters, hearing your voice crack and feeling your harsh grip around his wrists. 

“Hey, hey, _______. Stop crying, I’ll come back. Stop crying, please.” You shake your head at him, and he’s pressing his lips against your cheeks in an attempt to calm you down. “I have to go. Come on, give me a smile. I don’t like seeing you cry.” 

“I can’t, Jungwon.” You sniffle.

“Come on, just a small smile so I know you’re okay.” You blink up at him through your tears, hands still clinging desperately around his. You can see the tear stains from his own cheeks and the redness tainting his nose (you don’t have to look at the mirror to know you probably look the same).

“Well, what if I’m not okay with you leaving? Just let me come with you, or stay here with me. Please, let’s do it together.” You’re stuttering over your own words and Jungwon moves to hold your face back in his hands, looking deeply into your eyes.

“I’ll be back.” He repeats.

You break into another sob and Jungwon pulls you in for a short embrace, planting a kiss on top of your head. “I promise I’ll make it back. You can count on me.” He speaks a little louder, more sternly but his actions contradict that of his tone as he caresses your face gently, rocking both of your bodies back and forth.

“You better come back.” You sniff, wiping at your nose and inhaling a deep breath. 

“I will, hey, look at me?” He wills you to look at him, tilting his head to try and catch your eye. You feel the same sharp sting when you hold his gaze. “I promise I’ll come back for you.” 

You nod your head, and he places one last firm kiss on your forehead before he pulls away and gathers the things he needs to search for help and if he’s lucky, any more survivors. 

“Stay right here, okay?” You gulp, but you nod at his words again. “Let me hear your pretty voice.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” You find a hint of a smile form on Jungwon’s lips when you speak to him again. Knowing you’ve stopped crying, he feels it’s ready to go, so he moves to set aside the things in the barricade. 

He feels a set of arms wrap around him from behind and he feels himself stop breathing. Jungwon vows to himself to make it back to you no matter what.

When he turns around one last time to look at you, you make an effort to force a smile on your face. If this was the last time he’ll ever see you again, you want the last thing he’ll remember to be a smile and what you hope to be genuine concern in your eyes. 

Tonight, you say goodbye to Jungwon - and hope to say ‘hello’ to him again in a few hours.

[animetingzz]

I need you

Bela Dimitrescu x Shifter! Reader

Warning! Angst and gore, mentions of torture.

      “Honey i just don’t get why you want to try and kill one of the four lords? THEY’RE LORDS! Are you sure you’re ready for the consequences when you fail?” The woman glares at the man, her spineless coward of a husband who was once brave and confident. There was a time where he’d follow her anywhere, he’d do anything for her and vice versa. “You don’t understand Stefan! This is my sister! They laid their filthy hands on her and stole the life from her! What did she do but serve them unconditionally?! What warrants such a fate?!” “THEY’LL KILL YOU! Make a public example of you! What then?! What shall I do then?!” “Stop making this about you! This is my sister we’re talking about and if I don’t avenge her who will? You certainly won’t and I can’t stand by while they drag more innocent souls to their deaths!” The door shuts with a resounding slam as Stefan breaks down at the prospect of losing his beloved wife. “Forgive us Mother Miranda . . .”

      The plan was simple, get close to the Lady and earn her trust. There were rumors of a dagger powerful enough to strip the life of the wretched matriarch she just couldn’t pin down where exactly it resided. Gaining the trust of the nine foot tall Beauty proved to be more difficult than naught, the head of the castle always away for business or busy with one of her daughters, showing her the ins and outs of their business as she’d soon have a partnership role. That’s what led Alina to her backup plan. If she couldn’t get close to the matriarch than she’ll have to take something from her that will absolutely destroy her; Her daughters.

      Getting close to Cassandra was nothing short of impossible. The deranged middle Dimitrescu only had blood and carnage on her mind, death was sure to follow anyone who dared to get close. Daniela also proved to be difficult seeing as the girl was impetuous. Often acting without a single thought the youngest Dimitrescu could switch up her moods so swiftly it was impossible to read her. Stories of her erratic outbursts whispered through the halls, a maid getting her face slashed for making a simple mistake. She too seemed to operate on pure destruction. That left Bela; eldest Dimitrescu and heir to whatever winery they operated. Perhaps the most poised and collected of the three, she too had her moments of terror but she spent most of her time in her study reading any and everything. Her thirst for knowledge was the one thing Alina could work with.

      “Come onnnnn, you’ve read that book like a million timesss. . .” (Y/n) whines, crawling into the blonde’s lap and trying to muzzle her way under her book and into her neck, much like a cat in search of affection. Bela, still absorbed in her book hums softly, placing a kiss atop her head without breaking her concentration. “I want to spend time with you.” (Y/n) nuzzles into her neck, breathing in her scent with a sigh. She smelled of amber and bark with a slight iron undertone. Bela finishes the chapter and sets her book down, turning her attention to the girl in her lap. “Alright I’m all yours now.” (Y/n) grins brightly and all but drags Bela out the study. “We’re going to have so much fun!” On their way down the hall they run into Alina, Bela’s personal maid, carrying a load of laundry. “Oh Alina, I’ve been meaning to tell you, the nights are getting far too cold so you’ll need to make sure there’s enough firewood in Lady Bela’s room each night. I needn’t remind you the consequences should you fail as I’m quite fond of you.” “Yes lady (y/n). I shall get to it right away.”

      (Y/n) proved to be another wrench in Alina’s plan. After she had settled to get close to Bela she realized she’d also have to gain the trust of the resident hunter/ executioner. (Y/n)’s whole purpose was to get her hands dirty and the girl showed absolutely no remorse over it. Was everyone in this castle fucking mad? Legend had it (Y/n) wasn’t even fully human, where’s the surprise in that? (Y/n) was always at Bela’s side, only leaving to hunt, gather supplies from around the village, and carry out executions. Alina couldn’t quite pin what exactly (y/n) was and it scared her. She was swift like the daughters but never burst into swarms of murderous flies. She ate the same as the three but didn’t actively drink blood. Was she perhaps another one of Miranda’s freaks? She’d have to find out some other time because now fate seemed to be on her side. Lady Dimitrescu was leaving for business and (y/n) was going out for a hunt. Daniela and Cassandra would be in the dungeons all day torturing those poor souls (y/n) dragged in the previous week. “They’ve been scouting the castle grounds.” She had said. Anyone with ill intentions was tortured and eventually put to death. That left Bela who had opted out of torture for the day and insisted she read in her study. Alina knew the girl hadn’t been sleeping too well and thus her senses dulled. The knife she’d heard about tucked away into the apron of her uniform Alina did her normal duties, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She wasn’t a complete idiot either she had the perfect plan. Open the window to weaken the flies that made up Bela’s structure and stab her with the knife to render her healing ability from kicking in. She’d then lock her in the study and let nature take its course. She’d then rush the dagger back to its rightful place and stage an attack on the castle, wounding herself would likely keep her out of suspicion.

      Something’s not right. (Y/n)’s gut was screaming at her to abandon her hunt and return to the castle. Her wings twitched nervously and she hissed lowly. The herd of deer she had been stalking for half the day just ahead. She readied herself to pounce, in her panthera form she’d make quick work of the poor deer she’d get her claws on however the nagging feeling that something just wasn’t right prevented her from following through. Then she heard it, the shudders of weakened breathing and the slowing of a heart beating. Bela was in trouble. With the sound akin to that of thunder (y/n) took to the sky, trying with all her might to get to the castle in time. She didn’t even shift back to her human form as she raced the halls, listening for those cursed sounds. When she located the door she all but tore a hole through it, immediately sweeping Bela off the floor and rushing her to another room. Her thoughts running wild. How did this happen? If only I’d been here. I’ll kill whoever’s responsible. Cassandra and Daniela burst through the door shortly after. “What the hell did you do to my sister?!” Cass sneered, already quick to blame with her sickle pointed at the Hunter. “Cass calm down! If she’d done it she wouldn’t have rushed her here.” Daniela reasoned, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t know who did this but someone’s head is going to roll for it.” (Y/n) said with absolute venom lacing her words.

      The days to follow were filled with so much tension. All the maids were lined up and cross examined, most had strong alibi’s while others seemed a little shaky. Nonetheless the incident was ruled an accident by Lady Dimitrescu per (y/n)’s pleas. Bela fell into a coma whilst her body worked to recover at an alarmingly slow pace. Her room on complete lockdown, no maids, not even her sisters or (y/n) could see her. It hurt to not be able to see the girl she loved but (y/n) knew it was for the best. Trust was very low these days and whoever tried to kill her could still be in this castle. (Y/n) remembers the conversation she had with Lady Dimitrescu the week after the incident. “Whoever tried to kill Bela knew what they were doing. They waited until you and I were away for business and Cass and Daniela would be busy in the lowest parts of the castle. They also left the window open and locked her in her study. I have a list of maids I want to observe but I must ask of you a favor my Lady.” Lady Dimitrescu takes a puff of her cigarette with a hum, she was very livid over the whole situation but her outward demeanor remained calm, frighteningly calm. “I’m listening child.” (Y/n) looks up and makes eye contact for the first time that night, her eyes red from crying and flooding with pure retribution. “I want you to announce that the incident was an accident. I can observe everyone better if they know we don’t suspect any foul play. I would also like to request that Bela is put on strict lockdown, with you being the only one to be in contact with her. I’ll assign all her maids elsewhere.” Lady Dimitrescu mulls the thought over for what feels like a century. She wanted whoever tried to kill her daughter to pay for their crimes, that much she had in common with (y/n) but to cut her daughters off from their sister? In these trying times where Bela was literally fighting for her life? “My lady, I only ask because she may try again if she had access to Bela.” (Y/n) assures as if reading her mind. “Granted, you have 14 days to figure out who tried to kill my daughter. Should you fail, well, it’s going to be a dark night in the history of castle Dimitrescu.” (Y/n) nodded, the indirect threat lingering over her head.

      Ten days and nothing of significance. (Y/n) groans in frustration. She’d observed every maid and none stood out, none seemed the least bit suspicious and it bugged her to no end. Deciding that some time outside the castle would help clear her head she decided to head for the village for supplies. She hadn’t had time to hunt lately so she figured buying from local butchers should be enough to feed the Dimitrescu’s until she could get out to hunting again. On her way to the local butchers she passed the pub, the siren call of whiskey oh so enticing. One drink. She thought, one drink would be enough for her after all she wanted to remain level headed. “I still can’t believe she’d throw away years of marriage. . . ” a man babbled, slumped on the table he sat at with tears and snot running down his face. The pink shade to his face indicated this man was well passed drunk. (Y/n) paid him no mind as she trekked further into the pub. “I told her not to go . . . Told her death would surely follow. You can’t kill a Lord.” (Y/n)’s ears perked up at this, forgoing her drink she closed in on the man, blood boiling. “What’s this about killing a Lord?” The man gasps in surprise, stumbling back in his seat and hitting the floor. Fucking drunks. “My Lady. . . What brings you to here?” (Y/n) loomed over the man, her foot coming up to rest on his throat, forcing his back into the ground. “I have very little patience for formalities. Cut the shit and tell me what you know about the attack on Castle Dimitrescu.” The man spilled everything, his wife’s sister, her plan of revenge, the legends of a dagger that was strong enough to kill a Lord. His fear fueling him to empty his soul. (Y/n)’s eyes flashed an angry gold, so one of the maids made the attempt on Bela’s life. She dragged the man with her to castle Dimitrescu and before the Lord herself.

      Alina could barely lift her head as the sounds of manic giggling drew closer and closer. She could hear whimpering on her left and the rattling of chains at his futile attempt to escape. “Well well well what do we have here?” An airy voice taunted and out of the swarm Daniela materialized, a crazed smile graced her features, lips coated in blood and gore. “Ah yes. . . A spineless man thing who can’t stop spewing nonsense. Cute if you weren’t so hopelessly weak. Oh and you?” Daniela directs her attention to Alina, a mischievous glint in her two toned eyes. “The bitch my sister trusted, what a terrible judge of character that one. Do you want to know what we’re going to do to you?” The sound of yet another swarm approaches, Cassandra appearing with an array of new tools. “Enough talking Dani, let’s show these scum what happens when you bare your teeth at castle Dimitrescu.” The torture lasted for days as their screams echoed the halls. Cassandra and Daniela doing the most without granting them the sweet release of death. A week passed, than another before it was time to publicly execute them. (Y/n) mulled over a few ways to make an example of the couple. She wished Bela was awake so she could give her input but the blonde was stuck in her coma. Lady Dimitrescu finally allowed her daughters and (y/n) to visit her and (y/n) spent most of her time laying next to Bela in her Panthera form, trying with all her might to produce enough heat to accelerate her healing. After finding out about the dagger being stolen Lady Dimitrescu begged mother Miranda for an antidote. The woman agreed and had an antidote prepared the very same day. She warned them however that the affects might take awhile, “could be days could be months”. All they could do was wait. You could always just post them outside the castle walls and let the crows have at them they’ll succumb to their injuries and it’ll send a message that there’s a fate far worse than death. (Y/n) remembers Bela telling her that on one of her first executions, helping the girl send a clear message to the village. No one messes with House Dimitrescu.

      There was peace once again in the castle, albeit a strained peace. Tensions were still high as Bela had yet to rise from her coma. Cassandra had started getting more violent, lashing out at anyone and anything with her hair trigger temper. Daniela grew more quiet, opting to read more these days rather than partake in any activities that would have her leave the castle. Lady Dimitrescu still managed her business and frequent meetings with the Lords but she spent smoked more and ate less. (Y/n) never left Bela’s room, after making an example of that wretched couple she curled up beside Bela and just laid there. She didn’t eat and she rarely slept. She spent her days talking to the comatose blonde in hopes that something would stir her from her deep slumber. “You wouldn’t believe it, it was the biggest deer I’d ever downed, you would’ve loved it.” Tears flowed like a constant stream, ceasing to end down (y/n)’s face. “Please wake up Bela, I need you, I . . . I love you.”

~End

Requested by @wolfie22900

AN: I’m so sorry to make this so sad but there may or may not be a second part to this, depending on how I’m feeling…

[cherienymphe]

Bloodied Crowns (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, STEPCEST, murder, violence, abusive realtionships, Tony x reader, prince!Peter, king!Tony, queen!Reader

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ based off of this ask

summary:  When your husband, King Anthony, is killed in a coup staged by his son from his previous marriage, Peter, you are forced to marry the young man who no longer feels the need to hide his feelings.

~

Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, the stern monarch losing his wife only a few months prior. The engagement and the wedding happened so quickly, and before you knew it, you were married to King Anthony Stark. Truth be told, you’d feared that you’d never marry at all, and that you’d bring shame to your name, but a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had put you directly into the king’s path.

Your family had attended the queen’s funeral to pay your respects. It had been drilled into you to catch the eye of an available suitor, as it had been many times before, and while you were disgusted that you could not even properly pay your respects to the royal family, you understood your parents’ desperation. You were twenty-eight with no prospects on the horizon. They had no other children, no sons, your mother unable to conceive after yourself, and so the weight of carrying on the family name was solely on your shoulders.

Your family was not poor by any means, but you were far from wealthy. That being said, your mother spent an outrageous amount to get you the most captivating black dress money could buy. It was not something that would draw too much attention, but enough so that you did not look like a grieving widow yourself. When it was your turn to pay your respects, you recalled bowing to the young prince, the brunette barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. It was rumored that he and his mother were close, that he’d taken her death very hard, and the way he seemed to stare right through you confirmed as much.

When you bowed to the king, apologizing for his loss, you could feel his eyes on you. This was nothing you concerned yourself with. After all, you were speaking to him and he you, but when you rose, you were taken aback by the intensity you found in his dark eyes. Where his son seemed to look through you, the king could not seem to take his eyes off of you. No one else seemed to notice, and, brushing it off, by the time you returned home, you had forgotten all about it.

Until a few days later when a royal guard was at your door. You were being invited to dine with the king, the invitation extending to your family as well, and although you were confused, you knew you could not refuse. Even if you wanted to. The dinner was nice, and you were a bit surprised at how easy it was to get along with the king. You never thought him cruel, but you’d heard that he was a rather stern man. After supper, he extended the invitation to staying at the castle so that you would not have to travel back so late in the evening. Your mother answered before you had the chance to, and it was no surprise to you that the answer was yes.

The castle was so different during the night. It seemed less welcoming and more ominous, and you found it hard to sleep that night. Convinced that the corridors would be empty, you quietly slipped from your chambers and made your way down to the kitchens. There were still a few servants lingering about, cleaning or preparing for the next day. You felt guilty for bothering them for something to drink.

“Nonsense, my lady. I would be more than happy to get that for you,” a younger girl by the name of Guinevere told you.

“Oh...please,” you waved her off. “No one is around. Call me Y/N.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as you told her your name, but she said nothing more as she gave you your water. The dark corridors did not scare you, but the eerie silence was a bit off putting, especially in such a grand structure. You had turned the corner to make your way back to your room when you bumped into none other than the prince. You had almost dropped the drink, and you placed your hand on your chest in an attempt to still your heart.

“Your highness. My apologies, I did not see…”

Your words died in your throat as the prince fixed you with a look that made your stomach churn. You snapped your mouth shut, swallowing as he simply glared at you, brown eyes looking so much darker. You had not seen him since the queen’s burial, and he did not look much better than he did then. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he had shoved past you, almost making you drop the goblet in your hand, and a low gasp escaped you as your other shoulder harshly met the wall. You turned to watch him go, shock and confusion pouring through you, wondering what you had done to offend him so.

It was only a few weeks later did you get your answer.

“I...I beg your pardon?”

The king reached for your hand, a soft breeze ruffling his dark hair as he brought it to his lips. They were soft as they brushed over your skin, and the corner of them curved upwards into a smile.

“Everything is already being arranged, but...this is my formal proposal. I need a queen, Peter needs a mother, and you are everything I could have hoped for,” he told you.

You stared at him in shock, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from beneath your feet. Your mind whirled as you tried to make sense of this and where this had come from, and suddenly, the puzzle started to piece together. The countless dinner invitations, the gleam in your parents’ eyes, the hushed conversations...the prince’s animosity. You were being courted by the king this whole time...and you’d been none the wiser. His chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“When your mother told me that you could be quite oblivious, I thought that it was a simple exaggeration.”

He found humor in your distress, you realized, and you swallowed.

