#the fact that i have to sit here and think 'what was that fic i read on tumblr like a year ago....'

[boothillssugarmomma]

Steel Here

(Boothill x Fem!Reader)

cw-: Body dysmorphia, slight talks of hating themself, other than that fluff fluff

🎀 authorsnote: Rn I'm feeling like my body isn't great so I used this fic to sort of get it out! And it actually felt great!

please don't steal my work!

Boothill’s quietly sitting in his room that you begged him to have on The Astral Express. As his girlfriend you've been trying to get him to stay around more and he adores it.

But it also gives him more time to really think...and he doesn't know if he likes that part.

Ok...he hates it. He hates that fact that he has to see himself when he passes a mirror, he hates it when he feels his cool steel against his face, he hates how he can't feel your hugs...

Boothill stands and looks in the mirror, flexing his mechanical arms softly and glancing over his fake abs. He shakes his left metal leg and sighs.

He hears the small mechanical noise of his bedroom door and looks over to it. He smiles softly as he sees you.

“Hey sweet thang...” He shoots you a warm smirk, trying to cover up what he was doing as he quickly sits on his bed. You glance over at the mirror and back to him. Piecing it in your mind what exactly he was doing. “What do ya need hon...?”

You're silent as he asks. No response as you just blink. Your eyes communicate to him that you want him to tell you what you saw.

Your boyfriend sighs a little. Placing his head in his hands and closing his eyes.

“Don't gimme that look...” He breathes, obviously frustrated as he looks back up at you, “Fine...I'm startin' to wish I was me again...I don't want this body anymor'.”

"Oh honey..." You whisper softly as you sit next to him on the bed. You place a hand on his back but remember he won't even be able to feel it...

“See...now would ya look at that...?” Boothills voice drawls, he places a hand on your thigh and sighs as you shiver at the cold metal. “I...guess this is ma' life now..." He scoffs softly. "Can't even curse...it's all 'muddle fudger' this and 'fork that' and 'son of a nice lady'..."

"Boothill sweetheart..." You whisper as you lean against him. "Don't say that..."

Boothill hesitates on resting his temple against your head, he doesn’t need his body reminding him that part of his ridiculous body is only metal.

But he doesn’t know what else to do to comfort himself. He’s frustrated to the moon and back, frustrated at being in this body he doesn’t want.

“I don’t think you understand, darlin’” Boothill whispers. “I miss the me I once was. I just… don’t feel quite like myself anymore…”

"You're still...my Boothill..." You pull away gently and grasp his cheek.

The corner of his lips quirk upwards at your words, but the warm touch and caress of your hand on his cheek still doesn’t feel the same. He wishes of his could feel the same kind of texture he once thrived from and took for granted in his human skin...not just his face.

It’s almost...cold to him.

“You’re the only one who can remind me of the old me that’s still lyin’ somewhere underneath this piece’o’junk body.” He murmurs.

"It's not a piece'o'junk..." You imitate him with a smile. "Boothill... you're amazing just the way you are..."

There you go smiling. If there’s anything that’s capable of changing his mood for the better, it’s you.

Boothill gives you a chuckle. “Look who’s sweet talkin’ who now,” his voice is a bit more lighthearted than previously. “You’ve gotta stop bein’ like this darlin’. You’re gonna make me blush.”

You smile softly and kiss his cheek. "Honey...look at me..." You take his face in your hands. "I love you..."

Boothill smiles, feeling your lips press against his cheek. His hands find their way to your wrists, gently caressing them and wishing he could feel your skin. He knows it's definitely a lot warmer than the cold of his steel.

“You’re a real charmer, y’know that?” He says, his voice low and amused. “I don’t reckon I can look anywhere else when ya say things like that.”

"Now...how can we make you feel better?" You hum softly in his ear.

“You have no idea how bad I want that...” Boothill replies with a grin. He pulls your face closer to his and whispers into your ear. “But you’ve got to keep those sweet words of yours comin’.” Boothill’s voice is low and seductive. “I’m starvin’ here, darlin’.”

"Pamper Queen tonight aren't we?" You laugh, placing your hand on his chest.

“Only for my darlin’.” He teases, placing a hand over yours and gently rubbing his thumb against your skin. Boothill’s other hand caresses your cheek. “Let’s be frank; you’ve gotten me spoiled rotten, and I ain’t mad about it.”

Your face contorts into a look of pure thought. "Here...since you give me massages sometimes..." You get up and walk over to his closet.

Boothill’s curious as his gaze follow your movements, hands resting on the arm rest. He wonders if you’re looking for something specific.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, darlin’?” He asks, tilting his head to rest his cheek on his metal palm, fingers pressed against his chin.

"How about we polish your metal?" You pull out some wax and a waxing machine.

Boothill’s expression changes into something resembling a mix of disbelief and shock, then into amusement as he bursts into laughter. He had an expectation for what you were going to do, but this wasn’t it.

“Is that a euphemism for something I’m not gettin’?" He jokes, his laughter trailing into a playful smirk as he watches you closely.

"Well...I don't know the equivalent of a massage for cyborgs!" You whine playfully.

Boothill chuckles as he playfully rolls his eyes at you. “Oh, I’m certain a few people out there would call this ‘metal maintenance’ or something.”

He then rises to his feet. “And I wouldn’t mind havin’ ya give me a good ol’ metal maintenance, darlin’. But I hope you know I’m ticklish in some spots.”

"How are you ticklish..." You murmur and plug it into the wall.

Boothill chuckles again, crossing his arms as he gazes down at the metal machine in your hands. “I’m ticklish ‘round my neck and behind my knee, believe it or not. I ain’t kiddin’.”

He walks over to you and stands before you, a grin spreading on his face. “I’ve got a feelin’ you’re gonna use this as a weapon against me, aren’t ya?”

"Phantom tickles on the knee I guess..." You hum and fire it up. "And it's NOT a weapon..."

“Aww, shoot… and here I was, thinkin’ you’d give me a break.” He quips, shrugging his shoulder and letting out a small chuckle.

In truth, Boothill is a little excited for you to polish him. “How are you at polishin’ machines, darlin’? Cause it ain’t gonna be clean if you don’t know what you’re doin’...” He teases as he glances at the polishing machine, then back at you.

You hesitate and cough. "I'm...great?" You quickly get to work before he can question anything.

Boothill raises a brow as he eyes you with a small, amused smirk. He has a feeling you're definitely not good with these machines.

“I’m sure ya are.” He teases, a small, playful chuckle falling from his lips.

While Boothill initially stands still, he can’t help but feel a little ticklish as he can feel the machine polish the outer surface of his thigh. “Careful with that…”

You giggle softly as you keep polishing his metal body. You slide up to his neck and carefully polish it.

A soft, amused chuckle leaves Boothill as he can’t help it. Your gentle polish on his neck is a little ticklish, which causes him to tense up from the sensation. He’d definitely describe it as ticklishness. He rests a hand on the back of your head as you polish his neck, caressing the underside of his fingers against your skin.

“Oh, what a sight to see. I’ve got my pretty lady polishin’ me to perfection.” He teases.

"D-Don't distract me or I'll move!" You whine.

“Distract you?” Boothill murmurs, his lips tilting into a small smirk. “I’m just complimentin' you.”

He gently moves your chin with a finger, guiding it to meet his gaze as he gazes down at you. “And don’t move. I like the way your beautiful eyes look when you’re focused on me.” A tease disguised as a compliment.

You freeze as your heart pounds in your chest...which was not the best move because the polisher slides right off him and shoots at the wall.

A small gasp leaves Boothill when he watches the polisher slide off him. But then he bursts into a hearty chuckle, his hands resting on his waist. His eyes are closed while he laughs, and when he’s done, he glances at the wall where the polisher’s been launched into.

“That wall didn’t do nothin’ to deserve that, darlin’...“ He teases through stifled giggles.

"Y-Yeah well...you distracted me!" You whine before sitting in his lap.

Boothill pulls you onto his lap and rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms naturally wrapping around your waist. As you lean against him, he can see the machine embedded into the wall from the corner of his eye. He shakes his head and laughs again.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya?” He teases, nuzzling his face to the crook of your neck and trailing his lips against your skin.

"It's not like I did it on purpose..." You mutter into his hair.

Boothill lets out another chuckle, feeling the warmth of your breath against his head. “I know you didn’t.” He murmurs, letting out a low sigh that’s a mix of contentment and relief.

He gently presses his cheek to the top of your head, his fingers gently rubbing your waist. “I’m just teasin’ ya, darlin’. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. ‘Sides, look at the bright side.” He adds. “At least the machine didn’t land on my toes.”

"You don't even have toes!" You blink and roll your eyes.

Boothill’s expression turns into a grin as he laughs, pulling you closer to him. “See? Told ya you’re the feisty one.” He teases, tilting his head to kiss your temple. He places another kiss on the top of your head, savoring the feeling of your warmth against his.

“Maybe I don’t have toes.” He begins, placing another kiss on your cheek. “But this body’s got everything else ya need.”

"See that's my Boothill..." You smile warmly. "Don't think of yourself the way you were before...and if you do...let me know?" You whisper.

As he hears your words, a soft smile forms on Boothill's face. He places a hand on your cheek, gently stroking the side of your face as his other rests on your waist.

His eyes look deep into yours with affection, and a corner of his lips quirks upwards. “That's a mighty good offer ya’re givin’ me here, darlin’. But I’d rather you stop me from thinkin’ like that before I could.”

"Now that is a better plan..." You smile before leaning in to kiss him.

Boothill’s eyes flutter to a close as your lips press against his, a warm fluttering feeling erupting in his chest. The kiss is slow and tender, and he melts against your touch as he pulls you a little closer and into his embrace.

Once the kiss ends, Boothill opens his eyes and sighs, feeling calmer and a lot more pleasant than before.

“You’re way too good for this broken ol’ geezer.” He whispers affectionately.

"Boothill...honey... you're not even old!" You laugh softly and nuzzle against him.

Boothill lets out a low chuckle, his hand gently caressing your skin as he leans into your touch. "You sure about that, darlin'? I feel like a relic with all this metal on me."

He glances down at his metallic hand, flexing his fingers. Then, he looks back at you with a smile. “But as long as you’re tellin’ me otherwise, I guess I ain’t.”

"That's what I thought~" You press a kiss to his forehead.

A smirk spreads on Boothill’s face as he watches you kiss his forehead. He lifts a hand and gently caresses your face, his thumb rubbing your skin.

“Ain’t you a precious one?” He muses, his grin widening as he gazes at you. “I reckon I ain’t that old after all.” He adds, his teasing tone laced with an affectionate edge. “What gives you the right to be so adorable?”

"I'm your girlfriend, it's my job!" You smile warmly.

Once again, Boothill’s gaze falls into yours, and he feels a flutter in his chest at your words. He rests a hand on your waist, caressing your skin with the back of his cold metal fingers.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, a warm smile spreading on his face as he nods. His eyes lock with yours, and he lifts a hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“And I reckon you’re doin’ a real good job at it, darlin’...” He adds, his voice low, warm and affectionate.

"Y'know... I'm always going to be here..." You smile. "Hey, hey!" You start to giggle. "I'm 'steel' here..." You joke.

Boothill lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head as you throw in a joke. He takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours, lifting it to his lips and planting a kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re real clever,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his smile grows wider. In all honesty, he appreciates the effort you’re putting into cheering him up.

“Ain’t a doubt in me that you’d always be here for me, darlin’.”

You kiss him one more time. This time more passionate and love infused. As you pull away you smile. "I'll always...be here..."

The unexpected passion in your kiss catches Boothill off guard and leaves him breathless. As you pull away, he lets out a low gasp, his grip on your hand tightening just a little.

When you declare your promise, he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he lets the moment sink in. He feels a wave of warmth wash over him, and he whispers back.

“I’ll be here for you, too, darlin’...”

🎀End🎀

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[moodymisty]

Sanguinius being secretly guiltily down bad for you, Horus’ beloved??? Now that’s a very fun scenario. Especially considering how Horus starts behaving during the heresy. Don’t you think that Sanguinius would feel the need to rescue you from such a terrible situation? Keep you somewhere where you’re completely safe and far away from the forces of chaos (somewhere right by his side)?

He’s aware of his feelings towards you but would never want to burden you with them, considering the emotional pain you’re in right now. But that doesn’t mean he can’t hold you for a little longer than usual, or linger around you for more than is necessary, or wrap a wing of his around you as a loving friendly gesture. He lets himself indulge in these feelings sometimes, just a small amount, because if he doesn’t he feels like he might explode. The guilt hasn’t gone away, in fact it’s even gotten stronger. You see him as a friend and a confidant, but nothing more, and it’s obvious to him that your heart still belongs to Horus (why should it? Why not him??). And if you weren’t under his protection there’s a high likelihood that you’d probably get assassinated, so he can’t be taking advantage of you like that (despite how badly he wants you to love him as much as he loves you.). He’s content with just being close to you, he’s okay with just being your friend, if he starts getting too emotional about it he’ll cry in the shower about it. He’s fine. He won’t try anything but he also won’t let anyone else near you. He’s normal about it, he’s sooo normal

I love this plotline so much, I'm so excited people like the Horus/Reader/Sanguinius idea. This is really good and I really like this particular idea, so here's a little thang separate from the main fic i'm making.

No warnings other than Horus falling to chaos obv

"She is very lucky."

Jaghatai Khan speaks plainly, looking to Sanguinius.

"A few days longer travel, and Horus would've beaten you there."

Sanguinius brushes a piece of his hair away from his face that had fallen from his crown braids. He was glad they managed to make haste so quickly. The Red Tear had burned almost everything it had just to make it there in time to defend the planet before Horus and his Black Legion desecrated it all.

"We have the planet's surface until control. We'll need it's infrastructure for the coming battles." Jaghatai gives him a look, and Sanguinius knows why.

All the talk about strategy, infrastructure; They both know Sanguinius went there for you.

He still avoids mentioning it, wings tucked firmly against his back. It hangs between both primarchs as true intentions left unsaid. Jaghatai was one of the only three primarchs keen on how Sanguinius felt about Horus' lover. It's obvious in the way he's looked at you since you first entered Horus' life. But Jaghatai doesn't bring it up.

"Then I wish you good fortune in the coming battles."

Jaghatai leaves Sanguinius alone, and it isn't long after he can no longer hear the warhawk's footsteps that he rushes to return to you. Air whistles in his feathers as he briskly walks, hearing the clanking of his armor pieces striking against each other.

He has an entire squad of Blood Angels guarding the room you're in, of which he passes with gentle acknowledgement. They have taken to you just as much as he had; And voiced no complaints about protecting you from what once was your lover's legion.

Once Sanguinius sees you, the room dark and cast in privacy, he watches you rub the corner of your eye as you turn his way. You must've been crying, though you do a remarkable job of hiding it.

"Oh, Sanguinius; Do you need something?"