“I do not know what to say,” you slowly breathed, and you watched him tilt his head at you, a frown beginning to form.

“You say yes,” he said with a scoffing laugh as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

You realized that to anyone else, it would be.

“Your majesty...I feel as if we’ve only just met. Surely, you would allow me time to think-.”

“Think about what?”

His hand tightened on yours, and you winced. He leaned in, genuine confusion in his dark eyes as he stared into your own.

“I am a king telling you that you are to be my queen...and you are hesitant?”

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on you. Anthony was a king. You were a mere lady attempting to refuse his proposal for marriage, and your heart sank to your stomach. You blinked at him, and his face suddenly smoothed over as he sighed.

“Ah. I understand what this is about…”

“You do…?”

He softly smiled at you, reaching up to brush his thumb along your chin.

“You come from an acceptable background. You are beautiful and smart and kind. I assure you, this is genuine. This is not some poor attempt to cope with my grief. In all honesty, my marriage to the queen was over long before she died,” he told you.

You looked away, realizing that you were not getting out of this. Whether you liked it or not, you would be marrying the king, and with reluctance and a shaky voice, you accepted his proposal. He straightened when you did, a look of satisfaction on his features, and he looked as if he wanted to kiss you. You were thankful that he did not.

The wedding took place only a couple of months later, every nearby royal, and even some across the water, in attendance. It was a grand and beautiful affair, no expense spared, and it was days later that you found out it far outshined his first wedding. You remembered feeling sick as you walked down the aisle, the feeling only getting worse as your gaze met that of the prince.

In the time since the official engagement, you had interacted with the prince only a handful of times. Each time more disastrous than the last. You told yourself that he was grieving. His mother’s death was sudden and had hit him hard and here his father was, marrying again so soon. You did not fault him for his cold behavior. He was young, after all. You would expect nothing less, to be honest, but you could not lie and say that it did not hurt.

Unfortunately, even after the marriage, he did not soften towards you. Every attempt to get to know him was met with nothing short of loathing, and you finally accepted that he would come around in his own time. The last thing you wanted Peter to think was that you were trying to replace his mother. You did not know how long this would go on, but you did not expect it to be more than a year. 

You were wrong.

“I throw that kid the best birthday celebration a nineteen year old could ask for and this is how he shows his appreciation? By not even having the decency to show up?”

Tony was angry as he sipped from his goblet, glaring down at the attendees dancing below. A wonderful number was being played by a string quartet, several single princesses in attendance, and an hour into the celebration, Peter was still absent. You placed your hand on your husband’s arm with a sigh.

“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Tony. He will show,” you tried to assure him.

His shoulders sagged as he slammed his drink down, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. He reached for you, and you flinched, but he paid it no mind as he brushed his finger along your cheek.

“You are far too nice to him...and he hardly deserves it,” he whispered.

“He’s your son,” you reminded him with a frown. “Do not talk about him like that.”

“He’s ungrateful,” he spat.

“He’s grieving,” you argued.

“It’s been a year,” Tony sneered. “How much time does he need?”

You sharply turned away, swallowing a sigh as anger flared within you. Sometimes Tony could be so insensitive, amongst other things, and it baffled you. Peter lost the only mother he ever knew, and Tony was treating it as if it was something minor. After a few more moments, you excused yourself under the guise of needing some air. In truth, you were determined to track down the prince.

It was not a hard task. He tended to frequent the same places when he called himself hiding. You found him deep within the grounds, lounging on a branch high up in the tree. It was getting late, the sun currently setting, and you held up the skirts of your dress as you trudged towards him. You knew that he heard you, and you resisted the urge to sigh as you stood below him. Your heart ached for him as you could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. After all, you still had both of your parents.

“Peter,” you eventually called.

He yet again pretended as if he had not heard you, a hurtful habit of his, and this time you did sigh.

“Peter, please come down. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, and...and I am concerned about you. I-.”

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking I care about how you feel?”

His tone was cold, venom coating every word, and your heart clenched. He rarely spoke to you, every time he did as cold as today, but this was different. You were unsure of what to say, and before you had the chance to remedy that, he was hopping down. It was a bit cool out, and his coat flared behind him as he strode towards you, face hard and nostrils flared.

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking that I care about you at all?”

You reared back, staring at him with wide eyes. His words hurt, that you would not deny, and as much as you fought against it, you could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes. You swallowed, briefly glancing down as you took a step back.

“Peter-.”

“My mother was not even in the ground properly before you came sniffing around my father like a bitch in heat,” he sneered.

Your lips parted, wide eyes staring at him in shock at his words. You had never seen him look so hateful, borderline murderous, and you suddenly realized that this was about more than grief.

“P-Peter...that… That is not what happened-.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, taking another step towards you. “Do you think me stupid? Blind? You think I have never known of the way so many women prayed on my mother’s downfall?”

“I never-.”

“Do you think that I do not know that you all came to her funeral not as mourners, but as vultures? As desperate snakes trying to slip your way into my father’s bed so that you may take her place?”

“No! That is not what happened-!”

“You are no different from the rest!”

He was practically upon you now, glaring down his nose at you with so much disgust it finally made the tears spill over.

“I always knew that you were a desperate and conniving whore…”

You gasped, more tears falling at his insult. He raised one dark eyebrow at you.

“...but I never took you for a liar too.”

You were frozen as he looked you over one last time before breezing past you. You shook, unable to stop the tears, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had no idea that Peter’s disdain was in fact not misplaced due to grief, but was instead as genuine as could be because he thought you to be something you were not. This knowledge made your heart hurt, and it turned out that you were not as adept at hiding your feelings as you thought.

“What troubles you so?” Tony wondered later that night, his hand on your shoulder as you sat at your vanity.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked with a small smile.

His gaze met yours in the mirror, and the way his jaw clenched told you that he did not have much patience tonight. His fingers pressed into your skin, and you swallowed. You looked away, eyes blurring a bit as you recalled Peter’s cruel words.

“Peter hates me,” you confessed.

You heard Tony heave a sigh, and you turned to look up at him. He ran his hand through his hair as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid hates everyone and everything,” he replied.

“No, Tony. You do not understand. He believes me to be something I am not. He thinks that I schemed my way into marrying you, that I am trying to replace his mother-.”

“Peter will be just fine. He will grow to get over it in time,” was his enlightening reply, and you stood.

“But it is not true. Tony, does this not bother you? Because it bothers me! He should be like a son to me. He should be looking to me for guidance and care, and he curses the very ground I walk on. It hurts,” you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Tony’s entire demeanor softened, and he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and you winced at the soreness before he took your chin in between his fingers. He tilted his head at you.

“I love that you’ve grown to really care about him. It warms my cold heart…”

You forced a chuckle at that.

“...but Peter has always been a bit difficult when it comes to me and anything in relation to me. His mother is really the only person he ever really connected with. This will pass, I assure you.”

You reluctantly accepted that Tony just did not care about this as much as you did, and likely never would. Against your better judgement, you opted to let it go, and softly exhaled when Tony pressed his lips to your jaw. He trailed kisses down your neck, tightening his arms around you.

“As much as I enjoy your big heart, I would rather not spend the rest of the night discussing my troubled son,” he murmured, lips finally finding yours.

You did not know if you would ever grow used to making love to Tony. The only time he had ever been anything close to gentle was on your wedding night, and you had still cried, waking up sore and bruised. It eventually dawned on you that this was simply how Tony was, but it did not mean that you had to like it. 

The years that passed did not improve things as you’d hoped they would. Tony was still the same as ever, and Peter was no different. Your conversations with the prince were rare, but every one was brief and left you with a paralyzing chill. When he was not speaking to you, his animosity was enough to force you to keep your distance. The hurt that his behavior caused never got any easier. 

“When you have a child of your own, this will mean nothing to you,” Tony would assure you.

However, it only did the opposite. Even though Peter was not your own, it did not mean that you viewed him any less, and you knew that would not change when you finally did have a child. Whenever that happened. You and Tony had been trying for years, and there was still nothing to show for it. It was a great source of stress for you both, but Tony was taking it much harder than you.

“They say that it took many tries before they were finally able to have Peter, and even afterwards...the queen was never able to conceive again,” Guinevere had whispered to you one night.

“Oh,” you sadly said. “How awful…”

The blonde girl had glanced around the busy kitchen before leaning in.

“The king will never admit it, but many believe that he was the problem, and considering he is experiencing the same thing with you…”

Your heart sank as she trailed off, and despite everything, you found yourself feeling sorry for your husband. Many would argue that you should feel sorry for yourself. After all, it was a popular opinion that the woman’s womb was always at fault, and kings have gotten rid of their wives for less, but you knew that Tony was far too possessive of you to ever do such a thing.

It was a subject you wished you could talk to Peter about. He knew his father far better than you did, and sometimes you wished you could get some insight on how to make this better for him, but Peter was disgusted by your very presence. There came a time when you reluctantly accepted that it might always be this way, but everything changed when Peter was only a few weeks shy of his twenty-third birthday.

Tony, ever the showoff, was having a ball every week for five weeks straight leading up to the night. It was the second gathering when he had dragged you out of the great hall. His hold had been tight, steps hurried, and you forced yourself to swallow down the pain. The corridor was dimly lit and equally as empty, and tears of frustration were kissing your eyes.

“Tony-.”

“I saw you,” he spat.

“Saw me what? Saw me greet one of your friends? Because that is exactly what King Steven is to me and nothing more!”

His dark eyes were hard as he pressed his fingers into your arms, lip curled over his teeth as he sneered at you.

“He desires you. It is plain as day, and he has never been subtle,” he bit out.

“Somehow I am at fault for that? Steven is a bachelor in every sense of the word. That is how he is, and you know it-.”

“Yes, but I thought to myself, surely my loving wife would have the sense not to entertain his antics!”

“I was being polite,” you told him, wincing at his tight grip. “Just because you are only ever nice to people when you want something-.”

You swallowed your words with a sharp shriek, pressing your hand to your hot cheek as the tears finally spilled over. Your eyes were on the floor as Tony shook you, a scathing remark on his tongue, no doubt, when he suddenly stilled, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His sudden change confused you, and you hesitantly looked up only to realize that his gaze was not on you. You turned to find Peter standing just at the entrance of the corridor, his wide eyes on the two of you. 

Tony was quick in straightening you up, and you hurriedly looked away as he acknowledged Peter.

“Why are you not enjoying your celebration with your friends?”

It was a while before Peter responded.

“I noticed that you had slipped out, so I came to find you. I had hoped to continue our...conversation from earlier,” the prince answered.

When you turned back around, you avoided Peter’s eye, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. Tony’s hand was rubbing into your back as he responded.

“Of course. Sweetheart, you will excuse us, won’t you? Peter and I have much to discuss, and I am sure the other wives are missing your presence,” he said, turning to you.

He threw you a tense and threatening smile, and you shakily returned it with a forced one.

“Of course. I shall see you in there when you return. Peter,” you acknowledged as you hurried past him, avoiding his gaze still.

You did not return to the hall though, but instead made your way down to the kitchen. It was filled with servants, and Mary Jane gasped when she saw you. She and Guinevere were always joined at the hip, but the other girl had been ill for the last few days. The redhead dropped what she was doing, shooing another servant off of a stool before grabbing your arm.

“My God,” she breathed.

The other occupants tended to the food and drinks, much too used to seeing you down here twice a week or so. Mary Jane pressed a cold piece of steak to your face, and you hissed.

“Is it that bad?”

“It is swelling already, your majesty,” she said.

You shifted on the seat, holding the cold meat to your face as you shooed her off.

“I hardly notice how hard he hits anymore. It still manages to shock me every time though, and I have no idea as to why,” you whispered.

She was just about to reply when another voice rang throughout the kitchen.

“Everyone out.”

You turned with wide eyes, confusion tearing through you at the sight of Peter just at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying about the food, no doubt, before eventually heeding his order. Mary Jane, no stranger to your relationship with the prince, threw you a worrying look before being the last one out. Peter seemed to hesitate as well before huffing, quickly approaching you.

You moved to stop him, but he was already pulling the red meat from your cheek before you had the chance. He stared at your skin for a while before putting it back in place. You held it there as he leaned against the counter, a familiar look of anger on his boyish features.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he murmured.

There was no need to respond. It was a statement, not an answer. The silence was heavy, thick with tension and filled with words unspoken. Outside of that night, this was the longest you had ever been alone with Peter, and the first time you did not feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“You did not want to marry my father...did you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting to refute such a blasphemous statement, but no words came out. Words failed you. Peter was a smart young man, always had been, and you were sure that he would see through whatever lie you pieced together.

“Of course, it was not like you could refuse if you wanted to. He is a king, and you were a mere lady,” he said more to himself than you.

You sighed, putting the steak down as you stood.

“My father has never been kind to anyone in his life. I do not know why I thought you were an exception…”

“Peter… I do not want this to affect how you view your father, do you understand?”

He simply frowned at you, and you continued.

“He is not without his flaws, this is true,” you slowly said. “...but he is still your father. In his own way, he loves you and only wants what is best.”

Peter stared at you for a while before scoffing, a humorless laugh not far behind. He pressed his hand to the counter as he stared at you with a look of shock.

“My father does not deserve you,” he said, almost as if he could not believe it.

He chuckled again, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“All this time, I thought that the two of you deserved each other. I hated you...and now...now I just feel sorry for you. For both my father...and me…,” he quietly finished.

“Peter-.”

“I have been nothing but cruel to you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry for the things that I have done...and the things that I have said.”

You blinked, convinced that you would never hear those words. They warmed your heart, and you looked away.

“It’s alright. You believed what you believed, and if I were in your shoes, I might have believed the same. Your feelings were valid, Peter,” you told him.

He blinked at you.

“I never wanted to replace your mother. That is still not what I desire...but I am here. I know that there is only a decade between us, but I have come to love you like a son despite everything.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and you could see the guilt there.

“I never wanted to rush you, even now, but I hope that you will view me the same one day. Tony is no longer your only parent, and I am always here.”

Peter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he held off.

“I should get back before your father comes looking for me,” you said, heading for the stairs. “Oh...and please refrain from provoking him.”

You looked to Peter.

“I may dislike him at times, but I do not want to send him to an early grave.”

Peter simply hummed, sending you a strained smile before you left him to find your husband.

You remained in the corridor as the angry voices bled through the door. Both Tony and Peter assured you countless times that their strained relationship was none of your concern, but it could not be helped. They had never had the best relationship, but if possible, it had soured even more over the years, and you were unsure of who to blame.

The minute Tony started to get more serious about grooming Peter for the throne, things had gone from tense and strained to borderline violent at times. Not only did the two have such opposing views when it came to how to run the kingdom, but your husband had been pushing the idea of marriage more and more lately. It had only gotten worse when Peter neared his twenty-fifth birthday, the party on that fateful day ending abruptly when Peter had stormed out.

You were pulled from your reverie when the door swung open. Peter was the first one out, and he held up a hand as you moved to approach him.

“Not now, Y/N,” he huffed, quickly striding down the corridor with a frustrated sigh.

Tony emerged not long after, and you moved to kiss him, knowing that it would soothe him for the time being.

“That boy will be the death of me,” he complained.

“You both provoke each other, and I do not know why,” you told him. 

“He has duties! He is twenty-five and nowhere near taking them seriously. It seems that he is determined to ruin me,” he spat.

You sighed.

“Would you like for me to talk to him?”

“You seem to be the only one he actually listens to, so by all means,” he gestured down the hall, face cloudy.

You patted his chest before leaving him, wondering if a day would come where you would be a functional family. You and Peter were nowhere near what you used to be, and for that you were eternally grateful, but his relationship with Tony was far worse than it had ever been, and you did not know how to even begin to fix it.

You found Peter sparring with his dueling instructor. The sound of clashing swords was loud, and you rounded the corner, wincing when Peter just narrowly missed a rather dangerous blow. He motioned for the other gentleman to stop once he spotted you.

“Come on his behalf, have you?”

“Peter,” you sighed.

He snapped at the other man.

“Give your queen a sword, will you? Come,” he was talking to you now. “Spar with me.”

You reluctantly accepted the other man’s sword, a grimace on your face as you stepped forward.

“I am a horrible dueling partner,” you complained.

“Nonsense, Y/N. You are far better than what you were a year ago,�� Peter said with a chuckle.

Your heart sank a bit at the sound of your name, but it did not distract you from blocking the swing of his sword with your own. Peter smirked at you.

“See?”

“Peter, this is not why I am here,” you told him.

“Of course not,” he calmly said. “My father knows that between the two of you, you are the only one I actually respect. He believes that you have some sway over me...and I am not reluctant to admit that he is right.”

He blocked your blow, quick to do so again when you swung your sword down towards his legs. He eyed you, a bit of pride in his gaze.

“Very good,” he praised.

“I was hoping to talk you into agreeing to some sort of compromise with him. Any compromise, really.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, spinning before bringing his sword down over his head. Your eyes were wide as you lifted your sword, the sound of them clashing meeting your ears.

“There is no compromising with that man. He is determined to bring this kingdom and all of its subjects to ruin, and he wishes for me to just stand back and watch. He does not hear a word I say,” he spat.

He swiped his sword at you, several times and in several different successions. Unable to keep up, you were not surprised when your sword was knocked from your hands. You did not flinch when the tip of his blade found your throat, confident that Peter would never hurt you. He pressed the tip further, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed.

“Do you agree with him?”

“Of course not,” you honestly answered.

Peter lightly dragged his blade down your neck and towards the top of your dress, his eyes following its movement before he quickly snatched it away. He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to continue.

“You know I do not agree with how your father runs this kingdom, but I have no say. I never did. Believe it or not, Peter, you have much more influence than I do.”

He turned away with a disbelieving laugh.

“Somehow, I doubt that…”

“Look, I am going to say something that I know you are not going to like,” you suddenly said.

Peter did not respond, so you continued.

“I think that you should consider marriage.”

You saw him straighten at that, back tense, and you rushed to say something else.

“If Tony feels that you are taking your future seriously, then he will be more inclined to take you seriously.”

He turned to you with a withering look, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. I am not saying that you have to marry some poor girl right away, but at least make an effort to look around, and show Tony that you are attempting to meet him halfway,” you advised.

Peter gave you a hard stare for the longest time before eventually rolling his eyes and looking away.

“Very well. You always do get your way, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth parted for a moment before you snapped it shut, looking down. This did not go unnoticed by Peter, and he neared you.