You speak to him so formally still, the way you did when you were still on Horus' arm. He so desperately wishes you wouldn't.

"I wanted to come see how you were doing. I don't wish to leave you alone in here for so long."

He comes closer, gently lowering himself onto the edge of the bed to sit beside you. Your hands fall into your lap as you look down at them, trying to find the words. It's then he finally hears the cracking in your voice, as you can no longer hold back your grief.

"How... How couldn't I have seen what was wrong with him?" You look up at him, tears welling at the bottom of your eyes just about to break and stream down your cheeks. "Am I really that blind?"

Sanguinius unfurls one of his wings, it wrapping behind you. It's not close enough to touch other than the light brush of his primary feathers, but it's close.

But most of all he wants to cup your face in his hands and kiss away your tears, to be there for you as you grieve the loss of a lover who is something worse than dead. Sanguinius dreads to hear the things you saw as Horus fell to ruinous powers, but he wants to be the one you come to; To protect you from everything.

But he can't. The love you have for Horus hasn't faded, and you're with the Blood Angels for as long as this war wages. Sanguinius will protect you, but his love for you just can't override the guilt he would feel if he swept in to kiss you as you cried for someone else. No amount of yearning desire is enough for him to take advantage of you in such a way, as you technically sit here indebted to him for rescuing you.

"He hid it from us all. We were all blind, same as you."

You sigh, and your posture seems to soften with his reassurance. His wing inches closer, daring to take just a bit more as it gently cradles you. It's only to make you feel better. One of your hands reaches to brush along one of his long primary feathers for a moment, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Sanguinius reaches a armoured hand towards you and instinctively he wants to set it on your knee, to pull your towards him, but he hesitates- and moves to your shoulder instead. You lean into it, and hold the necklace that Horus had once given you in your hands. You clear your throat and blink your eyes, a few tears dripping down your face that you haphazardly wipe away with your palm. He wishes to wick them away with his knuckle, to brush his fingers across your skin, but he can't.

"Thank you, Sanguinius. For all of this. I appreciate you being so friendly to me."

Sanguinus softly smiles down at you, and attempts to ignore the way your words stab him directly in the heart; Bleeding all over your hands.

"Of course."

[yanderemommabean]

Yandere Choso X Reader fic

(Quick note! This was a com, who ill keep anonymous, but I was told this was A-Okay to post and share! I hope you beans enjoy! The premise is Choso being affected by Hanami's flower in a sex pollen sense, and it goes from there! CW: Dub-con, but con at the end, chasing through woods, random guy gets obliterated for talking to reader, and reader is female/has AFAB language! Its a bit of a read of 3,500 or more words so get cozy!)

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His skin feels like it's incessantly itching. His eyes glean more dilated and red than usual as he looks around his room, pacing the floors like a beast caged. Choso can’t explain it, honestly. He would just feel better if you were here, safe and sound by his side like you should always be-- Especially after how harrowing that fight got when he was slammed into Hanami. Flower buds burst open when Choso’s body  brutally collided into the curse, and thankfully he was able to take the brunt of what followed, but you…

He clutches his hair a bit, not wanting to think of what could happen if you were any closer than you were. To think anything could happen to you at all made him feel shaky and uneasy and he knows that can cascade into a pit of despair if let to simmer for too long. It’s a bad habit of his; he’s had it for as long as he’s been the eldest brother. It’s never really let up, in fact he’d say it’s worse now since he’s been given people to care for again. He can’t be fully blamed for that can he? After coming into this world, you and Yuuji were really all he had to get him by. Loss hurts. He’s so tired of that aching loneliness.

Going from adversaries to allies was the least of what anyone expected though  he wouldn’t have it any other way. You managed to bring to life what he thought was dead and buried. He’d been so sure he’d strangled it with his own hands.

Choso couldn’t ask for a better friend, yet… Lately he’ll admit, he’s been craving more than just  that. When he gets a glimpse of you, he has to force himself to behave and not gather you into his arms, insistent to press his lips to yours and drink in the taste of you. It’s all he’s been wanting these past few days, picturing how your voice would go weak as you beg him for more. 

Dear god, he wants to give you more. He’d give you anything your pretty beating heart would desire, simply as long as you only called his name; only ever allowed his fingers and lips to explore your body. 

Before you, Choso never once considered looking for a lover. He was sure your kindness could only stretch so thin, denying him anyway. Alas, he was contempt in letting you radiate the sunshine in his life as he loved from afar. After that Hanami incident however, he isn't so willing to sit and wait anymore. 

“Cho?” Your voice calls out, poking your head into the room as he paces like an animal being caged. His eyes dart to where you stand, mouth acting before his brain could catch up. “Where the hell have you been?” 

You’re both stunned by the coldness his usually warm voice held. You stay still, eyes rounded as you decide to fully enter the room to ask just what the hell his problem was. He’d been aggressive before, sure. You’ve seen him be rough and ruthless as he fights, spewing venomous words and poisoned blood to pry open curses like pistachios. Though, never has he had that sort of cold and demanding tone with you. 

“I'm sorry…” he utters, delicate and tired as he walks over, embracing you tightly. You hug him back on instinct, pressing your face into his chest as you feel him play with your hair; pressing his face into it as he breathes your scent in to calm his nerves. Oh dear god, it does the exact opposite. That sweet scent only lets his blood rush south and his mouth goes dry; his fingers start to shake as they brush through your hair and do their best not to yank your head back to force his lips on yours. 

You have to be fucking with him. You have to be. Teasing him with every movement you make as his sanity trickles from his ears and he comes closer and closer to just giving in and sinking his teeth into you. Maybe even in a literal sense with how desperate he is to mark you up and keep others away. Or to show you off and to taunt the other, lesser men who thought they could ever get ahold of a gem like you. Pathetic, really. 

Those vermin need to crawl on their knees and beg for his forgiveness when he gets ahold of them. 

“Look, you’ve been cooped up in here for a while, Choso” You say as you begin to pry away from his tight embrace -was he always this hard to pull away from? “I think you should come with me on a little walk. I know you hate the town so the woods should be fine, right? Fresh air, no paranoid thoughts, you’ll get to see that everyone's ok! I mean, I know how you get when you worry too much…” It’s nothing like that. Though, how can he tell you that? How could he shatter this image you have of him etched into your mind’s eye? How could this beast look at such innocent prey and tell them he’s about to devour them? 

He’ll hide that for now. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is all because he’s gotten sick from Hanami and needs to just let the air and the sunlight heal him. You had never led him astray before.

He trusts you to lead him; guiding him away from the solitude of his living arrangement as he follows dutifully beside you. His body becomes flushed and red as your scent only grows more and more enticing. Do the people walking by not sense it at all? How delectable you smell? How you desperately need to be stuffed to the brim until your voice is broken? 

A deep breath, and the curse composes himself. Breeding you in public wouldn’t be ideal anyway. These sick humans would want to taint you, take you away, try to have a piece for themselves, and he wouldn’t hesitate to level a few buildings to make them scatter like the roaches they are. 

“Hey, is there anything else you’re not telling me? I mean even in messages you seem, I don’t know…Off '' You ask, stopping mid walk to turn and look up at him. His long hair was down from his usual pigtails and in this light his eyes held more of a dark, dare you say hunter-like aura; it only added to the man's beauty. His scowl seemed to grow as he watched more people walk by, getting way too close to you-- way too comfortable with your personal space. 

The woods was just another five minute walk away, and yet it felt like an eternity trying to get there. 

“Well, some troubling thoughts have been arising” He admits, while rather harshly yanking you closer as the sidewalk turns into a path that leads into the trees. 

“These people need to get away from us. I’m about to strike down the next one who gets too close, I swear.” He grits out, teeth showing in a snarl as he looks over his shoulder, watching as the last two people he hoped would be on this trail were leaving. 

You aren’t sure what to even say, you’ve never seen him this high strung before. That’s honestly saying a lot with what you’ve seen Gojo and Yuuji  put him through. But in all seriousness, you were beginning to feel uneasy, like something dark was bubbling beneath the surface. You are starkly reminded that he is in fact, a special grade curse.

“L-let’s just calm down and get to the woods before we vent ok?” You say with a forced laugh, feeling the energy shifting even more as a jogger comes running up the way, and stopping to catch his breath. He hunches over, hands on his knees as he lets his lungs get in whatever air they could.  With a wipe to his brow, he began smiling up at you two with what Choso saw as a flirtatious smile while you only saw a friendly one. “Careful out there” he says between breaths, standing up fully. “It’s getting dark. You know how those trails get when you can’t see as good. Hate for a cutie like you to get lost…” he says, looking like he was moving in to press closer. “Especially with someone like him-” he whispers, gesturing vaguely “-are you safe with him? Do you trust him?”.

After that question, you feel as though a snap of electricity went through the air. 

That’s when it all goes downhill. The warm splash mixed with the thudding of a now headless body hitting the ground, you can’t comprehend what you’re seeing for a few horrifying seconds. It's silent somehow. That’s the worst part. It’s like the world isn’t aware that a man was just beheaded and killed before your very eyes, his lifeless body now bleeding out on the dirt before you and the curse who did the horrible deed. 

“He touched you” Choso spits, eyes holding a viper-like stare as he wipes his cheek, a blood streak following his knuckles as he spits at the man's corpse. You act on instinct. You rush forward, your feet carrying you like your life was about to end, and for all you knew, it was. There wasn’t any semblance of the Choso you knew in those eyes as he struck down the innocent man who wanted to check on you. You can’t even begin to process the words Choso is throwing at you as he chases you through the rocks and trees, the sun beginning to fully set as the hunt begins. 

You feel like a deer trying to sprint away from a predator. Every flicker of your eyes shows his face, still blood speckled as he runs after you. Every twist and turn you take only makes your heart beat faster as you look for any possible hiding spots, anything to shield you from whatever wrath Choso has had buried within him these last few days. Why? Why is he doing this? He seems so evil and terrifying! You almost let out a sob, hunching over behind a large tree so your breath could come back to you. “Don’t you dare show feelings for someone like him” Choso snarls, but it’s far away, his voice sounding strained as he tries to speak. “Don’t you get it? I did that to protect you! All these people, they…They don’t want what's best for you, they want to hurt you!” Hurt you? Telling you to be safe was hurting you? No, Choso’s just lost it, he’s gone completely crazy! 

“Y/N…You know I’d never hurt you” His voice pacifies, coming closer and closer as you fear trying to flee from the tree you’re behind. Oh god please, please don’t let him find you. Don’t let him kill you! “I’d never forgive myself if you were hurt” He continues, stalking closer like a large cat as he follows your scent. “I just want to have you safe. To be pampered. To be mine as I lavish you in my love and adoration” he seemingly purrs, voice dropping an octave as he stalks closer and closer, knowing exactly where you were hiding.

“To have you bear my own children…have you love me as I love you. To taste you. Feel you. Have your body molded to fit mine as we breed like rabbits” he chuckles, dark and sinister as his fantasies seem to take over and spill from his lips. “Tell me, Y/N, are you a gentle lover? Or do you need me to bruise you a little? Rough? Soft? However you need it, you know I’ll give it to you until your pretty little head is empty and only full of thoughts of me.” 

That voice, that sultry purr, was this some sort of sick thrill for him? 

You don’t get much time to dwell on his true intentions. Once you feel his presence behind you, it’s too late. In a blink, your hands are being pinned, and your mouth is covered by his hand. Your eyes meet beautifully dark ones, staring at you like you were a meal he couldn’t wait to devour. 

“Gotcha.” You whimper, shaking your head as Choso simply stares for a moment, soaking in your scent and salivating at the intensity of it. There’s no way he’s not getting a taste of you. He’s even worked up the appetite for it. Once his hand pulls away, you openly sob, shaking and terrified. “Please, please don’t kill me! I-I thought we were-” He clicks his tongue, grabbing your face roughly as he pulls you into an intense kiss. It’s abrupt, unplanned, but he doesn’t care anymore. He’s had enough of these feelings building and building with no release. He’s taking what he wants, and he’s going to be sure you enjoy every bit of what he plans to ensnare. 

You find yourself melting into the kiss. You’re confused, and admittedly turned on at the same time. The panted breaths shared between you are hot and primal. He knows how to suck and bite just right to get your lips to open, allowing his eager tongue to slip inside and taste you, dragging the tip of his tongue over the pad of your mouth while his hand goes to your hair, pressing your face closer so he can kiss you deeper. 

The deep moans Choso makes as his tongue curls around your mouth, they’re deep and hungry, making your thighs clench together even more. Fuck, are you actually into this? You can’t even feel the amount of shame that you think should as the kiss becomes more feverish, both of you panting and moaning into one another's mouths as he tugs and paws at your clothes. He’s so close to just tearing them off if they keep denying him contact with your warm skin. 

He needs you. He needs to feel you pressed against him, bare and naked. He won’t let you get away until his cravings are satiated; your body decorated in his teeth and nail marks. “Choso wait-” You breathe, light headed and confused as you press at his chest, tears still drying on your face. You needed a second to breathe, to think! Everythings happening too fast and too much and- “Say my name again.” he demands, low and carnal as his hands tear off your bottoms. In one fell swoop your wet panties came off with the shorts you wore to make walking easier; showing Choso that at the very least, your body was enjoying this. Who were you kidding? You wanted this to keep going. That fever pitch was only rising and that desperation was filling you too. You wanted to see what he could do to you. Despite being terrified for your life, you knew you were safe. Well, as safe as one could be with a rabid dog like Choso had become. A collared beast isn’t a threat to their owner though, yeah?

“I said-” he barks, pulling you forward to steal another heated kiss, one hand coming to shuck off his own pants. “Say my name again.” 

There was no room for arguing. Decorum had left the moment the chase started. You look up into his eyes, kiss swollen lips parted as you both press forward into an embrace. There was a beat of silence, like you both were caught in admiration of one another. The forest waits on baited breath before you reach your hand up and wrap around his neck, holding yourself up as he wraps your leg around his waist. “Choso.” It sent a visceral shock down his spine hearing you say that in such a way. So needy, begging for him to keep his body against yours as you both find yourself kissing again, his hand coming to cup your ass and hold you up until you’re backed against the same tree you were just trembling and crying behind. Everything blurs after that. There’s clothes coming off completely, possessive phrases being moaned into your mouth or bitten into your skin as he falls apart, greedily taking in whatever he could of you as you two go at it like animals. You swallow, deep and nervous when you feel his cock pulsing against you. Where the hell was that thing hiding? Is that why he wears baggy clothes?! He doesn’t let your mind wander for too long. His fingers grip your face again, tilting your head upwards to meet his lust filled eyes. In this moon light, he looks even more inhuman. A true monster who got what he wanted. A death painting. Part of you feels like you want to see him like this more often. Hopefully with less murder involved. 