“What is it, now?”

Your eyes met his, and you tried to hide your hurt, but it must have been clear as day. Peter’s entire demeanor softened, and he stuck his sword in the dirt, reaching for you.

“What is it?”

You exhaled.

“That...is another thing I had hoped to discuss with you.”

He frowned in confusion.

“You still refer to me by my name…” you watched as his face fell. “And I do not wish to rush you, I never have, but when you say my name...it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong here.”

“You are not,” he rushed to assure you. “Believe me…”

“I do not want to replace your mother, but if I am doing something-.”

“It is merely a force of habit. That is all,” he interrupted. 

“You are sure…?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile.

“...okay,” you said with a nod. “...and what will you be doing after this...?”

“I will be speaking with my father,” he reluctantly told you.

“Good,” you said, Peter bending to allow you to quickly peck his forehead. “...and please be polite. I hate the way you two provoke each other.”

He roughly exhaled.

“Yes...mother…,” he seemed to bite out, eyes on you.

You looked to him with wide eyes, heart swelling as your smile grew. You chuckled, kissing his forehead one last time before leaving him to finish his instruction.

Contrary to what you had hoped, your advice did not improve things. Now that Peter had agreed to at least looking for a wife, it just gave him and Tony one more thing to disagree on, and disagreements about the smallest of things only gave room for disagreements about more serious matters. Peter hated the way Tony ran the kingdom, and you could not fault him for that.

Meals were more tense than ever, and it soon became suffocating to be in the same room as father and son. You did your best to keep the peace between them but there was only so much you could do. Especially when the arguments would get so intense that you feared for them. Tony could get so angry, and while you had never known him to put his hands on Peter as he did you, it still worried you that he might one day. And Peter…

Sometimes Peter would get a look in his eye that chilled you to the bone. He would get so fed up with his father, lips pressed together as Tony tore into him, and you would see the younger man’s eyes flash with something you could not name. It was a look that terrified you and made him look like someone that was not Peter, at all. 

Tensions only mounted as your birthday neared. You did not want either of them involved in the party planning process, convinced this would be the final nail in the coffin. Truth be told, it was also for yourself as well. It allowed you to breathe better.

“The party is tomorrow night, and Peter has yet to have the last fitting for his attire,” you told Mary Jane as you stood.

“I can finish this up, your majesty, while you go find Peter,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I am almost finished, anyway.”

“Wonderful! I shall return shortly. There are only so many places he could be at this hour…”

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Peter’s chambers first, making your way to his wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the grounds, the maze especially, and you were confident that you would find him there then. 

You had not been inside the maze for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, somewhere in the middle perfectly between the beginning and the end when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end of a long stretch, were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar eyes meeting yours. A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Peter simply stared at you.

He did not break his gaze as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as Guinevere. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Peter as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Peter was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable. Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way Peter’s deep moan rang throughout the air.

Upon your return, you told Mary Jane that you were unable to find Peter. You did not want to think of the awkward encounter, and told yourself that the tailor had never been wrong before. You were positive that Peter’s attire would fit. You did not see the young man again until the following day, your birthday, and it was only an hour or so until your party. Tony was meeting with a few of his Lords when there was a knock on your chamber door.

You were quick to answer it, surprised to find Peter on the other side. You only felt uncomfortable for a moment before you took in his attire. You beamed, widening the door to allow him in.

“Oh, Peter, you look positively dashing!”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he smugly wondered.

You threw him a look.

“I swear, you are getting more and more like your father every day,” you told him with a chuckle.

“I got you something,” he suddenly said, and it was only then did you notice the box in his hand.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening when he opened it to reveal the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. The ruby heart in the middle was positively blinding, standing out against the rest of the diamonds that made up the band. You pressed your hand to your chest, mouth parting.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Oh my… Peter, this is so sweet of you,” you told him.

“Well,” he started, setting the box aside as he took the piece of jewelry into his hands. “It is not every day that one turns thirty-six.”

He motioned for you to spin around, and you obliged.

“This might also double as an apology for yesterday. I regret that you had to see that,” he chuckled.

You joined him, waving him off.

“Nonsense, Peter. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing more. You are a young man, after all, and I could never fault you for doing what young men do. You are treating Guinevere well, I hope? She is a sweet girl.”

Peter groaned.

“Yes, Y/N.”

Your heart sank at the sound of your name, and you frowned a bit.

“I am treating her just fine,” he assured you.

You chose not to comment on his use of your name, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“Would you ever consider marrying her?” you pushed.

Peter was quiet as he brought his hands over to lower the necklace at your neck. It was not one that rested at your décolletage, but at your throat instead, and your eyes widened a bit when he pulled it back. You reached up to your neck, forced to stumble back into his chest to keep from choking, relaxing a bit when he finally clasped it together.

“No,” was his simple answer. “It is not like that.”

He rested his hands on your shoulder, turning you around to admire you. His dark eyes took you in before finally focusing on the necklace, the corner of his lips lifting a bit. He pressed his finger to the ruby heart, drawing patterns over it before eventually stepping away.

“It looks great,” he told you.

“Thank you. We should track down your father before they start my own celebration without me,” you replied.

It was not long after that the three of you were entering the great hall, a smile on your face as everyone greeted you. Tony and Peter were at your sides, and both of their hands rested at the small of your back as they guided you to the royal table at the head of the room. Everyone only quieted down when you took your seats, and you looked down at the familiar faces with a smile.

Your attention was drawn to Peter as he stood, raising his glass as a servant came by to fill them. He only filled yours and Peters, but another quickly came to fill Tony’s. Once everyone’s glasses were filled, that was when Peter spoke.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

He turned to look down at you, dark eyes unreadable as he swallowed.

“...to the woman who loved me even when I did not deserve it.”

Your heart swelled as you smiled at Peter, so happy that you two had come this far.

“No one could ever replace my mother...and I would not want them to, but you, Y/N, you are the next best thing.”

Your eyes softened, realizing that while maybe Peter did not see you as something akin to a mother just yet, he still loved you, and that gave you hope. You could live with that for now. Peter’s eyes fell onto his father, and he suddenly smiled.

“...and to my father, the king. If it were not for you, Y/N would never have come into our lives.”

His voice was even, but his eyes glinted before he turned to the rest of the royal court, his glass held high.

“To the king and queen. Long may they reign,” his voice traveled over the room.

Everyone else repeated his words before taking a drink, you and Tony following suit. As you set your glass down, you watched, a bit concerned, as Peter swallowed all of his wine, a look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered his glass. You turned to Tony, prepared to ask him if he wished to say anything, just as he let out that first cough.

It sounded nasty, and you frowned, prepared to ask him if he drank too fast when he coughed again, blood staining his bottom lip. Your heart fell to your stomach, eyes widening as you reached for him, hands trembling. You were prepared to call for help when you noted the sound of several coughs reaching your ears, followed by screams.

When you turned towards the rest of the room, you saw every single one of the royal court coughing up blood, and you stood on unsteady legs as understanding dawned on you. You reached for Peter, your hand gripping his arm as fear and horror clung to you.

“P-Peter…”

You looked to him, but his face was stony as he looked down at everyone. The only people who were okay were you, Peter, the servants, and the few guards. You watched as Peter waved his hand, confusion filling you as two guards opened the door to let more in. You were frozen as they all drew their swords, stomach churning as you realized what was about to happen. You turned back to Peter, but he was already moving past you.

“Peter, what- what is happening? What are you doing?”

You lunged for him as he drew a dagger, hand fisted into his fathers hair to pull the struggling man’s head back.

“Peter, no!”

He shoved you away, right into the arms of a waiting guard, and you did not turn your head in time to miss the way he dragged the blade across his father’s neck. A scream left you, belonging to a voice that you did not recognize, and you continued to scream and cry as the guard backed up. Peter pointed at you, his father’s blood coating his hand, his face unrecognizable to you.

“Get her out of here…”

His eyes met yours, dark with a harmful intent that terrified you. Who was this man? He ran his eyes over you.

“...and do not let her get away.”

You fought against the guard as he dragged you away, kicking and screaming all the way. Your efforts did not even cease as you made it into the corridor, having been forced past the dead bodies of your friends and acquaintances. The guard towered over you and was easily double your size, so all of your efforts were useless. 

He only let you go when you reached Peter’s chambers, dragging you through the receiving chamber to toss you onto the floor of his bedchamber. The impact made your head spin, and by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, he was already pulling the door shut. You slammed your hands against it just as you heard it lock, and another sob threatened to escape you.

You had only ever been in Peter’s room a handful of times, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around. Your chest hurt, heart breaking as you recalled the way Peter had so callously taken his father’s life. Your husband was dead, and it was no secret that the man was far from perfect, but his absence scared you. What would become of you now? Why did Peter not poison you like the rest? God, had his feelings never changed, at all? Had he still secretly hated you this whole time and wanted to get some sick satisfaction out of killing you here?

You lost count of how many times you tried the door before moving to the balcony doors. They too did not budge, and you kicked them in frustration. You could barely form a coherent thought, and more tears spilled over as you realized just how alone you were. You did not understand anything. Why would Peter do this?

As you heard someone enter his receiving chamber, it occurred to you that you might get your answer.

Your eyes met Peter’s as he entered his chambers, and you stumbled back, afraid to take your eyes off of him. You watched as he locked the door behind him, and the sight of that made your face crumble.

“What have you done?” you shakily asked.

The room was quiet save for your soft sobs, and you flinched when Peter took a step forward. He did not look like the young man you knew. He stood there in the dark attire he had picked out for your birthday, looking every bit like the murderous man you now knew him to be. A dark strand of hair kissed his forehead, jaw clenched as he eyed you. It started to lightly rain outside, and your eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

His father’s blood.

“Have you come to kill me too?”

Finally, his face shifted, and he frowned at you.

“Kill you?”

Peter scoffed, laughing to himself as he tilted his head at you.

“You could not be farther from the truth…”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are you doing, Peter? I do not understand…”

“My father was going to run this kingdom into the ground. We both know it…”

You started shaking your head before he was even done.

“Something had to be done.”

“Not like this! You killed him- you killed everyone,” you cried.

“...and here I thought you would be thanking me,” he sneered.

“Thanking you?”

“Unless I was wrong, and you enjoy being slapped around,” he threw at you.

You felt as if you were just slapped then, and you pressed your back into the wall, tightening your arms around yourself.

“Not like this, Peter. Not like this,” you tearfully murmured.

The rain got louder, filling the otherwise silent room with some noise, and you flinched when lightning flashed, shedding light on the room and on Peter’s dark gaze.

“What will become of me? Did you ever think about that? I am the widow of a murdered king. A king murdered by his own son in a coup!”

“...and the future wife of the next one,” Peter calmly stated.

You froze, his words failing to make sense despite the fact that you heard him just fine. Something about them did not sound right, and your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“What...what did you just say?” you hesitantly questioned. 

Peter took another step towards you, and you slid along the wall...away from him.

“Do you have any idea how much it pained me to watch you with him?”

“Peter…”

You shook your head, still moving away as he moved closer.

“Do know what it was like to watch him mistreat you again and again only to turn around and reap the spoils of his marriage as if he had not just caused you harm only moments before?”

His voice was low, thick with something you were too disgusted to name. Your eyes were wide, filled with tears as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Peter’s feelings, his father’s murder...the two of you alone in a castle full of people that have proven their loyalty to him. Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, standing face to face with you, but now, eight years later, the young man towered over you.

He suddenly chuckled, and the sound terrified you more than anything now.

“I find it funny… My father was always telling me that royals take. We take what is ours. We take what we believe we should have. That is what we do, son,” he mocked. “We take.”

His cold eyes bore into yours as you stumbled away from him. In a circle the two of you went, and you pulled on the handle of the door as you pressed your back to it. Fresh tears spilled as it refused to budge.

“Now look. I have taken his life, I have taken his kingdom, and I have taken the woman he thought belonged to him-.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as you suddenly dived to the other side of the room. Peter followed, and you reached up to pull the portrait from the wall, tossing it at him only for Peter to evade it. You frantically crawled across the bed, kicking Peter in the chest as he reached for your ankle. You fell to your knees on the other side, running to the balcony doors with tears in your eyes.

Again, the doors would not budge, and you were prepared to throw yourself through the glass when Peter was suddenly there at your back. He enclosed you in his arms, and you reached back to fight against him and push him away, but he only pinned you between him and the glass. The sound of the thunder drowned out your screams, and you yelped in shock when he fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head to the side.

Peter was determined to taste you, tongue and teeth brushing your skin as he ground himself against you. Nothing you did seemed to deter him, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. The storm raged outside, wind pushing rain against the window. One of Peter’s hands dragged up your leg, pushing the skirts of your dress with it, and you slammed your hands against the window, attempting to push back.

This only egged him on, and he moaned in your ear.

“Peter, please,” you begged

You could feel the air against you, and your efforts to get away only increased when you felt him moving to release himself. The hand in your hair moved to your neck, cutting off your airway as he pulled your head back to rest against him. You struggled to breathe, nails scraping against the glass. He leaned down to cover your lips with his own, kissing you for the first time, and you sharply inhaled.

He moaned at the taste of you, his tongue meeting yours, tasting the wine that you wish had killed you too. You both struggled against the window, your hands turning into fists when he pushed his leg between yours, quickly followed by the other. You turned your head away, your small victory overshadowed by your ultimate defeat as he thrust into you. You yelped just as Peter shuddered against your back, a long sigh escaping him as he pressed a hand into the glass beside your head.

He pressed his face into your hair, grinding against you, the sound of him breathing you in reaching your ears. Your own forehead was pressed to the glass now, tearful eyes taking in the storm as Peter dragged his cock in and out of your unwilling core. Your body shook from both your sobs and his ministrations, and again, you pushed against the glass in hopes to push him away.

He merely shoved his chest into your back, forcing you back against the glass before wrapping his arms around you again. One hand pulled at the neckline of your dress, ripping it straight down, and your lashes fluttered when he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to roll his fingers over you. His other arm came across your middle, pinning your own at your sides.

“You are finally mine,” he breathed after a while.

You shook your head in denial, another lightning strike bathing the room in a glow. It was gone as quickly as it came, and you were forced to focus on Peter’s reflection in the window. He was lost in the euphoria of you, the feel of you wrapped around him, sucking him back in again and again.

“Finally,” he groaned. “At my side and in my bed as my queen…”

His hand slipped from beneath the torn fabric of your dress, dancing along your skin before his fingers brushed over the diamond choker at your neck.

“I have all night to claim you as mine, and no one is around to stop me.”

“Peter, this is not you-.”

“Oh, but it is,” he sighed. “This is the man you loved when he did not deserve it. This is the man you will marry, bear children with…’

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling at his words.

“Oh, please. Everyone knew that my father was the problem. He was the only one in denial about it, and I have a feeling that by the time I am done with you, you shall be with child by tomorrow.”

“Peter, please,” you screamed.

His hand tightened on your throat, pulling your head back so you were forced to stare at the ceiling, back arched to take his slow and purposeful thrusts. He kissed the corner of your eye before doing the same to your cheek. His breathing was choppy, heart pounding in his chest, and the way his hips stuttered told you that he was close.

“Oh God,” he moaned, stilling against your back as he spilled himself into you.

You froze against him at the feel, realizing that there was no turning back. You shook in his hold, feeling the urge to be sick when he suddenly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers. You gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist as he shoved a second finger inside of you, the wet sound of it reaching your ears even with the rain outside. He pressed you to his chest as he curled his fingers into you.

You bucked your hips, ashamed with your actions as he pulled pleasure from you like it was nothing. LIke he somehow knew your body better than you did. His lips were at your ear, brushing against your skin before he trailed them to your neck again, pressing kisses there. Your nails dug into his wrist, but he paid your efforts no mind as he thrust his fingers into you, setting a pace that had your legs shaking. You knew that if it were not for his hold, you would have collapsed already.

Peter hummed when your breath hitched.

“You are close...aren’t you?”

“Peter...stop,” you shakily begged.

“I shall stop when I feel your arousal dripping down my hand,” he purred.

His words had you clenching around him, and he moaned against your neck.

“I suppose I cannot blame my father for being so possessive of you. Your walls feel like heaven…”

“Peter…”

“I do not know how I will ever allow you to leave our bed-.”

“Peter-.”

“I guess I shall just have to keep you tired…”

“Please-!”

“Come for me, Y/N. Fall apart for your king,” he whispered.

And you did. You seized in his arms, walls clenching around him, your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. Your nails drew blood, but he only moaned with you, cursing as you rode yourself on his fingers, your other hand reaching back to twist into his shirt. That was the hardest you ever came, and shame filled you.  As you came down from your high, Peter lowered the both of you to the floor.

It was only then did you notice the bloody handprints on the glass. The same blood on you, no doubt. More tears sprung forth as it all seemed to hit you, and Peter forced your head onto his shoulder as he shushed you. You obliged, and he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, rocking you as you sobbed in his tightening arms.

~

tags:   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie  @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @mcudarklibrary @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @dramaholic18​

[starcunin]

Astarion closes his eyes, letting Amay’s words settle over him like a faint, comforting warmth, even though he knows they can only offer him so much solace. You’ll be okay. It’s a sweet promise, one that tugs at his heart like a lullaby. But it does little to chase away the black knot of fear still twisting within him. No, his worries are not so simple. Not anymore. Not now that he’s tasted something beyond the hollow, solitary existence he’d resigned himself to for centuries. His fears are no longer only for himself—for his own safety or freedom. His fears have tangled themselves up in Amay, in the terrifying prospect of losing him to one of the many horrors that seem to dog their every step.

Astarion lets a long, deep breath escape through his nose, an instinctual exhalation that feels both grounding and fragile, as if he could somehow rid himself of his fears in that single breath. It’s a futile gesture, of course, but he leans into it, savoring the closeness of Amay’s forehead pressed against his own. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost reluctant, as if giving form to his worries will make them all the more real.

❛ You’re sweet. But . . . it’s not me I’m worried about. ❜ He hesitates, then lets out a soft, bitter laugh. ❛ I mean—it is, but . . . ❜ he adds, not pretending that his own survival isn’t still knotted up in his chest. Of course he’s afraid. Afraid of the cruel, clawing death Cazador would love nothing more than to deliver for his ascension. But that’s only part of it. Only a sliver of the fear that keeps him awake.

Slowly, Astarion opens his eyes, letting his crimson gaze meet the molten yellow of Amay’s. There’s something grounding in those eyes, something that makes him want to believe, just for a moment, that everything might truly be okay. But that’s a lie he can’t afford to lean on. Not when the dangers they face are so very real. His hands lift almost of their own accord, moving to cradle the sides of Amay’s scarred face. His fingers are uncharacteristically gentle, tracing the contours of Amay’s skin, with a reverence. There’s a tenderness there that surprises even him—a depth of feeling he didn’t know he could express so openly.

❛ So many people are dead now, ❜ he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper, ❛ because of me. ❜ The words feels like a knife twisting in his gut. ❛ Because I led them . . . right to Cazador. ❜ He pauses, his thumbs brushing over Amay’s skin as if to remind himself that he’s real, that he’s here. ❛ And even though I would rather die, again, than let him have you too—I worry we won’t be strong enough to stop him . . . I worry about bringing you near him at all. ❜

The thought gnaws at him, a horror he can barely stand to imagine. Cazador wouldn’t just kill Amay. No, he would draw it out, make it as excruciating as possible, and force Astarion to watch every agonizing second. Astarion can already picture it, the way Cazador would savor his torment, reveling in his helplessness as he takes from him the one person who’s made him feel . . . alive again.

The one bright thread in the darkness of his life, the one person who’s ever looked at him as something more than a tool, a pawn, a thing to be commanded and used. And he knows, with a dread certainty, that if Cazador takes Amay from him, it will break something in him beyond repair. Astarion’s hands tremble slightly as he holds Amay’s face, his gaze searching, vulnerable in a way he’s rarely allowed himself to be. ❛ I don’t deserve any of this, ❜ he admits, his voice cracking, ❛ not your love, not this—hope you give me. But gods help me, I can’t lose you to him. I can’t let him destroy the only good thing I’ve found in all this misery. ❜

@caniasfire sent: [ nightmare ] sender comforts receiver after they wake up from a nightmare

The dream is so beautiful at first——too beautiful. It’s the kind of happiness Astarion hardly lets himself believe in, let alone hope for. He and Amay are free, truly free. The shadow of their cursed pasts long behind them. No tadpoles, no hellish masters, just endless possibilities. They’re powerful, unbound, ruling their world together as they should. The sun shines down on them and Astarion doesn’t flinch beneath its light. Amay’s laughter fills the air, bright and untainted, a sound of pure joy, and Astarion’s heart swells to hear it.

But then comes that shadow.

It seeps into the dream like blood into water——dark, spreading, impossible to ignore. Before Astarion can react, he sees him. Cazador. That monstrous, familiar figure looming, his red eyes glowing with twisted amusement. There’s no escape, no chance to protect what he loves. Cazador’s hand shoots out, fast as lightning, closing around Amay’s throat. Astarion tries to move, to scream, to throw himself between them, but he can’t. He’s frozen. Helpless. He can only watch, horror gripping his chest like a vice, as Amay struggles, choking on his own pleas for help.

Cazador’s gaze snaps to Astarion, eyes gleaming in the surreal darkness, glowing like embers of an ancient fire. “Foolish, boy,” he sneers, his voice a venomous sound that crawls into Astarion’s soul. “You really believed you were capable of escaping me?” Astarion’s mouth opens, but no sound comes. He tries to shout, to cry out, but his voice has abandoned him. He can’t even tremble, pinned by the overwhelming weight of Cazador’s will. He’s back under his master’s control, just a pawn again, unable to save the one he loves, condemned to watch the life drain from Amay’s eyes as Cazador sinks his fangs into the soft flesh of his throat. Desperation claws at him, a frantic, animalistic need to do something—anything—but he remains paralyzed, a prisoner of his own mind.

Then, through the suffocating silence, he hears his name.

It starts like a whisper, distant, but it grows louder. A sudden shift in the bed, the faint rustle of sheets. The weight of the nightmare begins to slip, like sand falling from his fingers, but the terror still clings to him, thick and oppressive. The dream collapses inward as though the world itself is falling away, leaving him weightless, suspended over a yawning abyss.

Astarion wakes with a violent start, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. His eyes snap open, wide and frantic, pupils blown as he takes in the familiar room of the Elfsong Tavern. The soft glow of distant lanterns, the faint hum of the city outside——it’s real, all of it. Not a dream. Not a nightmare. But his mind is still trapped in that place, still haunted by the image of Cazador’s hand wrapped around Amay’s throat. Amay. He bolts upright in bed, hands grasping blindly in the darkness, reaching for something, someone. His fingers collide with warm flesh, and it grounds him, yanking him back from the edge of panic. His darkvision adjusts quickly, and there, beside him, is Amay——alive, safe, untouched.

Relief hits him like a punch to the gut, and without thinking, he pulls Amay into a desperate, crushing embrace. He holds him as though he might vanish if Astarion lets go, his arms trembling with the force of it. The warmth of Amay’s skin, the sound of his breathing, the solidness of him——it anchors Astarion in the present, reminds him that this is real, that Cazador is not here. A choked sob claws its way up from his chest before he can stop it, a sound so raw and broken it shakes his entire frame. He presses his face into the curve of Amay’s neck, where he can feel his pulse——steady, alive. It’s a comfort, but it doesn’t stop the flood of emotion that threatens to overwhelm him. He fights to swallow it back, to push down the terror that still lingers at the edges of his mind, but it’s too much. For a moment, he allows himself the vulnerability, clinging to Amay like a lifeline.

❛ I—❜ His voice breaks, hoarse and unsteady. He buries himself deeper into Amay’s warmth, breathing in the scent of him, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his blood rushing through his eardrums, ringing violently in his skull. He knows he should say something. An apology, maybe? For waking him, for holding him so tightly, for the nightmare that still clings to his skin like cold sweat. But no words come just yet. He just breathes, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Amay’s chest, the soothing presence of him, here, safe, and he tries again, ❛ I’m sorry for waking you…❜ He hates this. Hates how close they are to Cazador, to facing him. Hates the fear that grips him, constantly.

[solomonish]

The Brothers and What You Are to Them

Do you ever wonder what it is about you that keeps your demon by your side? Not necessarily the traits you have that attracted them to you (and still do), or what they think makes you you, but the reason you’ve become so irreplaceable and imperative in their life that they don’t think they could live without you.

Nowdateables: here!

To Lucifer, you feel like stability.

Lucifer isn’t an insecure man, nor does he need someone to lean on. He doesn’t find himself overwhelmed by what the world throws at him. He is capable, and he can shoulder the responsibilities expected of him and then some, no matter what they should turn out to be.

...at least, that’s what he thinks, and that’s what he says.

But he does find himself asking you to run errands for him when he needs them done correctly. He does find himself entrusting you to keep the roof of the house connected to the rest of it if he has to go away. You are the one who knows how he likes his coffee and when it should be brought to him to power him through the rest of his work without cutting into his scant sleep time. You keep things under control when everybody seems hellbent on making sure things don’t go the way Lucifer plans, and then you’re there to kiss his forehead despite his empty protests and remind him to take care of himself, too.

Lucifer doesn’t feel like the ground is shaking beneath him, ready to topple down at the slightest breath. But if he did, he knew you’d be there to keep him from plummeting down.

To Mammon, you feel like acceptance.

Mammon is called a lot of things in his life, especially by those who are supposed to hold him dear. He’s never smart enough, never behaved enough, never trustworthy enough, never good enough. And, when he gives up and decides not to make himself sick over expectations he’ll never be able to reach, he only gets worse. To everybody else, he’s scum, and sometimes he can’t help but feel it.

You should be saying those things to him, too, with the way he can’t help but hoard your time and your affections and yes, even your things sometimes.

But you don’t. You pet his head and hold him close and give him affection. You do it even when he makes it difficult on you and tries to tell you that he doesn’t want it. He does. He needs it, even. For the first time, he feels like somebody, he feels like he reaches the expectations set up for him and that he actually has a shot to be what somebody wants.

And when you tell him that you don’t have any expectations for him, none except for him to just be himself, he believes you. And it feels so, so nice.

To Leviathan, you feel like peace.

You would think that a life spent nearly entirely in a room playing video games would be easy and peaceful enough. Saying so aloud is a surefire way to get Leviathan to snap.

Envy never allows him to know peace. His video games, manga and anime are a distraction along with a passion. At least he can fend off some of the negative energy with the knowledge that he is the biggest megafan of any number of franchises and titles. Still, despite that, despite the calming water he modeled his room after, he still feels the jealousy tearing at his inside like unstoppable tumultuous seas.

But you stop that. You are the greatest thing, and even if he isn’t sure why you’d ever consider him worthy, he can find that peace in being the one that you’d rather spend your time with and give your affections to. He makes it hard, and he knows he does - but you persist, and you cast that life raft out to him and finally, he feels like maybe he won’t drown anymore.

When he does allow himself to sit and just be the person that, for some reason, you love, his waters still and he knows what it is to really be loved.

To Satan, you feel like understanding.

Satan has had to build a wall around himself brick by brick to hide the ugliness that nobody would dare approach, that he never even asked for and never would have.

He is the king of masks. For any situation, he has about twenty that he can switch between flawlessly, keeping you on your toes and creating a labyrinth so involved nobody will ever figure it out. Well, everybody except for you.

You managed to find your way to his core, sometimes when he wanted you too and always when he didn’t. Sometimes, you figured out the riddles he laid out for you like breadcrumbs, your smile lighting up and lightening his heart so spectacularly he felt like a new person. Other times, you snuck in with a wrecking ball and made your own way to his center, leaving the walls he set up in ruins. Most of them, he isn’t sure he wants to rebuild - not if they keep you out. At the end of the day, even if it’s cheesy, even if it’s unexpected (and that bruises his ego to admit), he finds that you understand who he is so intimately, you may know him better than he knows himself.

Maybe, with your constant meddling, you invented the person he’s become, or at least helped in his formation - but, if you like him that way, that might not be such an insufferable fate.

To Asmodeus, you feel like sweetness.

The life led by someone with eyes on him all the time is ferocious.

Even for somebody who can charm anybody with a simple glance, Asmo has an equal talent for scorning those he leaves behind. For every person gushing at his Devilgram and tracking his whereabouts for an autograph or a photo, there’s someone cursing his name and spewing the worst kinds of insult that will never directly reach his ear. In his life, you take the pleasure with the pain, and you don’t complain about either or you’ll lose the only good you’ve got.

But nothing about you is so vile. You don’t chase after him just to prove that you’ve met him (even if, at first, he was a little miffed at the prospect), and you’d never say something so soul-shatteringly hateful it’d make even a demon lord cringe. You give him the kindness that doesn’t come with expectations or desire for something in return, the kind that might even come unconditionally. You make him feel like he doesn’t have to prove anything, like he’d still be the most wonderful, beautiful creature in all the realms to you even if (gasp!) everybody else turned their backs on him. There’s a sort of innocent kindness in the way you smile at him that gives him a sugar high, and he isn’t always sure of what to do with it.

Once, he was a creature made to be loved and adored, and you make him feel like there was never a time where such a privilege was ripped away from him.

To Beelzebub, you feel gentle.

Beelzebub is a big guy, and he’s a well-known athlete. People don’t look at him and think he’s fragile goods.

And he isn’t. He is his family’s defender, and he’s been through battles terrible enough they still hang over those who even know about them like storm clouds. But inside his tough exterior, the uncaring aura he accidentally portrays when all he can think about is keeping himself fed, there’s a person that craves the same affections everybody else does. Beelzebub isn’t just hungry for food - he feel empty, entirely hollow, like a void he’s worried will grow too big to be distracted and swallow everything he cares about whole. Sometimes he feels so empty he could just curl up and die.

But, whatever it is you have, it fills him up so deliciously and he’s hooked. It’s even enough for him to just know that you’re around and taken care of - that staves off the worst of it, and he suddenly doesn’t feel like a beast that will be the downfall of all he loves. You give him patience with his need to eat, you give him gentleness with your touches and your smiles, and your voice doesn’t have that exasperated edge everybody else’s does. 

He isn’t a powerhouse or a bottomless pit to you - he’s a person, and it’s more than he could ever ask for.

To Belphegor, you feel like forgiveness.

Belphegor does a lot, he is a lot, and most of it feel wrong.

If he could keep himself awake for longer, he might have enough time to dig himself into a pit of self-loathing in the way Levi does. But he just feels empty, a void broken by occasional bouts of fury, or hatred, or pain of some sort. It’s hardly an existence, so he does the bare minimum, hardly passing the threshold for living because to do so would be more than he could deal with. Hell, the only time he has to think and to do things, he spends trying to inconvenience the person who (supposedly) cares most for him or hurting others - hurting you.

God, how can you look at him like that? Like he’s somebody you can trust, like he’s somebody worth an effort when he himself doesn’t give a damn? It’s weird, it’s stupid, it’s just like you humans to do, and it can never stop. It’s too much for him to deal with, but that’s a good thing. The time he spends wrestling with your forgiveness is time spent being productive, something he’s not exactly been accused of before. And sometimes, that diligence spreads to other thins: his relationship with his brothers, his relationship with humans, his relationship with himself.

You make him want to put the work in because you make him feel like he amounts to something - and you make him feel like his mistakes haven’t completely blotted out his hopes for the future the way he used to think they did.

[dameronology]

figure it out {din djarin x reader}

summary: din djarin doesn’t usually get jealous. not until he met you, at least {for the lovely and wonderful @stargazingcarol​} - 2.5k words 

warnings: swearing 

this is completely spoiler free!! just some good old jealousy and some antics with the kid. enjoy.

- jamie

You had a complicated relationship with the Mandalorian. 

On one hand, you were colleagues…of sorts. He’d spent two years coming to your outpost on Corellia when he needed his ship fixing – and after becoming fed up of traipsing back and forth, he offered you the job full time. It was a mutually beneficial situation. You’d been desperate to get out the city for years, and you were also the only mechanic he trusted. The prospect of a job that would take you all over the galaxy was exciting, even if it meant tiptoeing around one another in the cramped hull of the Razor Crest (and that was before the addition of the Child). But, when you spent days and days in hyperspace with nobody else to talk to, it was only natural that you became friends. It had felt a little awkward at first, as though you were trying to force conversation with a man who just didn’t want to talk -- but then the Mandalorian’s barriers broke down, and things began to change.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when. It had probably been a few months in, not long after he’d saved your ass from a bounty who had thrown a punch in your direction. You hadn’t expected the Mandalorian to be so protective - and frankly, neither had he. It was after that he found himself doing things without realising; lingering touches on your back when he passed, his hands brushing your thigh whenever you were sat in the cockpit next to him. Then, you became unintentional adoptive parents to a weird, green creature - a bond between you that only seemed progressed naturally, as though you had no control over it.

One night, not long after you took the Child in, you’d both collapsed beside one another on the tiny bed in hull of the Crest. Usually, you would argue for a while about who got to take it, but on that night, neither of you’d had the energy. Under the covers of the dark and with the baby finally asleep, you were muttering amongst yourself - you couldn’t remember the conversation entirely, but it was sleepy, tired gibberish. Din found himself reaching to take the helmet off; he could hear you easier that way, and your voice was comforting enough to lull him off to sleep. In the quiet of the moment, and with the conversation between you reaching a natural stopping point, he’d gently closed the gap between you. It was simple; his lips on yours, only for a brief moment. Then, as though the Child had sensed that everything was no longer about him, he’d opened his mouth and let out a cry for attention.

You began to kiss more often after that; every night before bed, actually. As soon as the lights were off, Din would take the helmet off, give you a gentle kiss and then he’d drift off, holding you tightly to his chest. It was always that, followed by a good night, cyar'ika. Then the morning would come, and it would be good morning, cyar'ika followed by another soft kiss, before the helmet went back on and you both went about your days.

After a few months of that, you’d fallen into an easy routine. Neither of you had quite established what your relationship was, but it didn’t feel like you needed to. It’s not like there was anyone else around for you to have to worry about, or anyone else who would force you to define it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating; Din Djarin had never been the type of person to plan ahead, and you knew that more than anyone. The idea of becoming attached to him, only to lose him or get hurt was enough for you to at least want to try and work it out. You weren’t expecting a deep conversation, or even one that you could walk away from knowing whatever the hell was going on between you two. 

It was just that with the addition of the Child, and the two of you growing closer each day, you wanted an answer. You wanted to know if you were wasting your time; if this was simply a pit-stop on your way to finding a more permanent settlement, or if this was it. Though you’d never admit it, you wanted it to be the latter. Din was reliable, and he cared about you. He was sweet in his own way and he’d have gone to the ends of the galaxy to look after you. He was protective in a way that let you fight your own battles, but not in a way you’d ever have to do it alone. You felt safe with him - as though you’d found everything you were looking for, except neither of you had been looking at all.

You brought the question up on a slow morning. The Mandalorian was between bounties, and you’d briefly landed in a dusty outpost on a thick jungle planet to refuel and find some food. The kid was snoring away in his pod a few feet away, clearly feeding off of the relaxed atmosphere that you’d managed to create. You were laying beside him, the lights still off and your head buried in his neck. Both of Din’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, gripping onto you as though you might slip away into the darkness of the vast galaxy. 

‘What are we?’ You asked quietly.

‘Humans.’ Right, there was the dry sense of humour.

‘Din.’ You grumbled. ‘I’m serious.’

‘What’s making you bring it up now, cyar'ika?’ He asked. ‘It’s early.’

‘I was just thinking.’ You sat up, pulling the covers with you. ‘We’ve been doing this thing for months but neither of us have actually worked out what the hell is it is.’

‘We don’t have to.’ He replied. 

‘Right.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s just-’

As though the little bugger had sensed a sudden onset of tenseness in the room, the Child let out a loud cry. You immediately recognised it: he was hungry. Even if you were ready to throttle anyone who dared come near him, you didn’t have a hard time admitting that he had a penchant for the worst timing. With that said, the fact he’d slept through the whole night without waking once certainly helped the fact.

‘Hey, buddy! It’s okay!’ You heard the mechanical click of Din’s helmet as he turned on the lights, allowing you to leap out of bed and stumble to the baby. ‘We’ll get you some food.’

That wasn’t the first time that something had magically changed the subject whenever you tried to bring up the status of your relationship with Din. If the kid didn’t decide to pull your attention away, it was the Mandalorian himself who veered away from the conversation. He always had to check on a bounty, or rush off to see if the ship was on the right route. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was avoiding the subject entirely and you were starting to become frustrated.