“Eyes on me baby. Only me” he commands, holding you still as he guides himself into you, inch by thick inch. Your entire world was on tilt, feeling him enter you while your legs trembled and struggled to hold onto his waist. How was he so strong? Holding you up this easy, it made your mind race and trip over itself with imagining what all he was holding back on, how he could manhandle you as he pleased. 

“Fuck, you’re taking me so good. Just like that.” he praises, and fuck, it goes right to your core, making you pulse and throb with arousal as he begins to pump into you. You feel yourself go taut as he decides to press you into the ground, his cock angling even deeper inside of you as he has you in a damn near mating press. 

“To think I waited for this-” he groans, deep and guttural as he begins to grind into you, over and over, long and languid strokes to drag the pleasure out of both of you. “-Ngh, to think I wouldn’t have you, begging for me and my cock, moaning for me like a good little whore.” “Ch-Choso!” You gasp, choked and stunned as he begins to speed up, the haze only growing as he holds his hand to your throat and buries into you over and over again. “You should have been mine since I fucking laid eyes on you! Fuck-I should make you my pretty little mommy, breed you like your pussy craves until we have more kids than I have brothers.” he rambles, tensing up and manking sure his angles were just right, stroking every bump and ridge inside of you. Your toes are curling at this, being used like some flesh light while Choso babbles away about how he owns you, how he wont let anyone even breathe near you, all while his massive cock carves its place inside of you. It can’t be helped when you scramble for any sort of purchase, grabbing onto his arm and clawing at his skin, drawing blood as you clench your fingers. 

Your mouth falls open, heat flooding your system as you moan louder than you’re sure you ever have when you used toys or had sad experiences with other dates. It was so much, it was too much. You hadn’t known you’d be so turned on by this; how possessive Choso was, never even considered it until now. 

With the way your body tensed, a splash of your cum coating Choso’s cock and dripping down to the forest floor, there was no denying it. You were perfectly ruined for this man. The white hot pleasure came rushing behind your eyes, your back arching off of the ground as you cried out, spasming and writhing as your orgasm wracked your frame. 

Choso watches, enthralled and beyond turned on as he watches you fall apart. His hand comes to press right on your abdomen, feeling how deep he is inside of you as his thrusts refuse to cease. “That’s it. Good fucking girl, Y/N. Feel how deep I'm going to breed you? How full I’m going to make your womb? Fuck, you’re going to be so pretty round and soft with our babies.” He’s lost in his animalistic thoughts, his pace picking up as he sloppily kisses you, chasing your taste with his lips and tongue as his balls slap against your ass, his orgasm coming to its peak. “Going to mark you from the inside, make you mine.” he growls, only getting your weak and worn out whimpers in return as you watch how his cock enters you over and over, knowing he means every word. He steals another desperate kiss, his hips suddenly stilling as warm fluid empties into you, fucked deeper and deeper into your core. You shudder, feeling like an aftershock of pleasure leaves you as his cock slips out and his load begins to follow. You two sit there, panting and catching your breath. Choso seems so much more, how do you say, soothed? Subdued? Pacified? Whatever it is, he seems so much more calm than he had earlier as he admires how his seed leaks from you and lets his fingers play with your soaked and swollen hole. “Hmph. I love how you jerk and twitch from this. Sensitive aren’t you?” he chuckles, crawling on top of you again, admiring every bite mark that was now swelling and welting. “I think this is a good start.” “T…To what?” you ask, head more clear as you try to once again process everything that’s happening. “Our family” he says, like he didn’t just rearrange your guts. “I'm going to make us a family. A big family. A loving one unlike the one I was brought up with.” 

He smiles, soft and amused as he plays with a few strands of your hair, like you weren't covered in dirt and sweat. “I’ll give you a few minutes before we get started again”. 

((I hope you beans loved it! -mommabean))

[lis-likes-fics]

We love clingy, small, sweet Wanda in this house so how about one where precious little bean is having a cold but refuses to rest and follows Reader instead until they give in and take a bath with her or something like that 🥹💕

this has been in my ask box for like...two years and i'm honestly so sorry i didn't answer this sooner but here it is. i hope you like it (if you're even still active) 😭

tw: fluff, brief suicide joke, sick fic. 900 words.

You glance over at Wanda at the corner of your eye. Her nose is red, her eyes are droopy, and she's bundled up with at least three blankets as she lays in bed. The TV plays quietly in front of her, a dimly lit lamp providing whatever light doesn't come from the television as you try to watch for her tired gaze.

Picking up the remote, you pause the movie and shift in your chair to look at her better. “Sleepy yet?” you wonder gently, concern written all over your face.

Her answer is prompt. “No, turn it back on.”

You sigh. “Baby, it's almost two in the morning. You need to sleep.”

The night outside of your bedroom window is full of crickets and twinkling stars. As Wanda glances at the time on the wall, she just mumbles under her breath.

“I can't,” she complains, looking at you with tired eyes. “It's too cold.”

“Do you need another blanket?”

She nods meekly, her green eyes so full of her adoration for you. It both warms your heart and saddens it to see her like this. She's so pretty, you want to kiss her.

You take the blanket off your lap and drape it on top of her. You know she feels bad about taking yours, but she accepts it anyway because she loves you and she does feel a little better. Besides, the blanket smells like you, too. It adds another layer of comfort.

You watch her wiggle her nose, her eyes filling with tears and her lips parting as she moves to sit up. The first sneeze racks through her whole body, and you almost feel bad about the way you just watch her. The second sneeze has you pitying her. It follows in quick succession, and you know it hurts by the way she hunches over and stays hunched over. The third and fourth sneezes are definitely nothing to envy.

The look she gives when she opens her eyes is downright murderous as she stares at nothing in particular. She sounds strange when she speaks, like she's holding back a yawn.

“If I sneeze one more time, I'll kill myself.”

“Baby–”

She does, in fact, sneeze one more time. You watch her eyes light in a scarlet red, her fingertips dancing with wisps. You don't appreciate her joke as much as she wishes you would when you roll your eyes and thrust a box of tissues toward her.

“Quit it and blow your nose.” She eyes you as she plucks a tissue, folding it up and bringing it to her nose. She blows hard, making the most pitiful sound as she wipes her nose. As she reaches over to throw it away in the trash bag by the bed, her eyes glow suddenly and the whole bag disappears, along with the used tissue in her hand.

The both of you freeze, staring at the place where the bag once sat in silent suspense.

“Where did it go?” you ask quietly.

Wanda shakes her head gently. “I don't know, but I think that's for the best.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, then.”

Wanda's magic has been acting up since she got sick. You don't know what to expect, and you're slowly teaching yourself not to question things.

Wanda lathers a generous amount of sanitizer in her hands and then picks up the remote once more. She hits play as the movie starts up again and she sits back. You take the remote, turning it completely off this time.

She looks at you, both offended and confused. “Hey–”

“You need to sleep,” you tell her, determined.

“But–”

“Move over.”

She pouts, genuinely worried this time 

“I don't want to get you sick.”

You pull back the covers, “If I get sick, then I'll just make you take care of me.” You point at her. “Now move over and let me get in with you.”

“Honey–”

You scoop her up and deposit her a little further on the other side of the bed before crawling in yourself. You wrap your arms around her aching body and lay your head against the pillow. Wanda immediately melts against you, accepting your warmth as the deepest sigh eases from her body.

You feel the mattress beneath you slowly start to warm, a very steady heat that adds to both your comfort as you cuddle her closer. Enjoying the moment, your words come out more as a mumble. “Better?”

“Mmm.”

You smile a bit, carding your fingertips through some of her hair. “Can you sleep for me now, sweetheart?”