After almost three weeks of trying to challenge him about it, you were close to giving in entirely. What if you were wasting your time? What if you were going to let yourself fall in love with him, only to find out you weren’t a permanent part of his plan? Fuck, did he even have a plan? Was that the life you wanted -

- it was at that point that your train of thought had stopped, because the Child sensed you were upset, and started bawling. Again.

A few hours after your fourth or fifth try at the conversation - once again to have it ended by the kid tossing a frog at you in an attempt to steal the attention back - the three of you ended up in a bar. It was a little cantina a few hours outside of Mos Eisley; it was much cleaner than the other bars you’d seen, and if it weren’t for your foul mood, you might have even enjoyed it. 

‘What’s up with you?’ Din asked quietly. 

‘Nothing.’ You murmured. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Your tone is off, cyar'ika.’

‘Leave it.’ You snapped. ‘I’m getting another drink.’

You moved the baby off your lap, placing him on Din’s instead. After digging around in your pocket for some credits, you quickly stood up and sauntered over to the other side of the bar, leaning against the wooden counter as you waited for your turn to be served. It wasn’t too busy - there were a few people floating about. Locals, you figured. It was a slightly fancier part of Tatooine, and you could see the difference in the people who were frequenting the establishment.

You were trying not to think about Din, or the fact he still refused to talk about what was going on between the two of you. You’d long surpassed the point of no return for your friendship - no, you were too invested now. Either he had to prove he was in it for the long run, or you had to walk away. Was that an unfair ultimatum? Not really. He’d started it, after all. 

‘What’s a pretty thing like you doing waiting for a drink?’

You glanced up to see a man beside you, a half-empty flagon of beer in his hand. He was tall, dark and handsome; the type you used to briefly date back on Corellia. He smelt of expensive aftershave, and his clothes gave the impression he was quite well-off. 

‘I could ask you the same.’ You replied. 

‘So you think I’m pretty?’ The man quirked an eyebrow at you.

‘No, I...I mean, yeahhhh.’ You turned to face him, offering him a smile.

‘You’re here with that Mandalorian.’ He glanced over his shoulder, before leaning a little closer towards you. ‘What’s his deal?’

‘Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.’ You snorted. ‘I don’t think he knows what his deal is.’

The conversation was completely innocent - after all, you had no intention of anything happening with whoever this guy was. And even if you did, weren’t you technically single? You certainly weren’t in a relationship, at least not according to Din Djarin. He had no standing ground, nor any right to be jealous. 

Still, that didn’t stop his entire body filling with rage the minute the man put his hand on your arm, and it certainly didn’t stop him immediately packing up all your stuff to leave the bar. Even the notion of another man touching you made him want to scream - let alone the actual sight of it. It was the way your new friend leant in a little too close, and laughed a little too hard at your jokes. You were funny, but you weren’t that funny.

‘We’re leaving.’ Din declared, suddenly appearing beside you. 

‘Okay.’ You shrugged, glancing up at him. ‘I’ll meet you back on the ship later.’

‘No, I mean we’re leaving.’

You snorted. ‘I think you’ll find that I’m staying right here- oof!’

You let out a small squeak as the Mandalorian grabbed you with his free arm, tossing you over his shoulder. Before you could protest, or even apologise to the man beside you, he was marching you out of the bar and into the cool evening air of Tatooine. All meanwhile, the baby was giggling at the site of you with your legs in the air and your face planted against Din’s back. 

The ship wasn’t far - probably not more than a two minute walk. Din had been conscious of the Child’s little legs when he’d parked at the outpost; he was becoming more independent now and insisted on walking places himself. It was just that he could only walk for five minutes before getting tired, but the little sod would cry if you tried to carry him.  He was lucky he was cute.

‘What the hell was that?’ You snapped, barely catching your balance as Din planed you on the floor of the ship. 

‘That man was flirting with you.’ Din simply stated. ‘I didn’t like it.’

‘You...’ you trailed off. ‘You didn’t like it?’

‘He was overstepping his boundaries.’

‘You were jealous, weren’t you?’ You let out a derivative snort, folding your arms across your chest. 

‘You knew I could see you.’ Din was still calm. 

‘And? It’s not like we’re in a relationship, is it?’ You murmured.

‘That’s not-’

‘ - let me finish!’ You cut him off. ‘I have been trying for weeks to talk to you about it, to see where I stand with you, and you always change the subject or try to run away from it! You have no right to be jealous, or to act like I’m with you because you have made it abundantly clear that I am not. Your high horse is basically a shetland fucking pony, Din Djarin!’

There was a silence between you for a moment. It felt good to have finally said it - you just wished you’d been a bit more gentle. Din had never seen you shout before, or even come close to losing your temper. He knew it was bound to happen but he had never imagined it being at him. Then again, if you’d tried to pick him up and force him out the bar against his will, he would have been angry too. (The thought of you even trying it was rather comical).

‘I was scared.’ 

That hadn’t been the response you were expecting.

‘Of me?’ Your voice was quiet.

‘I’m in love with you.’ He said bluntly. ‘That terrifies me.’

‘I...fuck.’ You felt as though the wind had been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with whatever grey smoke the Crest spat out when the engines were broken. ‘I love you too - but why does it scare you?’

‘Because it means I can’t ever leave you.’ Din continued. ‘And I want to give you the life you deserve but I don’t know if I can. Not with my job, not with the things I’ve done.’

‘Din.’ You took a step forward, his large hands enveloping yours as you did. ‘D’you think I care about any of that?’

‘I was afraid to ask.’

‘No offence, but you can be a bit thick sometimes.’ A small chuckle escaped your lips, even if tears were forming in your eyes. ‘I don’t care where we are or where we go, as long as I’m with you, then I have the life I want. That’s why I’ve been so off these last few weeks, because I was so scared you were going to turn around and push me away.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’ He said. ‘I’m not going to leave you - you have my word. I promise.’ 

‘So why don’t we just stop being scared and start just...being together?’

He briefly stepped away, hitting the control panel to turn off the lights in the ship. His helmet hit the ground with a thud, and a moment later, his hands were on your hips as he pulled you towards him. Din crashed his lips onto yours, closing the gap between you with a desperate kiss. You’d kissed before - more times than you could even begin to count - but this one felt different. It had meaning; purpose, in fact. It was as though the last few months’ worth of feelings that the Mandalorian had been pushing aside had finally broken.

‘I love you, cyar'ika.’ He quietly murmured again. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry.’ You tearfully smiled, forehead still pressed against his. ‘And I love you too, even if you’re a bit of a dumbass sometimes.’

‘Say it again.’

‘I love you, dumbass.’ You quietly said. 

‘Is that now your equivalent to cyar'ika?’

[buckyownsmylife]

Make it back to me - Andy Barber smut

The one where Andy fulfills his promise and gives you a future together.

Warnings: smut, daddy kink, insecure!Andy for a minute there, divorce, talks of infidelity because reader was the other woman, breeding kink

A/N: this is technically a follow-up to this drabble I wrote during kinktober!

Andy’s P.O.V.

My heart was pounding against my chest even before her beautiful face appeared from the office’s door. It was clear that she was confused, but I was too excited about it to even be able to verbalize what had happened and what we were about to do. So the plan was to just show her.

“You know, I usually like surprises, but this one is freaking me out,” she commented, and I laughed, throwing a glance at the rearview mirror before taking us out of the firm’s parking lot. I rubbed my thumbs on her knees, squeezing it in a hopefully reassuring gesture while I hummed a random song that had been stuck in my head since earlier.

I still couldn’t believe it. 

I thought that maybe she would have connected the dots when I parked in an apartment complex’s garage, but by the inquisitive look she threw me, it was clear that wasn’t the case at all. So I laughed when I held her hand, kissing the back of it before pulling her along with me, up the stairs to the front hall.

“Andy, are you crazy? We can’t be holding hands in public like this. What if someone from the firm lives here and sees us together?” She whisper-shouted, and an euphoric feeling took over my chest at the realization of just how incredible my life was.

“Someone from the firm does live here,” I conceded, hugging her from behind and leaning down to fit my chin on her shoulder. “Me.” Saying it out loud only made it feel even more real, especially since she whipped her head to try to get a look at me, in an effort to understand just what I meant.

“What?” I only laughed, reaching out for her hand again and giving it a squeeze when the elevator doors opened, immediately stepping out to look for the door I held the key to. “Andy, what do you mean?”

I only smiled, patiently opening the door before letting her walk in and following behind. “Sweetheart… Meet my new apartment.” Once more, her head whipped around to stare at me, interrupting her visual exploration of the new environment.

“Andy…”

“I’m divorced,” I interrupted, effectively shutting her up. “It was finalized this morning. I talked to Laurel the day after that party. The day you got your promotion. I didn’t tell you before because I wanted it to be a sure thing,” I immediately explained when I saw her open her mouth to interject, but then she closed it, nodding as she accepted my justification.

“So while I waited for it to be processed, I bought this place. Do you like it? I was hoping you’d move in with me, I can’t wait to christen every room of this apartment.” Once again, she seemed surprised by my words, stopping her evaluation of the living room to stare at me with eyes twice their usual size.

“But you just… Andy, you just got divorced. Quite literally. You can’t tell me you want to immediately jump into the routine of a relationship again.” Frowning, I stepped forward, in her direction, arms reaching out to hold her hips so I could keep her in place while I tried to understand her emotions. 

“You don’t want to be in a relationship with me?” My heart ached at the prospect, but she only huffed, rolling her eyes at me. Immediately, I felt somewhat comforted, although still confused about what was going on through her head.

“Of course I want to be in a relationship with you, you dummy. I just… I fear you’re jumpin too soon into this, and that you’ll grow to resent me. I don’t want to lose you.” Hearing her voice my own fears only made the need to have her closer rise within me, so before I could even realize what I was doing, I had her face cradled between my hands and our lips were connected again, as they always should be.

“And I don’t want to lose you,” I decided to voice it, so she could understand exactly where all of this was coming from, how it wasn’t simply a spur-of-the-moment gesture, any of it. “So what do you think I should do? Keep our relationship without strings, fearing that any moment now someone else will come and sweep you off of your feet? I don’t want to fuck anyone else, sweetheart. And I’ve been dreaming about living all of this domestic shit with you for a while, now. My marriage with Laurel didn’t end because I suddenly despised my ring, it ended because I didn’t love her anymore. But I love you. And I want this with you. Only you.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Now, what else could I possibly say? This was everything I had dreamed about, everything I’d been wishing for since day one, since my eyes connected with Andy’s and we shook hands in the office. And here he was, offering me a future together on a silver platter and I couldn’t find it in myself to fight against it anymore, even if the rational part of me thought this was a mistake. 

Or maybe it was only my anxiety speaking, trying to get me to chicken out, to run away, convince me that this isn’t real and I’m not worthy of all of this love. Because the truth was, I was scared. Scratch that, I was downright *terrified. Because somewhere between the stolen kisses and the longing glances, I’d fallen head over heels for the man standing in front of me, who just poured his heart out in search of mine, and I never wanted to lose him.

“Okay,” was all I managed to say, instead, all I could get out. “Okay, let’s do this.” But still, maybe because Andy really was my long-lost soulmate, he seemed to understand. He managed to read between the lines, hear my devotion and my love in those simple words. I knew it because his eyes lit up, and just like that, I was being embraced by those delicious arms again, held like I was the most precious thing he had ever encountered and the only thing he needed to be happy.

He was everything to me.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Everything felt different, every pet name, every touch. It was sweeter, purer. There was no overwhelming pressure of rushing through this, trying to escape the sin, the guilt. This man was mine, now. I could finally relish every single second of this experience.

“I’ve wanted you since we’ve met,” I finally managed to admit it, making sure to look him in the eye so he could see just how serious I was about this. “I’m just so happy we finally get to be together, like… like a real couple.”

His soft smile was the reason for my heart faltering at times, and when he paired it with light brushes over my cheekbone with his thumbs, it was powerful enough to make me weak in the knees. Still, because it was Andy, after all, he couldn’t help but to tease me - I knew I should expect it from the mischief in his eyes.

“So, everything we did before, it doesn’t count?” I huffed at the same time he started laughing, barely seeing me rolling my eyes at his childish behavior since he had tears in his. And despite how much I wanted to be annoyed at him for ruining such a beautiful moment, I could only feel warm inside from seeing him this happy, and being here to share this new beginning of his.

“You know what? No, it doesn’t, daddy. You’re gonna have to get me reacquainted with your cock all over again. Are you up for the challenge?” He laughed out loud at this, beautiful face suddenly looking boyish as his eyes closed for a moment. so that he could fully enjoy his happiness.

Andy’s P.O.V.

“When you look this fuckable? It won’t be a challenge at all, darling.” I watched with perverse pleasure as she shivered from my words, eyes suddenly darkening with lust as she bit her lower lip. “Now c’mon. Let’s start christening this place.”

My first step was the bedroom, of course. I had bought a new bed with the sole intention of ravishing her on it. Sleep was secondary. “Take off your clothes,” I commanded as soon as we were inside the new room, quickly taking off my shirt before sitting on the mattress. “Slowly,” I added when I saw her initially run to obey, but then a small smile painted her beautiful lips as her movements became more fluid.

“Someone wants a show,” she teased, revealing her perfect body little by little, each new inch making the anticipation rise in me. Damn right I wanted a show. But any amount of time I got to spend with her was a spectacle of itself. She was the muse I once believed I would never find. “Like what you see?”

“Fuck yes. Come here.” She approached me slowly too, soft hands I knew too well running over her own body and making me desperate to be the one that was touching her. “I want to worship your body the way that you deserve it, after waiting for me for so long.”

I saw her eyes soften at that, her hands cradling my face when she was close enough to hop on my lap. “I’d wait even longer if I had to.” It made me happier than anything else, knowing that she was as happy with me as I was with her. 

So I pulled her to meet my lips again, groaning as I got my taste of her - but it was enough. It would never be enough, especially now that I knew I was hers and hers only. And then she inadvertently started grinding against me and it almost had me falling back against the bed. “God, you’re hot,” I moaned as I watched from under my eyelashes the way that she moved for me and only me.

“I love when you talk dirty.” Her giggles were the sweetest sound I ever heard, and I loved to be the cause for them. But my need for her was so pressing, that I ended up cutting them short by pulling her for another kiss, while adjusting her until she was sitting on one of my thighs.

“That’s nothing, darling. You know just how dirty I can be, and you still haven’t seen everything I got up my sleeve. Come on, move those hips for me,” I directed, helping her ride my thigh by the grip I held on her ass. 

“You know what I want to do to you?” I asked, my voice dropping a tone as I whispered in her ear, needing to see her cum for me for the first night that night. “I want to lick all over your skin without the fear of being interrupted,” I started, reminiscing about just how many things I wanted to experience with her now that we were officially together. “Do you know how great it will be now that what we’re doing isn’t improper?”

Y/N almost laughed, but it came out as a gasp as I flexed the muscles underneath her, making my thigh a bit harder for her to rub her sweet cunt against. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’ll definitely keep doing some pretty improper stuff…” I forced her to quicken her movements until she was cumming before my eyes, sweet, sweet whimpers falling from her lips as she struggled to catch her breath. “... I just won’t have to feel guilty about them anymore.”

As I turned us over to lay her body on the mattress, our lips dancing together once more, the realization that this was my life now making my head feel light with all the happiness inside of me. This was my bed, this was my woman and it was only just beginning.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Well, that’s a relief,” I teased, taking advantage of the little break that he had given my lips as he slowly but surely laid kissed around every inch of my chest. “For a second there, I thought you wouldn’t want to do dirty things to me anymore.”

That earned me a laugh, muffled by the way his lips were pressed against my neck and making me laugh by reflex, since his beard kept tickling me. “Oh, believe me, pretty girl… There’s a lot of dirty stuff I want to do to you. And I won’t lie, some of them are probably still going to happen in my office.”

I tried to swallow back a whimper that made its way to my lips as Andy licked a stripe up my neck, only stopping to nibble on my jaw before admitting to his plans. “After all, I really can’t control myself when you wear those tight skirts to work. But I don’t think they can really be blamed.”

Pink lips wrapped around my nipple and a gasp did escape me, my hands flying to hold Andy’s locks to keep him attached to my chest, but he had other ideas. “I just can’t seem to be able to be near you without desperately wanting you,” he finished, eyes connected to mine and mouth glistening with the saliva he had spread over my breasts. “You’re just too much of a temptation.”

Now, of course, after such a declaration, what can a girl do? I didn’t seem to find the words to vocalize just how I felt about him too, too busy trying to control my heart and clutching his shoulders while he sucked lovebites all over my exposed body. We didn’t really have to worry about them now, even if they would seem terribly unprofessional for some of the senior partners.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he urged, and I swallowed dryly before finally voicing, “I want your cock in my mouth, daddy. I want to make you feel good.” Andy audibly groaned at my request, quickly rolling off of me and discarding his pants while I assumed a familiar and very comfortable position between his legs.

My mouth watered at the sight of his already fully hardened member, and I reached out to replace his hand that was slowly jerking it off with mine, leaning down to give the head a small kitten lick just like I knew he liked to be teased.

“Fuck, darling,” he moaned, and I could feel myself growing wetter at the pure power that I felt at having this man so fucking needy for me. When I slowly started to suck on the head of his cock, making my way further down inch by inch, the signs of impatience that became evident in his body only made my desire grow.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he half begged, half ordered, leg twisting behind me in an effort to control himself. “Take it all on your own, like you always do. Make me proud.” Shit, he knew just what to say to have me quickly gagging on his cock out of my own free will.

I didn’t even think twice before going down on him until my lips met his navel. If anything, the strangled moan he tried to stop, the way his hips instinctively raised up and blocked the air from my lungs, making my eyes water, only served as incentives for me to keep going, up and down, up and down, licking and swirling and sucking until my jaw started to hurt and still, I didn’t want to stop.

Andy’s P.O.V.

It was always a battle between allowing myself to spill in her delicious mouth or perfect pussy, but today, I had other plans - and they involved me having to exercise incredible restraint as I pulled her away from my member by her hair, chuckling at the whine she let out.

“Lay down,” I ordered nodding towards the bed, and she quickly did so, crawling on her hands and knees towards the center of the mattress, but just before she could reach it, I pulled her by her ankle and turned her around myself.

“Can’t wait to fill you, sweetheart.” I was impatient, that much was obvious, but I don’t think she minded by the way her hips thrusted back to meet my fingers as I fucked her open with them, using my thumb to rub her throbbing little clit. “Do you want that?”

She nodded, managing to hold eye contact but not capable of saying anything, her bottom lip held tightly by her teeth as she struggled to swallow the whines I begged to hear. “Beg me for it,” I ordered, picking up the pace and curling my digits until I was able to hit her sweet spot every time I thrusted into her tight channel. “I want to know how badly you want me, I want to see if it even *comes close to my own desire for you.”

A gasp was still all I received as a response, and I had to contain my smile as I slowed down my movements, making them sweeter but deeper. I knew what was holding her back, and it wasn’t the weakness of her desire when contrasted to mine. “It’s alright, darling. You can scream, you can cry out my name as loud as you want. We don’t have to be quiet anymore.”

When her eyes met mine again, I could see that she understood, but it was still hard for her to fully let go. So I picked up the pace of my fingers, leaning over her to suck a bruise on her collarbones before whispering in her ear, “C’mon, pretty girl. I’ve always loved to see you squirming, trying to keep those beautiful sounds in, but right now, I’m dying to hear you moan.”

Her orgasm was what finally made her lose control, cumming while screaming my name, making me grin from ear to ear and keep the pace of my digits until her hand covered my wrist, a silent plea for me to let her calm down. I allowed her that, pulling away from her with a brief kiss on the forehead before turning my attention to myself, curling my fist around my cock that twitched with only that slight stimulation, probably because of the debauched scene before me.

It didn’t take long for her small hand to cover mine, forcing myself to jerk the throbbing member as a sign that she was ready for more, now. And so I pulled her even closer, forcing her legs to open wider before I rubbed the head of my cock between her lower lips, gathering some of the moisture there.

“You ready?” Pushing into her for the first time was always incredible. Often, it’d take me back to that long night we’d spent trying to work on a difficult case, when it all became too much for both of us to handle and I gave into temptation, bending her over my desk before burying myself inside of her.

The way she gasped so prettily at the feeling of my cock stretching her open was still the same, and it mirrored the way I groaned at how her tight walls squeezed me as I tried to bottom out inside of her. “So fucking tight,” I noted, arms resting on each side of her face as I waited for us both to grow used to the feeling of being connected again.

I kissed her once more before starting to move, losing myself in the taste of her while she messed up my hair, running her fingers through it to hold onto the locks when I did start to fuck her against the mattress. The feeling of her hands traveling further south, until suddenly I felt her nails running down my back, had me jerking abruptly in surprise, the realization that now she could leave marks on my body only leaving me more desperate for her, to make her mine once and for all.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Fuck.” The way he gasped against my mouth was so pretty, I wanted to keep hearing it for the rest of my life. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. This is where you’ll spend the rest of your life, right here, getting filled by my cock over and over again.”

It didn’t seem like a bad future to have, especially when he squeezed my hips so tight, trying to control himself so this wouldn’t end so soon. “Fuck, no one can make me feel as good as you do, darling. No one.”

My body felt warm, like a fire had been lit inside, and the only thing that made it simultaneously more controlled and brighter was kissing him, feeling him connected to me, from his forehead to his toes.

I loved this man. God, I loved him, and it felt so good to be able to feel this way, without having any guilt attached to this wonderful feeling. Knowing that he was now mine and only mine, that I could give my whole heart to him without any fear, because he’d given me his.

It felt different this time, regardless of the dozens of times I’d had him inside of me. It was like we were both stripped to our very soul, finally getting to introduce them to each other, and there was a connection, a certain recognition that I just couldn’t put into words - especially not when he was fucking me this good. We just worked. It’s like despite how it all began, we were meant to be.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” And it was that declaration of love that had me clenching around him, reaching the high of desire that only he could show me. It didn’t surprise me that as soon as my orgasm began, he started to lose the rhythm of his thrusts, until he was groaning, “I’m cumming, I’m gonna cum inside of you, just like I promised, pretty girl.”

The reminder seemed to awaken every single nerve end on my body, and I gasped as I felt another orgasm building as his movements grew more frantic. “Don’t you want it? Don’t you want my cum? Say it, sweetheart. Say you want my cum.”

The reality of the situation hit me then, serving as an added stimulation to my already overworked body. He really wanted this. We were really doing this. “Yes, of course I want it. I want your cum, daddy.”

That was it for him. I watched as Andy threw his head back, eyes closed in bliss while his biceps bulged in an effort to keep him from falling on top of me. “Yessss… Make me a dad, Y/N,” he roared, suddenly pushing himself away from me to hold my legs open even wider, fingertips buried on the flesh of my thighs.

I felt his release paint my insides, and our eyes connected just then, acknowledging the weight of the moment between us. His hand reached out to stroke my chin before he carefully rolled us over so I could rest on his chest without him leaving me.

“I can’t believe we get to stay here for as long as we want,” he suddenly spoke, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us. “No more excuses, no more hiding. Just you and me, and this big and comfortable bed.”

“I can’t believe I get to fall asleep next to you…” I whispered, lightly tracing over his jawline until he turned to meet my eyes, hand holding my wrist tightly to catch my attention - as if it wasn’t already on him.

“I can’t believe you think you’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” And with that fortunate prediction into my future, I knew it would be full of giggles and satisfaction, just as long as I got to have Andy by my side.

[conarcoin]

SMPEarth Fanfics

There really isn’t that much fic for SMPEarth so I decided to make a post with a bunch. Some of these are my own, but most aren’t. Long post, so under the cut. I haven’t read all of these myself yet.

MY FICS:

playing imitation games - JoshA20 character study, largely based on the ARGs of SMPEarth. (Oneshot)

and if they laugh at me, i’ll make your heart my home - In an AU where Deo is exiled from Business Bay and joins AE, he finds comfort in Wisp among his new cold & hostile home. (Oneshot)

i’m so sorry (returns) - Slightly canon divergent (just timeline changes, shifting events around). Wisp apologizes for abandoning Business Bay. Deo is upset. (Oneshot)

OTHERS’ FICS:

The Stars Still Love You (They Always Will) - c!Tommy gets sent back in time to SMPEarth. (40/?)

off with their head (wait, are you serious?) - Caught in the middle of the war between Business Bay and the Empire, Charlie has to face his friend, Wilbur, on the battlefield. (Oneshot)

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it - An immortal god, Deo, grows attached to a mortal named Tommy, and is devastated by his death at the hands of a traitor. (Oneshot)

we are the crossroads - Technoblade overworks himself on a particularly scary night at the Antarctic Empire. Phil helps. (Oneshot)

the criminal from korea - Charlie got banished from New Zealand, and lives alone in his country, Kpop. Jack, a leader of the island nation, pays him an unexpected visit to apologize, much to the dismay of the other two New Zealand Soots. (Oneshot)

step one, light me on fire - On Day 19 of Charlie's SMPEarth history, he was named the first and only criminal of New Zealand. (Oneshot)

Letters From Another Millennia - Tommy and his family move into a new house in a small village, it is said to have sheltered magical creatures hunderds— maybe even thousands of years ago. What happens when he finds old letters hidden underneath the floorboards and decides to write responses to them for fun, but ends up getting in touch with a certain someone from the past? (2/15)

Before We Get Older (Let’s Do Everything) - The happiest Deo has ever seen Tommy, he thinks, is right now, as he looks over at Tommy from where he’s lounging in the co-pilot’s seat. (Oneshot)

Misunderstood Emperor - The Antarctic Empire is a grand but isolated country. It plays by its own rules in the grand scheme of things, but one thing is for certain. They are powerful extremely powerful. Ruled by their Emperor Technoblade, who is a mystery to everyone. There are several legends that have told people stories about the great Emperor but none ever tell as much as people would have liked. As one of the immortals, he is a legend in that part. But it's something more for his people and the world. He is a god, The Blood God. He not human as he is above them. This is great and all but what happens when Antarctica is forced out of isolation and people really start to meet the ruler himself. Is he anything they thought him to be? And is being called a god as good as people imagine? We shall see... (2/?)

it’s just a waltz (i’d give you anything you wanted) - After a successful battle campaign across the globe, co-emperors Technoblade and Philza take a reprieve in their mountain palace they call home. A reprieve means a break. Avoiding work. Techno struggles with this, so Phil takes matters into his own hands, and orchestrates a simple, fun plan to help Techno loosen up. (Oneshot)

Moonglass - The Antarctic Empire has long since peacefully disbanded- really, there never was an Empire in the first place. A means to an end and nothing more, their work was done and they retreated back to where their simple work waited in the southern snow. That is, until one day, when Commander Philza Minecraft is nominated to be part of the first group of players to land on the moon. Just a simple trip to survey the land, to evaluate what could be built there one day.... The reports never mentioned the dragon. (7/7)

Snow Angel - The Angel Of Death, now more than ever, is faced with the prospect of eternity. He selfishly hopes he will not fly it alone. (21/21)

Earth and Its Connotations - If things were different, if time had been a little more fluid when her hands had set events into motion, then we might have watched a completely new story unfold from the start. Dream has a question to ask of one of his friends, and that friend has an answer. The butterfly beats its wings and a hurricane brews in the far reaches of the arctic north. (Oneshot)

The Cold Brings People Together - No one would question the bond between the leaders of the Antarctic Empire. Some would call them thick as thieves, birds of a feather, peas in a pod, bolder ones would even call them like a father and son, others would run in fear at the titles 'Blood god' and 'Angel of Death'. Everyone knew that to get to Techno you would have to go through Phil and to get to Phil you would have to go through Techno. The question on the more curious, more daring peoples' minds was, how did the two get so close? (Oneshot)

for dust thou art - The Antarctic Empire's civilization fell long ago, it's cities in ashes and it's kingdom fallen to dust. The ruins are precarious and no one dares trod to the arctic to pick them over. No one, that is, except for you. The ruins of an empire beckon at your mind like the claws of a beast. (Oneshot)

hell hath frozen over. - in a world where not one angel showed him warmth, techno finds life in the arctic thrall of Death. (Oneshot)

Why Did You Return. -  And even as Deo brought the feared Midas sword to hiss neck, he couldn't find himself to feel any fear. The only emotion he could feel was raw regret, and acceptance. He knew he would relinquish his life to a God-slayer, a renowned fearless being, who would stop at nothing to protect those who he considered family. He would lose his life to TimeDeo, once a brother, now an enemy, and Wisp could not bring himself to feel any fear, only the relief that it was someone he still deeply cared for taking the anger out on him in a way he deemed justified, and there was no fear. Only the cold accepting that this was the end. (Oneshot)

I Wear The Chain I Forged In Life - “Oh,” Doomsday says. “We’ve run out of time.” “Doomsday, please, just tell me how to stop this,” Tommy begs. Doomsday does not meet his eyes. “I wear the chain I forged in life, TommyInnit. I made it link by link, yard by yard. Let us hope you’ve done the same.” (Oneshot)

old friends, old scars (new starts) - After betraying him during SMPEarth, Wisp joins the Dream SMP to offer his alliance to Tommy once more. (Oneshot)

After What I Did, How Could You Not? - Nobody had heard from this world-conquering Empire in quite some time. It had been months since Phil or Techno had spoken out for their kingdom and even Newfoundland had been wondering where they’ve gone. Tommy seemed to know, but he didn’t seem keen on sharing. (Oneshot)

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Next to You

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: angst/fluff.

a/n: GIF requested by @captain-pikas-world​ . I haven't written much since my dad passed in December. This is my attempt to get back into it. Hope you enjoy.

The air is heavy, it always feels heavy to Bucky as he steps out into the world. Every time, his breath is slacked with nerves trapped at the tip of his tongue. He eases towards the crowd of people, everyone gathering near the lake. His eyes moves around to each face, his instinct is to look for Sam. His best friend now, the person who has pushed him further than he thought he could go. It would be a lie to say the pair had an easy start, it was rough but like the leaves underneath his boots – they were able to snap into something new. New pieces of who they are after Steve's departure, and Bucky was the first to admit, it works. Everything therapy and Sam has taught him, along with his own self reflection, has helped. In the mirror, each morning, he sees something new. A mixture of his old self and who is he now – he actually smiles now. Yet, he knows something has not entirely come back – the ease of being around a woman he adores.

His eyes finally land on Sam, but they only are on the man for a few seconds before making there way to you. Where you are standing next to his friend, the two of you facing the lake. Bucky's heart starts to race as he forces himself to move forward, feeling ridiculous that one single person was making him stumble over his steps. Of all the things he has gone through, this was what was going to give him a heart attack. Muttering to himself that he was being stupid, he reaches Sam's side with a slight smile.

“Sorry I'm late,” he apologies and you turn to him. His throat clenches as you smile and point out to the lake.

“Sam was thinking we could charter a boat for the day, what do you think? Was Steve a fishing type?”

Right,  Bucky thought to himself. The day was about celebrating the one common factor in your friendship – Steve Rogers.

“We went fishing a few times, but neither of us were exactly fishermen.”

“Or men,” Sam snorts and you laugh.

“Ah, well, it's the thought that counts, right?”

Bucky grins finally, eyes entirely on you. He nods lightly. “Yeah, that's all that counts.”

Sam's facial expression changes and suddenly he's declaring that he was going to go see about a boat near the dock station. You wave him off and ask Bucky to help with the poles and supplies from the car. The two of you walk in silence through the crowd, it was a national holiday so the lake was a little crowded.

“Maybe we should have come a different day,” you sigh, unlocking your car. Bucky agrees, but opens the trunk and gives you a small nudge.

“Your idea is great, it's going to be great.”

His reassurances turns your stomach warm, the sun bearing down on your skin as he hands over the poles. “Take these and I'll get the rest.”

Effortlessly, Bucky gathers all the supplies for the boat, including an oversize ice chest and asks you if you were ready. You feel anxious as he walks at your side, wondering out loud if Sam was able to secure a boat for the day. There is a handful of boats already out on the lake, so the prospects were looking bad as the two of you caught up to Sam. Yet, he is all smiles, tossing up keys in the air, catching them with a smirk.

“Great, he's going to gloat all day about this.”

“Maybe being on a boat with the two of you was a bad idea,” you tease.

Bucky laughs. “Too late now.”

“I'm steering,” Sam declares, although neither Bucky or you even knew how. “I'm Captain on and off land, so let's go.”

The boat is nice, large enough for a handful of people. It only takes about twenty minutes to leave the dock, after getting settled and making sure everything was accounted for. Sam takes to the wheel and whistles when the engine comes on, Bucky rolls his eyes but the smile on his face is clear as the day. You sit across from him as Sam takes the boat out into the middle of the lake. Bucky catches your eyes several times, always looking down at his lap with a bashful expression. You try to not overthink his looks and just enjoy the ride of it all. When Sam is finally satisfied with the perfect spot, the three of you gather in the middle of the boat with drinks in hand.

“To Steve, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have either of you in my life,” Sam proposes, nodding his head to Bucky and you. “Now whether that is a good or bad thing is up for interpretation.”

“Jackass,” Bucky mutters, but you laugh, like you always do. It's a simple, telling laugh that clutches Bucky by the heart each time he hears it. A laugh that eases him in any situation, a laugh he misses at night when he is alone in his apartment.

“To Steve,” you declare, holding up your beer. The two men follow suit and you allow Sam one sip before taking it away. He obliges and lets you, finishing it off. The men applaud you, even though you apologize for the small burp that comes out of your mouth.

“It's fine,” Bucky smiles, taking the empty can from you. “It's kind of cute.”

Sam's eyes widen and he claps his hands together. “I'm going to check on the wheel real quick, make sure everything is good. Then we eat, I made some bomb ass sandwiches.”

Bucky tries to ignore the wink Sam gives him before making himself scarce. He's almost too afraid to glance your way as you sit back down. He manages to take his seat, quickly stealing a look at you. His heart races as your eyes stare back, his face tightens.

“I miss him,” you whisper and Bucky immediately understands.

“Yeah, I miss the punk too.”

Looking down at the beer can in your hand, you sigh. “He really just went and made a life for himself. You knew, didn't you? Sam didn't. I didn't.”

Bucky's eyes move down to his lap, his throat warm as he nods. “He told me his plan and who was I to stop him? I couldn't do that to him. Sam and you, you were his closes friends – he...he didn't want to hurt you two.”

“I understand, but can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn't you go back?”

Everything seems to go quiet as the question touches Bucky's ears. This was a question no one ever thought to ask. A question he has asked himself plenty of times until he was finally able to gather an answer – an answer he never had a reason to say out loud. He opens his mouth, but his chance is interrupted by Sam's reappearance.

“Whose hungry?”

The food is delicious, the three of you sit around and eat for the next hour. The air is fresh as each of you take turns telling a Steve story, the boat is flooded with laughter as the tales are told. Bucky takes to recalling old days, Sam brings up the time Steve took him to a ball game, and you mention all the failed attempts at getting Steve a date. The afternoon slowly turns into a soft evening as fireworks light up the lake. The screams of delight fill the air as Sam, Bucky, and you stand side by side. The boat rocks gently, causes you to stumble into Bucky. He grins and takes a hold of your shoulder with his hand, as Sam claps and hollers at the light show. He is not paying attention to his friends, instead he's taking video on his cell for Sarah and his nephews.

“Are you okay?”

“Metaphorically or in the moment?”

Bucky's face softens and whispers, “In the moment.”

You ignore the booms of the fireworks surrounding the lake, instead focusing on the weight of his fingers on your shoulder. “I'm good, you?”

Slowly, his smile fades and he glances over to Sam. He is either to busy recording the show or is trying to be a good friend by pretending nothing is happening between his friends. Bucky looks back at you and sighs. “I have an answer to your question. I – I thought about this a lot. I want to tell you.”

Bucky's eyes seem vulnerable and it is something you do not take lightly. Having know him for years now, you always have made sure to take things at his pace. Your friendship was what you had always offered to Bucky, because that was what he needed after Steve left. Yet, love slowly crept its way into your heart a few years back. Sam was the only person aware, his encouraging words were always a blessed curse, because what if the feelings were not mutual?

Losing Bucky, after losing Steve, would only hurt more.

“Tell me,” you whisper back, heart racing.

He looks up at the sky, for encouragement before laying his eyes on you. “Steve, he had something to go back to. At the end of the day, he was still that boy from Brooklyn. I wasn't, I wasn't the same, after everything, going back – going back would have been torture. I had to settle things here and going back would have been running away. That's why I couldn't go with him.”