She glances up at you through heavy lids. Even the gentle light of the bedside lamp illuminating the light dust of freckles over her cheeks. “Can you sing to me?”

You'd like nothing more.

You reach over and turn off the lamp, allowing the calm darkness of the night to wash over the both of you. A gentle song arises from your throat as you begin to hum “L-O-V-E” in the quietest voice you can manage. It's one of her favorite songs, and she's moments away from rest already.

You continue to run your fingers through her hair, ignoring the slight ache in the back of your throat that you've been ignoring for the past couple of hours. You'll make Wanda hold you when you wake up in the morning with her cold.

please support your content creators and give your feedback!

[aurianavaloria]

KoH - What Good May Come (Baldwin IV x Reader)

Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven

Pairing: Baldwin IV x Fem!Reader

PoV: Mixed/Split (Tiberias - Fem!Reader - Baldwin)

Length: Long (8k+ words! 😬)

TW: Vague mentions of disfigurement/leprosy

A/N: FINALLY, I've finished the Y/N fic that was voted on so long ago in this poll. Since the results were fairly close, I simply eliminated the least-voted option and went with a combination of the rest. 😁I've tried my best to keep Y/N truly generic, although she is female; in all other ways, though, it was my hope to make her vague enough that readers could envision whomever they liked in whatever universe/version of the story they wished. Backstory and circumstances are also left as vague as possible. As far as personality, I tried to go with what seemed most popular in general, again in an attempt to appeal to the widest audience. I sincerely hope you enjoy, and thank you all for being awesome! 🤗

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“She adores you, you know.”

It was these words from Tiberias that broke the silence between king and vassal – a companionable one… one born from years of acquaintanceship that had seen both parties through their fair share of strife and misunderstandings. A type of camaraderie perhaps only two leaders in their position could comprehend and be satisfied with.

The Count of Tripoli watched as his liege-lord’s attention was drawn from the bright Jerusalem outdoors into which he was all but forbidden to emerge. Watched as eyes as blue as the sky Tiberias knew was above drifted to his own. One was clouded, now – a sign of impending blindness. But Tiberias remembered well when both possessed such a clear and sharp forget-me-not stare, bidding all who beheld their gaze to indeed forget them not…

“I beg your pardon, Raymond,” the king replied, the silver mask he wore slightly muffling carefully-chosen words, smooth as the waters of the Jordan. “My thoughts have wandered, as they often do these days, and I am uncertain as to whom you refer.”

The smallest of laughs escaped Tiberias’s lips as they briefly twisted into a half-smile – a response to His Majesty that perhaps only he could get away with. He swirled what remained of the deep claret wine in his goblet, leveling his gaze at the king over the rim; the Count had known his lord since before he had come of age, and no amount of masks could cover the fact that Baldwin IV of Jerusalem was always aware of more than he pretended.

“Forgive me for my lack of clarity, my lord,” Raymond answered wryly. “I speak of Lady Y/N.”

“Ah, yes.”

Baldwin’s response was accompanied by the slightest nod, silver shimmering with the movement as it caught a sunray. His eyes fell to the chess pieces that functioned not as part of an actual match between them, but merely an occupation for restless hands. Particularly the king’s. Gloved in white, one of those half-numb hands still somehow moved with grace, a slender finger perched atop the head of a knight, resting upon the carved arch of the stallion’s mane.

Tiberias noted the short answer, half-sighed. No doubt His Majesty’s thoughts continued where his lips dared not to go, if the Count knew him as well as he thought he did…

“She speaks of you fondly and often,” Raymond added, sipping of the wine. “I believe she is single-handedly determined to bring your presence back into court by mention of your name and titles alone.”

White fingers released the knight. “The court is far too vicious a place for as good a soul as hers,” Baldwin said at length, sitting back in his chair, another sigh escaping him like the hiss of steam behind his mask as he glanced away. “Lately, I have been thinking of what to do with her. It is increasingly obvious there is no place for her here. Not amongst these vultures.”

“Oh?” Tiberias’s brows arched high. “Isn’t there?”

“No. There is not.”

At that, the Count’s lips pressed together as he leaned forward, setting his goblet on the chess table and folding his hands in his lap. “My lord, surely you aren’t thinking of sending her away. Not from here, where she has found joy despite everything.” He caught his liege’s gaze as it returned to him, adding pointedly, “Where you have found it.”

“My joy is irrelevant,” Baldwin replied flatly. “And as for hers...” he paused, and Raymond could see the king’s throat bob past his bandages. “It will not persist. It is best she seek it elsewhere, before that which she has found here meets its inevitable end.”

The corner of the Count’s mouth twitched. “You, or Jerusalem?”

“I am Jerusalem,” the king answered simply.

Tiberias glanced away, closing his eyes for a moment as silence stretched between them. The Count in him knew that Baldwin was, in a way, correct. Disaster loomed on the horizon – a kind of calamity from which they might not return, and it would most assuredly begin with His Majesty’s death. If the physicians were right and not being overly generous in their assessment, then the king had less than a decade left in his short life. And imbeciles like Guy de Lusignan seemed determined to shorten it further. Yes, she would be safer – and perhaps happier in the long term – elsewhere…

Yet there was something so terribly tragic about it all that Tiberias couldn’t help but feel sympathy grow in his heart for the boy. Yes boy. He hadn’t even had the chance to grow a man’s whiskers on his cheeks before that damned disease had twisted his face almost beyond recognition. And Tiberias had seen it all. Even through the at-times frustrating trials of Baldwin’s kingship, the Count of Tripoli had watched as the golden-haired warrior of sixteen years had wasted away into this silver-faced specter that had become far too wise, far too young…

…but he had also watched those specter’s eyes glow with a long-absent light the moment Y/N had stood before him. For a fleeting instant, he had once again seen the eyes of a younger king, reminiscent of past joys and glorious victories.

Baldwin would extinguish that light in an instant for her sake, romantic fool that he was. Or perhaps it was Raymond himself who was the fool, as he thought of Y/N and how she, too, had been drawn to the king the moment they’d met. How such a precious creature, so rare upon this Earth, had fallen into such a deadly trap… and now it seemed, like a snared rabbit, her only option was to chew off her own limb before the hunter found her.

How to rescue them both from such a fate?

“The girl is in love with you, my lord,” he began after a moment, his voice a growling murmur. “To send her away would break her heart. It would destroy her.” He shook his head, meeting the king’s stare with his own. “As it would you, and you know it.”

“What would you have me do, Tiberias?” Baldwin asked, Raymond’s more familiar moniker finally coming out now that the Count’s words had pierced past the royal façade. “To let her stay will cause her only despair, and that will destroy the both of us as well. And I cannot be that selfish to such a benevolent soul.” Tiberias heard a long exhale behind the mask as the king cast his eyes to the ceiling, as if searching for answers amongst the lofty vaults. “Were it not for this disease I would ask her father for her hand and devote my life to her as her husband before the altar of God. But I am a leper, and I am forbidden that.” The pale gaze that returned to the Count’s was a haunting one now, as if all the ghosts of Purgatory screamed through it for salvation. A mirthless laugh followed, a dark sound born of darker thoughts. “It seems I can do nothing else but waste away before her very eyes. So tell me, my wise vassal – if I cannot protect her from what is to come, what is it that I can do?”

A flicker of a smile crossed Tiberias’s lips. “Love her, my lord. As I know you already do.” He paused, propping his elbows on the table and rubbing his sword-calloused hands together as he thought.