You stare at him as his hand slips from your shoulder, but before it could reach his side, you take it. His hand is warm as you hold onto it tightly, struggling to get the words out. Holding onto his hand as the fireworks explode into the sky, the colors reflecting in Bucky's eyes. It was obscene, the look in his eyes as you felt his thumb across your skin. It was a look of something more than lust, it was fate.

“You've atoned, Bucky. You are a free man, this world belongs to you.”

His eyes close for a moment, heart racing as the feeling of something new bursts colors into his insides. All the atonement, the self reflection had gotten him here – on a boat with his best friend and the woman of his life. This, it felt, was what it was all  about.

The torture, the self hatred, the loneliness.  

Bucky was truly free now.

All that is left, the last thing on his list, is you.

Looking over to Sam, he chuckles when he realizes his friend has once again disappears. Grinning, Bucky squeezes your hand before gently pulling you towards him. Your hand falls on his chest and he reaches up to touch the side of your face. Your heart is racing, as his is. The two of you can not manage a single world, but as the fireworks illuminate the sky in a grand finale, he kisses you on the lips.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 20

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 20 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story (Part 2)

Early the next morning, the members of the Chen family walked back from their relatives and saw that the orange tree in their courtyard had fallen down and the oranges were spread all over the ground. There weren't many other residents around here. They were only close with the Luo family. When they thought of how Luo Xianxian drooled over those oranges every day, the Chen family were sure——

The oranges must have been stolen by that bastard child, Luo Xianxian!

Not only did she steal them but she got jealous and chopped down their orange tree!

The Chen family immediately went to Luo Shusheng to complain. Luo Shusheng couldn't bear such humiliation. He immediately called his daughter over and asked her angrily if she stole the oranges.

Luo Xianxian cried and said no.

He asked if she had cut the tree down.

Again, Luo Xianxian said no.

He asked her if she had eaten the oranges.

Luo Xianxian couldn't lie so she had to admit that she did.

Before she could explain, her furious father ordered her to kneel down. She was beaten with a ruler in front of the Chen family. While he beat her, he said: "Raising a daughter is much worse than raising a sun! At such a young age, how could you do such a thing? Shame on you! You disgraced your father! As punishment, you won't have anything to eat today and you'll face the wall for three days. Think about your mistakes and repent--"

"Dad, it wasn't me! It really wasn't me!"

"How dare you talk back to me!"

No one believed her. Although the Lower Cultivation World was in chaos Caidie Town was an exception. The town had always been simple and honest, no one locked their door. What was she supposed to say; that a bloody lunatic ran in in the middle of the night? Who would believe it?

Luo Xianxian's small hands were split open from the beating.

The members of the Chen family looked at her coldly. Only the oldest boy among them, pulling at the corner of his mother's clothes, hesitated to speak.

His mother ignored him and there was nothing he could do about it. The boy's small face scrunched up. He couldn't bear it, and he stood off to the side, unwilling to look anymore.

At night, Luo Xianxian didn't dare go back to her room, squatting under the eaves of her house, standing pitifully.

Her father was a scholar and couldn't tolerate stealing. Moreover, he had a rotten and sour aura, and he was stubborn, unwilling to listen to explanations.

Luo Xianxian's head was dizzy after a day with no food. Suddenly someone whispered to her: "Miss Luo."

Luo Xianxian turned his head and saw a well-groomed head protruding from the edge of the dirt wall. It was Chen Bohuan, the eldest son of the Chen family who tried to help her plead her case earlier.

Chen Bohuan did a couple checks over the dirt wall to make sure no one was watching. He was carrying a hot steamed bun in his arms, and without saying a word, he shoved it into her hand.

"I know you've been standing by the wall all day and haven't eaten anything. Here's a steamed bun. Hurry up and eat it."

"I..." Luo Xianxian had always been shy. She had lived here for several months and had never spoken to her neighbour's son. Now, they were so close together that she inadvertently took a few steps back and banged her head against the wall. Still, she stammered out: "I couldn't. . . Dad won't let me. . . He said. . ."

She was incoherent and couldn't even form a complete sentence.

Chen Bohuan said: "Oh, your father's watching you at all times? What do you care what he's doing? If you're hungry, don't starve yourself. Eat it. If you don't, it'll get cold."

The steamed bun was soft and white, looking so enticing, steam rising from it.

Luo Xianxian looked down and stared for a while, taking a large gulp.

She was so hungry, too. Regardless of whether she was supposed to be a gentleman or not, she grabbed the steamed bun and inhaled it, gobbling it up in no time.

After eating it, she raised her round eyes and rushed to explain to Chen Bohuan: "I didn't cut down the orange tree, and I try to steal any."

Chen Bohuan was taken aback, and slowly smiled: "Okay."

"But they don't believe me. . ." With such an emotional gaze, Luo Xianxian's heart slowly opened, her anger melting away like snow. She wailed, her mouth wide open. She wiped her tears and wept loudly: "None of them believe me. . . I didn't steal. . . I didn't. . ."

Chen Bohuan patted her back: "I know you didn't steal it. Like come on, you stand under the tree and stare at it every day yet you never took an orange. You would've stolen some a long time ago. . ."

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" Her crying became more fierce, tears and snot rolling on her face.

Chen Bohuan consoled her: "You didn't do it, you didn't do it."

The two children got to know each other very well.

Later, there was a murder in a neighbouring village. A few nights ago, a bandit covered in blood entered a family's home and wanted to borrow the family's bedroom to sleep. When the man did not agree, the bandit stabbed the family to death. Then, in the room full of corpses, he slept peacefully and leisurely left the next day during the daylight. He left and even left a message written in blood on the wall. He wrote out a large message, detailing everything he had done to make sure the world knew that an evil individual like him existed.

This tragedy immediately spread like wildfire, and soon reached Caidie Town. That was the night Luo Xianxian admitted she had met "Mr. Madman".

Luo Shusheng and the Chen family were speechless.

After the misunderstanding was cleared up, the two families were in much closer contact. The Chen family saw that Luo Xianxian was cute hardworking little beauty. They thought that, based on their current situation, it would be difficult to find a daughter-in-law, so they quickly arranged the marriage of Chen Bohuan and Luo Xianxian. Once they reached adulthood, they would officially be wed.

When Luo Shusheng saw his daughter and Chen Bohuan were good childhood friends, so he readily agreed.

As the days passed, if it weren't for Luo Shusheng's love of elegance and fragrance, then the Chen and Luo families would live lives of poverty and tranquillity as they had originally expected.

Unfortunately, Luo Shusheng accidentally made the "Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder".

Although the scent of the powder was nothing special and it wasn't much different from the typical powders in town, it had a benefit that ordinary powders didn't——

It could last for a hundred days with a neverending afterglow.

Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder lasted for a long time and it didn't wear off easily. It was exactly what everyday people were looking for in terms of good quality and low price.

Luo Shusheng, Mr. "Everything is inferior; the only excellence is in academia." Even though he made the powder, he didn't want to sell it, thinking that he "would lose his identity."

If he didn't sell it, naturally others will worry about it.

Madam Chen repeatedly tried to get the recipe out of him and urged Luo Shusheng to open a shop, but she was always rejected. After going back and forth, Madam Chen got embarrassed, so she stopped bringing it up, but she silently always kept it in mind.

The year Luo Xianxian reached adulthood, the opportunity came. Luo Shusheng's sickly body had contracted tuberculosis. He suffered for a few days then died. As Luo Xianxian's in-laws, even though she wasn't officially their daughter-in-law yet, they were still close friends, so they got busy helping her arrange the funeral.

Luo Xianxian burst into tears of gratitude. What she didn't know was that Madam Chen had a plan to quietly walk away with the secret powder recipe while she packed up Luo Shusheng's things.

That night, Madam Chen, under the light of a soybean oil lamp, was full of excitement, ready to read the recipe. After only one glance, she was at a loss.

Luo Shusheng's words danced across the page, calligraphy that typically would be considered elegant and unrestrained. She stared at it for a long time, but she couldn't understand half of the words.

She had no choice but to return the recipe quietly.

A few months later, after Luo Xianxian had a chance to grieve, she invited the girl over to their house for dinner and "inadvertently" mentioned the Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder in a passing conversation.

Luo Xianxian thought to herself there was no point in keeping the recipe at home. Her mother-in-law treated herself so well. If she wanted it, she'd give it to her.

So she found it her father's things and helped Madam Chen to distinguish the individual characters and sort out the precise recipe.

Madam Chen was ecstatic. When she got the recipe, she and her husband opened a perfume shop together.

Of course, she was still very fond of her gentle and sensible prospective daughter-in-law. The more Luo Xianxian grew, the more beautiful she became. Although her family was unfortunate, her looks were some of the best in town and many young people in the town began to pay attention to her.

A long night is filled with dreams*, Madam Chen thought to herself. They'd need to hurry and secure the marriage.

*(T/N: 夜长梦多 - means that the longer something is put off, the more likely something will happen before you're able to do it)

However, Luo Xianxian just lost his father. According to the custom of Caidie Town, she couldn't get married for three years after the death of her parent.

How could Madam Chen wait for three years? She deliberated and thought of a way--

One day, Luo Xianxian was braiding the hair of the Chen's family young daughter. She had a very good relationship with the youngest Chen daughter. Luo Xianxian pulled the hair over and under and the braid trailed down her back.

Madam Chen walked into the courtyard and called Luo Xianxian to the inner hall. She said to her: "Xianxian, you and Bohuan were childhood sweethearts and had a marriage arranged. Now that your father is gone, you must be lonely. It can't be easy living by yourself. You should be getting married this year. But we have the three-year mourning period, so you can't get married, so I got thinking: if you wait for three years, how old are you going to be?

Luo Xianxian lowered her head. She didn't say anything but she was clever and could guess what Madam Chen was insinuating. Her cheeks grew slightly red.

Sure enough, Madam Chen went on to say:

"Living alone must be so difficult and tiring. How about this - you two get married behind closed doors. No one needs to know. If anyone asks, just say that you're living with your auntie to help care for her and preparing to be her daughter-in-law. This will not only complete the wedding rituals without the worry of being criticized, but also give your father some peace in the underworld. After the three-year period is up, we'll have a beautiful proper wedding for you two, alright?"

Her remarks sounded like she cared about Luo Xianxian. Luo Xianxian was a person who always saw the best in others and would never think badly about someone else so she agreed.

Later, the Chen family made a fortune by selling the Hundred Butterfly Fragrance Powder. They moved out of their old house, bought a large piece of land in the town, built a mansion on it, and became a powerful family.

Luo Xianxian had become a shadow among the many figures of the large household, an infrequent presence.

People in the town thought that Luo Xianxian had been taken in by Madam Chen, so she lived in the Chen house. They didn't know that she was actually married to Chen Bohuan.

Although it wasn't perfect, Luo Xianxian thought that her mother-in-law was doing this for her own good so that people didn't gossip, so she didn't complain. In addition, Chen Bohuan was dear to her, the couple living a sweet and fulfilling life. They only need to wait for the three-year period to pass then everything would return to normal.

But Luo Xianxian didn't wait for the day of the official wedding.

The Chen family business was growing larger and larger. In addition, Chen Bohuan was handsome. Not just in Caidie Town but even the daughters of the big families in the surrounding towns had begun to play with the idea of marrying Young Master Chen. With this development, Madam Chen's mind was racing.

Back then, she decided to secure Luo Xianxian because she thought she wouldn't be able to find a good daughter-in-law when they were nothing but a farming family.

Who would have thought that the heavens would bless the Chen family and allow them to soar into high society? Now, when she looked back at Luo Xianxian, she felt that the girl was not good-looking enough and she wasn't intelligent enough. Like her dead father, she was unpleasant to look at.

She regretted it a bit.

The appearance of Yao Qianjin turned her "a bit" into "a lot".

Yao Qianjin is the daughter of the county magistrate. She loved men in positions. One day she returned from hunting on a horse. She passed by an incense shop and picked out a few fragrance powders. It didn't matter what fragrances she picked out, but she caught a glimpse of the busy handsome young man in the hall.

The gentleman was no other than Luo Xianxian's husband, Chen Bohuan.

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[princessphilly]

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Word Count: 5118

CW: angst, smut but not super filthy smut (medium filth?), bad language

Dress and shoes that Nina wore in this chapter

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Only three more chapters and an epilogue left

Nina fidgeted as dug into her pocketbook for her keys to her parents’ house. It was time for Sunday dinner, the one meal a week that she wasn’t responsible for cooking and therefore, Nina never missed it. Cooking was not her forte and Nina had no problems with that. However, this Sunday dinner, she needed to talk to her family about their lives changing.

The smell of roast chicken filled the house and Nina took a deep sniff as she opened and closed the door. Aryanna and Dad were watching the late game aka hate-watching the Ravens vs Saints. The Steelers were playing on Monday night this week. 

“Heey sweettart,” Vernon said, getting up to give his oldest daughter a hug. 

Nina hugged her father back, holding him close for a second. “Hi Dad.”

“Oh no!”

Nina ended the hug, turning with her father towards the tv. Lamar Jackson had just run for a 20-yard touchdown. They all groaned; the Steelers needed the Ravens to lose as both teams were running neck to neck for the AFC North crown. As Nina got absorbed into the game, the situation with Sidney was still in the back of her mind. 

Nina had talked to her mom earlier in the day, explaining everything to her mother, well everything but the sex. Tracey had listened with an open ear before telling her daughter not to make a decision over her potential happiness just because of how it could affect her family. Tracey had reminded Nina that Jason, while he was at UNC now, had been a 5-star tight end prospect and they dealt with the media when it was time for him to sign with a college. 

After talking to her mom, Nina had taken a nap before coming to sunday dinner. As she watched the game, waiting to eat, Nina hoped for courage. However, she kept it to herself when it was time to eat, instead listening to Aryanna talk about school, her dad talk about his new position at work which meant that he wasn’t going to be going out on the road as much anymore. Nina shared some stories about her clients while Tracey talked about the switch to travel nursing over working in the hospital. But when it was over, Nina gulped and summoned her courage.

“So, I got news,” Nina started once dinner was over and dessert was served. She looked down at her glass of water. Before she could continue, Aryanna piped up. “Let me guess, you’re breaking up with Sidney Crosby because you’re a punk.”

“Aryanna!” 

Nina glared at her little sister while Tracey reprimanded, “That was rude, little girl.”

“Sorry,” Aryanna muttered.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted,” Nina said, “I have news. After thinking about it, talking to Sidney, and going over the pros and cons, I’ve decided to give him another chance.”

Tracey smiled as Aryanna shouted yes. Vernon looked at his daughter and carefully said, “Are you ready for it?”

Nina grimaced. “As ready as I can possibly. Are y’all?”

“We only want you to be happy, sweetie,” Tracey consoled. “Plus, I saw those pics of you two. He’s smitten.”

Nina groaned while Aryanna laughed. Vernon added, “We were already planning to move soon anyway. We’ve been looking at homes in South HIlls and we just closed on a house in Mt. Lebanon.”

“Oh wow. When was I going to find out,” Nina said with a smirk. She knew her parents had been thinking of moving for a while but the market had been super hot for a long time. Before she had moved into her current apartment, Nina had heard of the different arguments her parents had about moving to different areas. But before they could find somewhere, someone else would snap it up.

Tracey grinned. “We weren’t going to say anything until we closed because of how long it took to find somewhere. It’s taken almost two years and we even saved enough to offer forty percent as a down payment. It’s a fixer-upper though but it has a bigger backyard for my garden and the schools are better.”

“What are you going to do with this house,” Nina asked before taking a bite of her sweet potato pie. Fuck, she wished she could bake and cook just so she could make herself sweet potato pie all of the time. 

Vernon replied, “Probably sell. There are people looking to buy even though this area isn’t that great. ”

“I guess it’s settled. This is exciting though.”

Tracey snickered before looking at her husband. “I hope you are still excited when we need you to help pack, Ni-ni.”

Nina looked to her right before taking out her phone and sending a quick message. Free monday? 12pm?

She received a quick response. Yup, just tell me where to meet

Vernon casually commented, “I’m also looking at it this way; this is a practice for when Jason is in the NFL and becomes famous.”

“Good point,” Tracey said. “I can start practicing telling people no even more now.”

Nina laughed. “Looks like I have nothing to worry about then.”

The conversation switched to the Steelers game tomorrow night as they finished dessert.

**

Honestly, Sidney was a bit surprised to get a message from Nina so quickly. He had fully expected her to wait until Wednesday and he had been preparing himself for the worst possible outcome. As a competitor, prepping for each game meant learning his opponents’ strengths and weaknesses. Nina wasn’t his opponent but Sidney was now very aware of the power she had over him with just one look, let alone her touch or words. 

Nina had asked to meet somewhere that wasn’t at their homes. Sidney suggested lunch but after looking at his schedule, he asked if Nina could maybe meet him at the Pens offices and then get lunch after. Fidgeting in the smaller conference room, Sidney began to worry that Nina wouldn’t show up when the clock showed that it was already five minutes past the time they agreed to. But then, Nina wasn’t the most on time person either so Sidney rationalized to himself, he should worry if it was fifteen minutes passed and she still wasn’t here. 

Then outside the door, Sidney saw Nina talking with Evelyn, one of their PR mavens. They were having an animated discussion and Sidney smiled softly. Nina opened the door and grinned at him. “Hi Sid, sorry for being late.”

Evelyn waved at Sidney and he waved back. After Nina walked in, Evelyn peeped in and said, “I was just catching up with Nina since it’s been a while since she’s been here.”

Sidney nodded as Nina replied, “thank you so much for the advice, Evelyn, I will definitely use it!”

Evelyn waved goodbye before closing the door firmly. Nina chose a chair directly across from Sidney and sat down. There was a brief pause before Nina giggled. “Oh my God, you looked like you were about to die before I showed up.”

“Well, I had to remind myself that you’d show up but part of me still was worried because of everything in our last conversations,” Sidney replied. 

The aura in the room turned serious as Nina bit her lip and folded her hands together. “Yeah, those conversations,” Nina started. “I like you a lot, Sidney Crosby, but… I hate this circus that surrounds you. I know that it’s something you can’t control but I hate it. But I realized, especially after talking to my mom, there’s nothing I can do about it now. My life’s forever changed.”