“It’s the whole reason for your self-flagellation, is it not?” he continued after a moment. “This talk of sending Y/N out of Jerusalem – your crown tells you one thing, but your heart tells you another, and for the first time you want to toss the crown by the wayside, and that makes you fear you are an incompetent king. So you pick up the crown again in hopes it will crush the heart, and perhaps the love along with it.”

Another sigh, the lids of the king’s eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I only wish to do what is right, Tiberias. It is what I have striven for my entire life, and I will not abandon such principles now. If it means my own suffering, so be it. And as for her,” his eyes opened once more, latching to Raymond’s, “tell me what good may come from the love of a leper.”

This time, it was the Count who sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Peace. Mercy. Comfort. Everything you have brought to this kingdom.” He crossed an ankle over his knee, peaking his fingers. “You cannot know that a little cruelty now will not hurt her any less than what will come later. But you do know that loving her can only bring happiness to you both in the present moment – and that is what she lives for. Not the future.” He cocked his head at the king. “There is nothing wicked in what she desires. Nor in what you wish for her. The both of you want nothing more than the other’s well-being. How can that be anything but right?”

Raymond saw Baldwin’s throat bob again, the mask shimmering in the sunlight as he shifted in his seat, first looking down towards the floor, then back to the illuminated arcade.

“How shall I court her, then?” he inquired at length, his voice softer, cynicism at last yielding to tender warmth. “How to show her this affection of mine without forever staining her honor?”

Tiberias’s jaw worked as he thought for a few moments in silence. “If you wish to be discreet, my lord, I believe I may assist in this matter.”

It was then, as Baldwin returned his attention to the Count, that the latter saw a glimpse of boyish mischief sparkling in his liege’s eye. “I would trust no other to the task.”

================

“My lady, a courier flagged me down today and told me to give you this.”

Your lady-in-waiting approached, holding out a small wrapped parcel.

“What is it?” you asked, interest piqued.

The handmaid shook her head. “I have no idea, my lady. The courier didn’t say.”

You felt your brow furrow as you took the parcel in hand. The fabric was fine, but not terribly so – a soft cream color, tied with a simple yellow ribbon.

“Hmm. I wonder who it is from.”

“He didn’t say that, either,” your companion commented.

Curiosity mounting by the second, you decided to succumb to the impulse to open the parcel, tugging at the ribbon. Casting it aside, you pulled back the corners of the fabric to reveal a folded piece of parchment, within which had been tucked something slightly weighty…

Merely tilting the parchment to the side let the object slide free into your waiting palm, and you couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped you. There, in your hand, lay a lovely brooch, sparkling in the sunlight that streamed in from your window. A small disk of gold, swirling floral patterns weaved across its surface and wound about its edge like vines of roses. At its center was set a sapphire cabochon, polished and glimmering, and from its bottom edge hung a single creamy white pearl, like a teardrop in shape.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!”

The words came from your lady-in-waiting; you were too busy still holding your breath as you took in the details of this exquisite piece. You ran a finger over the filigree and atop the smooth stone in wonder. Who could have possibly gifted you something so beautiful and why?

As if reading your mind, your fellow courtier prompted, “Maybe the parchment says who it’s from.”

Finally remembering to breathe, you nodded, carefully unfolding the small piece of vellum to see a tight, neat script, punctuated with neither signature nor seal:

You will never know how much light you bring into the lives of others. It is my only hope that this small token of my regard brings a measure of light into yours.

This time, it was both you and your handmaiden who gasped in unison, barely stifling squeaks of girlish delight as you exchanged looks with one another.

“You, my lady, have an admirer!”

In awe, you stared at the parchment, reading the words over and over again. But who could have possibly written them?

“So it seems,” you replied at length, running a thumb across the surface of the brooch.

“Well,” your comrade continued, straightening and putting her hands on her hips, “that will give you plenty to talk about at the feast tonight.”

Your brow furrowed. “Feast?”

She nodded with a grin. “Yes, feast! Princess Sibylla arranged it. Perhaps you’ll find your mysterious admirer amongst the guests there, hmm?”

At that, you could only blink for a moment, your thoughts a whirlwind in your mind. Of all the things to find in Jerusalem, you hadn’t quite expected an admirer to be one of them…

“I’m not sure whether to be frightened or excited by the prospects,” you finally replied honestly, a nervous chuckle following your words.

“Oh, lady,” your handmaid admonished, swatting a hand playfully at your shoulder. “It will be quite fun, I’m sure. The princess’s functions are always lighthearted affairs, or so I hear. I imagine there will be dancing and merry music aplenty. Just plan to enjoy yourself, and if something – or someone – intriguing comes along…” she trailed and winked.

You tried to fight the blush that sprang to your cheeks, but to no avail, leading your handmaid to laugh heartily. “Ah, my lady. By your leave, I must see to a few things before evening falls, but I will return to help you get ready.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, giving a nod of assent. “Of course.”

With that, the lady-in-waiting dipped into a polite curtsey and left, closing your chamber door gently behind her and leaving you to your increasingly-anxious thoughts. Your attention returned to the parchment and brooch – both were fine indeed, indicating that, whoever your admirer was, they were certainly someone of status. Yet there was a certain practicality to both; the author’s penmanship was practiced and elegant, but not overstated, and the brooch itself was obviously expensive, but neither was it overly extravagant.

It was also a rather fitting gift, considering you had only just lost your old one on the way to Jerusalem…

And then it hit you.

It can’t be…

Your heart began to beat harder in your chest as it all came to you in a rush. Yes, you’d lost your beloved brooch on the long journey to Jerusalem – one of your last remaining ties to your homeland. A silly thing to get upset about, you told yourself later on, and yet the loss of it affected you even after your arrival at court. Nevertheless, no one up until that point knew besides your lady-in-waiting. And there was only one Jerusalemite native to whom you had confided that little detail.

The king.

Your mouth ran dry as you remembered the instance as clearly as if it had been yesterday. It was only your third day at the palace, and you’d yet to become accustomed to its maze-like halls. Couple that with your fascination with the local architecture, and that led you to places, in hindsight, you probably ought not have tread. Yet no one stopped you, even as the number of palace guests thinned and you emerged upon a quiet, sunlit terrace…

…only to run right into a tall man in white.

It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that you’d plowed headlong into the king himself – quite embarrassing that. In fact, you were so mortified that you were sure you would die of it on the spot, even as you apologized profusely with the deepest curtsey you could manage on weak legs.

To your surprise, however, not even the slightest admonishment came from him. Instead, he chuckled, the sound muffled by the mask he wore. That caused you to look up, still frozen in your curtsey, and that was when you saw the bluest eyes you’d ever seen in your life looking back at you, their squinted corners evidence of a smile behind the almost-angelic visage of silver.

You smiled back nervously, at which point he bid you to rise, assuring you that you had done nothing wrong. An awkward introduction followed, during which you admitted that curiosity had gotten the better of you, and you praised the well-kept grounds and the lovely accommodations you’d been given…

As it so happened, however, he already knew precisely who you were from your name alone – where you were from and why you’d come to Jerusalem. Whether he had gleaned this information from spies or the rumor mill of the court, you weren’t certain, but the more he spoke, the more difficult it became to keep the flabbergasted look off your face. And along with that astonishment came the slightest bit of fear – if he knew this much about you, how much did everyone else know?

Despite your best efforts, though, you must have been unable to keep your face expressionless, as that was when he had invited you to his chambers to speak further in private.