Sidney cleared his throat but Nina stopped him. “Let me finish, Sid because I can already tell you’re ready to make promises you can’t keep. So let me save both of us the headache.”

Sitting back, Sidney leaned in his chair. “What are your plans, pretty girl?”

“You have to get over being super private and claim me publicly. You want me to be yours, Mr. Crosby? Then you have to let the world know we are together. No are they or aren’t they bullshit.”

Nina glared at Sidney when she was done. Sidney flushed; part of him hated the idea of letting the world know more than they really needed to know about his personal life. At the same time, he already knew he was going to do whatever Nina asked him to, in his own way. “You know I don’t use social media,” Sidney began before trailing off. Then he smirked. 

Nina casually said, “you’ll find a way.”

“I already figured it out,” Sidney drawled. “What else do you want, pretty girl?”

“No more surprise meet ups with people from the team, let me know ahead of time. Just like I’ll let you know ahead of time whenever I decide you should meet my fam.”

Sidney actually blushed while Nina arched an eyebrow. “I know I’m amazing but that was a bit uncomfortable when I think back. At least you didn’t abandon me to talk to your teammates and let me fend for myself.”

“I’m sorry, Nina,” Sidney apologized. He felt really bad now: he had been so excited that he really didn’t think about how Nina would have felt. Nina shrugged; it wasn’t that bad to be honest because Sidney stayed at her side, introduced her to everyone, and made sure she was included. But that didn’t mean she wanted him to continue doing that. 

Nina smiled at Sidney and asked, “what do you think, Sid?”

Sidney scratched his jaw as he thought of his reply. It was relatively simple but it would also be life-changing for him. He finally said, “Yes, it all sounds good. But I have one thing?”

“What’s that?”

Sidney smirked as he looked Nina up and down. Nina rolled her eyes as she smiled. She could guess where his mind was, right in the gutter. But Sidney surprised her when he said, “Then let me spoil you.  I have no problem claiming you publicly, but I want you to let me treat you like I’ve been wanting to treat you.”

Nina gave Sidney a bashful smile before looking to the side. “I’ll never say no to purses and shoes but I don’t want you to buy out the store-“

“I already know that, sweetheart,” Sidney firmly said, “but let me treat you like you deserve.”

“Okay, okay,” Nina conceded.

Sidney pushed his chair back, making space. Then he patted his lap. “Come ‘ere.”

Nina got out of her chair and sat on Sidney’s lap. “You know where we are,” she hissed even though she had obeyed him. 

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Sidney smiled. Smelling her coconut-vanilla scent, he realized how much he had missed her. “I know, I’m not going to do anything inappropriate, pretty girl. Just missed having you close to me.”

Sidney kissed the back of Nina’s neck, causing her to shiver. “Watch the postgame of our next game, Nina. Now, what do you want for lunch?”

“Um, honestly, I want Chipotle. I have to get back to work in about an hour so nothing fancy,” Nina replied. 

Turning so that she was facing Sidney, she placed her index finger over his lips when he opened his mouth. “I forgot to add this earlier but I’m also going to say this now. I’m not quitting my job anytime soon. I’m going to finish my Ph.D. and if I decide to stop working, it’s because I plan to teach full-time. So, if you expect I’ll be waiting at home and living for you, now you know that’s not going to happen,” Nina stated. 

Sidney opened his mouth to reply but the door opened. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you, Sidney!”

Nina squeaked in surprise and Sidney sighed. It was Brian Burke and Sidney was sure that it was probably something important but this wasn’t quite the moment where he wanted to see him. 

Brian smiled. “It looks like you two have made up.”

Nina weakly waved. At first, she was going to move off of Sidney’s lap but his hand around her waist made that impossible. “I’d introduce myself but I figure I interrupted,” Brian continued. 

“It’s okay, I was on my way to get lunch,” Nina replied. 

Sidney added, “With me.”

“Don’t forget, you said you wanted to help with more planning for our pride game this season,” Brian reminded Sidney.

“Ohh, the pride game! You’re getting more involved in it? That’s awesome,” Nina exclaimed. 

Sidney blushed as he smiled under Nina’s praise. 

“Would you be interested in being involved, Nina,” Brian asked.

Nina paused for a second, her eyes wide. “Um, sure.”

“I can get your contact information from Sidney,” Brian asked.

Nina nodded as Sidney rubbed his hand up and down her back. Sidney said, “I’ll let you know,” as Brian closed the door. 

Placing a hand over her face, Nina sighed. “Wow.”

“It’s fine. Look, your first volunteer project,” Sidney kidded. 

“I need to eat.”

**

The game against the Isles had gone well. Sidney had tallied two assists and a goal in a 4-2 win after having a four game slump. Normally post-game interviews were a necessary evil but he was a bit nervous this time. Not because he knew they were going to ask about getting out of his slump, but because of what he was going to say. 

The first couple of questions were easy softballs. Then Sidney was hit with the question that opened the door. 

“Sidney, great breaking your slump. There were rumors that your personal life was affecting your game on the ice. What do you think about that?”

Sidney looked at the reporters, all ready for him to give a cliche. Instead, Sidney admitted the truth. “My personal life was affecting my game on the ice. But we’ve fixed our issues and I’m glad.”

There was a pause, as if the reporters didn’t know where to start. Sidney looked at one of the PR interns to the side. The intern gave him a slight smile and a quick thumbs up. Sidney decided to continue, “We prefer to keep our relationship private for now but she means a lot to me and is very important to my life. I will not be answering any more questions about my relationship at this moment.”

Luckily, the rest of the questions were about hockey but Sidney knew that his statement was going to be a big part of what everyone was going to talk about. Once back in the locker room, Geno gave Sidney a big grin. Tanger said, “You did it?”

“Yeah but I’m serious, I’m not going to answer a bunch of questions about my personal life,” Sidney replied. “Now though, every time we struggle, the dumbasses will start talking about it.”

Tanger grimaced as Geno said, “Fuck them.”

Guentzy laughed as he stated, “I agree with Geno. Fuck them.”

Sidney laughed as he pulled his shirt off before pulling off his pads. Sitting in his crocs, hockey pants and pads, Sidney pulled out his phone. There was just one message from the only person who’s opinion mattered to him, wow😍 .

Sidney replied back, made it official for u but in the way u wanted 😁😏

😘🥰 part of me can’t believe it but i’m happy u listened to me, was Nina’s reply. 

Sidney texted, only 4 u, before finishing getting undressed so he could take a shower.

**

To be totally honest, Nina thought her life would have exploded the minute that Sidney admitted that he was seeing someone in the post-game conference after the Isles game. It wouldn’t take much to put 2 and 2 together, especially when she went out with Sidney and the Malkins to a popular Shadyside restaurant the day after. But things were relatively calmer. 

There were still the nasty looks from other people, especially women when Nina was out by herself, running her everyday errands. But there were also people who seemed to defer to her and it felt so fucking weird. Like, if she wanted to, Nina felt like people were ready to let her do whatever she wanted because she was now Sidney Crosby’s girlfriend. 

Nina bit her lip as she waited in line to pay for her groceries. Then someone bumped into her and it was Ron. “Hey Nina, long time no see.”

“Hi Ron,” Nina replied with a strained smile. 

“Not everyday one sees their ex. Look at you, shopping like the rest of us. Your man ain’t ordering groceries for you.”

Nina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She could feel the eyes of other people at Weis and she knew there were people looking for something to gossip about. Nina definitely didn’t want to give Ron the satisfaction of a reaction. She merely replied, “I have my own life I have to take care of on my own.”

“Oh wow, because I remember the way you two were looking at each other that time we went out on a date. Makes me think you were cheating on me with him,” Ron goaded. 

Nina gave him a blank look. “We were long over, for almost three years, before I went out with Sidney. But you had two other women when we were a couple,” Nina stated with a shrug. “Anyway, it’s my turn to check out. Bye.”

Nina tuned Ron out as she checked out. The cashier commented, “That guy seems like a dick.”

“You live and you learn,” Nina replied with a smile as she paid, unaware that someone had uploaded video of that encounter to the internet.

**

Sidney gulped down his protein shake, home after practice. The season was starting well but he felt like the team could be better. Sidney wanted another cup, one more cup and he felt like this was the year. Then his phone buzzed and he saw it was his mom.

“Hi Mom,” Sidney said, sitting on his sofa. He had some time before he needed to get ready for tonight and it was always good to talk to his mother.

Trina chirped, “Hi Sidney, how are you?”

“I’m doing good, short practice today before our game against New Jersey tomorrow,” Sidney idly replied as he turned his tv on. Flipping through Netflix, he chose an episode of How I Met Your Mother. 

He could hear his mother’s smile through the phone when she teased, “Your father told me you told the press that you are seeing someone last week. Is it that girl you kept talking about over the years?”

Sidney giggle-honked before admitting, “Yes, it is. I’m finally dating Nina.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea? This is something totally different for you,” Trina asked, concerned. Her son had a relationship with Kathy but this situation with this new girl was something totally different. Part of her was worried that since Sidney had wanted this girl for so long, that he was diving into this without really thinking about it.

Sidney replied, “You sound like Nina.”

“Hmm, I do?”

“Yep, Mom, you did,” Sidney said, “Nina wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for a long time but I managed to convince her it was.”

Trina was still feeling skeptical. From what she knew, this girl was from the area, a fan of the team, a different race, and had worked for the team for a period of time. It was possible she could be playing the long game. “Is she there with you now?”

Knowing her son, Trina was convinced that Nina was already living with her son. Her son, when he decided he wanted something, went all out to get it. She was surprised when Sidney said, “No, she’s at work, then she has class.”

“Class,” Trina asked, her tone perking up. This sounded interesting. 

Sidney informed his mother, “Nina decided to get a PhD in rehabilitation science this year. She works as a physical therapist.”

“That sounds interesting, isn’t that how you met her,” Trina idly said. The door opened and Troy stepped in. Trina put her finger to her mouth to shush her husband. 

Sidney scratched his head, wondering where his mother was going with these questions. “Yes. Nina works somewhere else totally different now. But she’s looking into becoming a professor after guest lecturing at, I think, Pitt.”

Trina raised her eyebrows. That was interesting information. Switching the conversation to more mundane subjects, Trina filed that information in the back of her head. It sounded like this Nina was a bit more well-rounded than she thought. 

Sidney sighed when he hung up on his mother. That conversation felt like one thing but he could sense there was another undercurrent. Then he received a picture message from Nina and his mind went straight to the gutter. Sidney sighed; it was going to be a long night.

**

“You look very nice.”

Nina smiled as she replied, “Thank you,” to the guest. 

It was kind of last minute, this dinner that Nina found herself invited to. It was thrown by Nathalie and most of the top brass of the Penguins were here as well as Sidney, the Letangs, and the Malkins. Because Sidney had gone public with their relationship, Nina had found herself suddenly invited. Luckily for her, Nina already had an appropriate cocktail dress for the occasion. 

Her dress was black with an asymmetrical one shoulder with a bow but it came to just above knee level. Nina’s heels were gold, an impulse purchase several months ago that she was happy to have. The outfit was classy, understated, and definitely Penguins colors. 

Sidney seemed to like it as well from the way his arm stayed possessively around Nina’s waist whenever possible. At least it wasn’t a public event; the possessiveness would have looked bad. But because it was informal and in a private room at PPG arena, Sidney was able to get away with it. 

The length was a blessing and a curse. A blessing that it meant that Sidney couldn’t try to do any funny business during dinner but a curse in that the more he touched her, the more Nina wanted him. By the end of the night, it was obvious that Sidney was getting close to losing his cool and Nina was loving it. 

As soon as they got into the car at the end of the night, Sidney pounced. His lips touched hers, demanding and devouring as he kissed her. Then abruptly, Sidney let go. “You'd been torturing me all night in that little black dress. So sexy, the way it showed off my pretty girl’s body.”

Sidney already knew that Nina was perfect in every way anyway. However, as soon as he saw her step in with that black dress and gold heels, it took every ounce of media training and self-control for Sidney not to strip it off of her and fuck her right there. Right now, he was glad that he hired a car after this event. 

Sidney didn’t even do anything in the car other than keep his hand on Nina’s thigh. The difference was that he told Nina every filthy thing he planned to do to her once he got her home. Nina wiggled on the seat, her legs shifting as Sidney whispered what he planned to do to her. It was insane, what he could do to her with his words. 

Nina had expected Sidney to push her against the wall when they got back to his place but instead, he just guided Nina to the kitchen before taking out two glasses. Picking out a wine, Sidney poured two glasses. 

“I’ve missed you in my bed but I’m patient,” Sidney stated, his hands palming Nina’s ass before giving both cheeks a smack. Then Sidney picked up the glasses of wine and passed one to Nina.

Nina smirked. “I’m not,” she said as she took a sip. 

“Can’t be patient for me, pretty girl?”

Nina shrugged as she took another sip. Then she delicately licked a drop that was on her lower lip, causing Sidney to visibly grunt and shudder. “Maybe,” Nina finally replied. 

“Good.”

Sidney sat down in a chair and patted his lap. Nina sat on his lap, the hem of her dress riding up. “Did you have a good time?”

“I actually did for something that was pretty last minute. Don’t ask me if I remember everyone’s name yet.”

“That’s okay,” Sidney reassured Nina. “No one expects you to remember everyone, yet.”

Nina snorted before taking another sip of her wine. Idly, Sidney added, “Fuck, I love this dress.”

“Maybe if you move your hands higher underneath it, you’ll get a surprise,” Nina taunted. Licking her lips, she winked.

Unable to resist a challenge, Sidney moved his hand higher and higher. Then he whistled when he realized Nina’s surprise. “You went commando all night and didn’t tell me?”

“I’m lucky this dress was lined so well that no one could tell,” Nina admitted. “But it was worth it.”

“How,” Sidney asked as his hand touched Nina’s pussy. She was already wet.

Nina smirked. “Because I knew if you found out tonight, the look on your face would have been priceless.”

Sidney ignored that statement as he stroked Nina’s core with his fingers. Rolling her clit with his fingers, Sidney hissed at the idea that Nina was here, with him tonight. His pretty girl, perfect in his lap. "I love how wet you get for me, pretty girl."

"Only for you, daddy," Nina moaned as she clutched his shoulders. Sidney growled at her words, her pussy clenching harder on his fingers. 

Suddenly, Sidney picked Nina up and placed her on the table. Nina smiled as she hiked up her dress and spread her legs. Sidney licked his lips. “We’re gonna see how many times you cum for me tonight, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait,” Nina moaned as his mouth met her core.

**

Sidney woke, at first disoriented because someone else was in his bed and curled up on top of him. Then he realized it was Nina and he relaxed. Her head was on top of his chest, one arm on him as she slept on her side. Carefully extracting himself, Sidney went to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he watched Nina continue to sleep, now curled into herself. Sidney took a quick picture, it was so cute. However, after taking the picture, he checked his messages. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted.

Nina opened her eyes slowly, her body deliciously sore after last night. Stretching out her arms, she sleepily asked, “What’s wrong, Sid?”

“Seems like someone has something against you, pretty girl,” Sidney said, suppressing his fury. 

Nina’s eyes snapped open, sleep now forgotten. Sitting up, she queried, “What happened?”

“There's a video of you with some guy at a market.”

Grimacing, Nina sighed. “I ran into Ron while getting groceries. He was being a jagoff asshole.”

“You don’t look bad at all, PR thinks you handled it perfectly.”

Nina got off the bed and walked over to Sidney. Wrapping her arms around him, she pleaded, “Fuck him and fuck whoever took video.”

Snuggling into Sidney’s chest, Nina nipped one of his nipples. “Plot your revenge later, Sid. It’s eight am and I know you have a maintenance day today. Come back to bed.”

“‘Come back to bed?’ You know this is my bed,” Sidney joked. His anger was going away each second that Nina was pressed against him, her lips giving him little kisses and bites on his upper body. 

Nina looked up at Sidney, giving him soulful eyes. “Please, daddy?”

Trailing her hands around his neck, Nina murmured, “I’ve been so good. Please?”

“Fuck, how can I say no,” Sidney groaned as Nina giggled. Picking her up, he tossed her on the bed. 

Scooting back, Nina spread her legs as Sidney settled in the middle of them. “I love the way you fuck me, Sidney.”

Sidney smirked, his brown eyes smoldering as he crouched over Nina. “Oh do you?”

“Yes, I do,” Nina hummed, her fingers tugging on his chain. “You should do it again.”

Sidney settled between Nina’s thighs, pulling her legs around his waist. His lips lowered to hers in a gentle kiss. Slow and drugging, enough to make both of them red hot for each other, full of promise. Pulling away, Sidney nipped Nina’s lower lip. Nina sucked her lip into her mouth, her brown eyes meeting Sidney’s. Cupping Nina’s chin, Sidney reminded her, “How do you ask, pretty girl?”

“Please fuck me, daddy,” Nina asked, her body arching towards his. “Make me yours.”

“Good girl.”

**

Nina tried hard not to feel self-conscious as she made her way to the ice-level with Aryanna, Catherine and her children, and Anna with Nikita. It had been a week since that awful article with video from her interaction with Ron. It had been set up to make Nina look like a gold digging whore and it hurt to have guys, guys she had only gone out with once or twice, say things that made her seem horrible. Nina hadn’t admitted that part to Sid when he was in a fury about it. Lauren had reminded Nina that men tend to be assholes about women that they couldn’t have and that Nina was way beyond their level even before her current relationship. 

Even though Nina had distracted Sidney that morning, by the afternoon, that article was off the internet. A radio host had mentioned it and then within an hour, issued an apology for talking about it. However, it was forgotten pretty quickly as more people cared about the Steelers potentially staying undefeated with a game coming up against the Browns.

Nina smiled as they reached the ice. The team was doing warm-ups and Sidney was in the midst of his pregame rituals. She actually had more enjoyment from watching Aryanna react to watching the guys on the ice. Tanev gave the glass near them an ice shower while Geno and Kris had greeted Nina and Aryanna while saying hi to their families. Then, very unexpectedly, Sidney broke one of his traditions and came over. Giving the glass a small shower, Sidney waved at Aryanna before smirking at Nina. Nina smirked back before giving Sid a little wave. 

As people took pictures of Sid waving to her, Nina smiled. She could live with this, maybe. ‘No, that was a lie’, Nina thought as they made their way to the family box. She was going to have to live with this now, it was too far gone to go back. And she didn’t want to.