To say you were surprised by such an offer was something of an understatement; it was the last thing you expected to hear after what had just transpired between you, especially from a king to a freshly-acquainted subject. And yet you found yourself quite unable to decline even out of modesty. For one thing, declining the offer of a king seemed most imprudent, and for another…

…well, you were actually rather curious about His Majesty, unwilling to end the encounter just yet.

So you followed him, marveling at him all the while. You knew he was a leper – that was something you’d been informed of before you’d departed for the Holy City – but that didn’t frighten you. You had seen lepers where you were from, and they hadn’t frightened you, either. You also knew the mask was meant to hide the deformities beneath. In fact, it was the presence of that mask that had led you to guess the identity of its owner before it was ever confirmed by his lips – it was a symbol as powerful as a crown. None of that was what had drawn your curiosity; you were motivated neither by morbid fascination nor a sense of pity.

No, it was his astonishingly-welcoming demeanor that had you almost spellbound. The easy willingness to listen and to forgive. The quiet, yet poised decorum. You’d known men and women alike with rank much lesser than his who possessed a cold and domineering manner that was immediately off-putting to almost everyone around them. Yet here was the king of this realm, conversing politely with a lady who had merely lost her way.

Already you had learned volumes about his character, and he’d barely spoken at all.

He had posted guards, you noted, but they kept their eyes straight ahead as you passed them, following King Baldwin into his private quarters. It was a mighty struggle, but you managed to resist the urge to succumb to the eye-wandering that had gotten you into this situation to begin with. Instead, with the same discipline of his guardsmen, you glued your gaze to his back, occupying yourself by mentally tracing the subtle patterns in his coat of white damask silk.

Ultimately, he offered you a seat, and as you accepted with another curtsey, he sat himself a respectable distance away, only the slightest stiffness of his limbs betraying his condition as he settled into the chair opposite you. In fact, you could imagine he occupied his throne in much the same manner as he leaned back, both white-gloved hands curving over the ends of its arms. A servant, unbidden, came forth out of the shadows with a fresh cup of wine, which you took with a polite nod. The man then retreated as quietly as he had arrived, disappearing beyond sheer curtains of pale fabric.

And then, you talked.

It was mostly he who asked the questions, and you answered them as best as you were able; you weren’t brave enough to ask him much of anything, and so you settled for what small bits of information he voluntarily divulged over the course of your conversation. All in all, it was a relatively light discussion. He mostly inquired about your homeland and of your journey – of whether you had experienced any hardships or had witnessed anything of interest on your way to the Holy City, and if you had troubles acclimating to Jerusalem. It was during this exchange that you revealed the caravan’s run-in with thieves… how they had stolen what small bit of jewelry you possessed, sneaking in and out of the tents of the pilgrims and vanishing into the desert night before anyone could catch them.

You only offhandedly mentioned the brooch as the one piece you had any sentimental attachment to. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure if he had been listening at that point, as he had closed his eyes for a long time. You thought perhaps he might even have fallen asleep for a moment; if so, you couldn’t blame him, as you knew his condition was exhausting – you couldn’t imagine dealing with it on top of everything else expected of a king.

It was also quite possible that you were boring the poor man out of his mind with your lengthy and rambling answers, and he was simply too polite to cut you off.

Yet if what your gut was telling you was right, then he had indeed been listening, and far more closely than you could ever have realized…

You hadn’t known, however, at the time. Instead, you’d felt increasingly self-conscious as his eyes opened again, their gaze meeting yours with a piercing stare. Truly, it was as if he was looking through you rather than at you as you turned the conversation to lighter matters – mostly all the wonderful sights you’d seen since arriving in the Holy Land, especially Jerusalem itself. Your observations seemed to please him, and he voiced his gladness that you were, for the most part, enjoying yourself. You’d thanked him for his hospitality, and it wasn’t long after that the discussion ended, king and subject cordially parting ways with nod and curtsey.

Little did you know that one meeting would soon turn into two. Then three. Then more.

Somehow, a few days after your unexpected first encounter, you ran into him again in the garden – though, thankfully, not literally this time. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he once more invited you to further conversation in private, and again you accepted. This time, he inquired if you knew the game of chess, and to your surprise (and secret amusement) he appeared rather pleased when you affirmed that you did. He then promptly challenged you to a match, to which you heartily agreed. Yet even though you were handily beaten, it was an enjoyable game, and you found yourself acquiescing to a future rematch.

It wasn’t long before these games became almost a routine part of your afternoon, save for the days when His Majesty was busy with his council or holding court. And it was during the course of these games that you realized just how lonely he must have been. For the more games you shared, the fewer of them were seen to completion; far more time was spent talking with the board sitting untouched between you than it was actually playing.

He never kept you longer than you desired to stay, and certainly never more than was appropriate for an unmarried lady such as yourself. In fact, he seemed to leave the coming and going mostly to you. Yet you didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, their corners crinkling with a smile you couldn’t otherwise see. It broke your heart that he spent so much of his days, outside his duties, in near-isolation, when he was such a thoughtful, inquisitive, and intelligent soul… such a joy to converse with. And so you’d been sure to praise these qualities amongst your fellow courtiers whenever the chance arose…

It had only just occurred to you in the middle of a recent sleepless night that the reasons behind your persistent compliments might have run a bit deeper than the simple desire to keep his spirit alive in the court he barely saw.

You couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up when your eyes met – those eyes that you couldn’t quite decide were more like the sea or the sky. And it wasn’t just the content of his speech you enjoyed, but the way he delivered it… with a voice that was so easy to listen to for hours on end, so reflective of his serene and introspective nature.

And then there were the times, when he accidentally fumbled the pieces, that your fingers and his gloved ones nearly touched. When you both reached for the fallen pawn only for one of you to swiftly withdraw, each time followed by a soft chuckle. But you couldn’t ignore the sensation that charged the atmosphere, like the feeling that permeated the air just before a storm, and your heartbeat was the warning thunder in your ears…

You shook your head, your thoughts returning to the present as you rubbed your thumb over the brooch’s smooth gem. It was then that the tiniest doubt began to tickle and nag at the back of your mind. What if it wasn’t him at all? What if it was merely a coincidence? Something your heart foolishly yearned for, but that your mind knew well would never happen?

A frown pulled at your lips. Baldwin had proven to be someone to whom you could speak about almost anything without fear of reprisal. Nothing you had confided in him had ever escaped the bounds of his chamber – and there was plenty you had discussed, especially lately. Even if he hadn’t sent this jewel, you could trust him to advise you with wisdom. And despite his relative absence from court, there was no one who knew its members better…

By the time your handmaid returned to help you prepare for the evening, you’d made up your mind.

“I shall wear the blue bliaut tonight. To match this lovely brooch.”

================

Even past the bandages of thin linen and the silken veil covering his ears, Baldwin could still hear the distant strains of music floating through the palace’s long and lonely corridors… the latest in Sibylla’s efforts to keep the place lively even as its king slowly wasted away, out of sight and out of mind.

He could have made a surprise appearance, he supposed. He did that on occasion, whenever he felt particularly energetic, much to his physicians’ chagrin. It was mildly intriguing to see what kind of looks he would receive and from whom– though by this point, those expressions and their bearers had become almost boringly predictable. Fear and awe were ever present, manifesting in the form of slackened jaws and widened eyes and hushed whispers behind hands and veils. Rarer looks of disgust and revulsion were always quickly covered by feigned indifference. Then there were those especially-bold souls who dared to reveal their open contempt in their thinned lips and narrowed eyes.

It was pity, however, that he despised the most.

Dread, loathing, hatred – these were all traits with which any monarch could be clothed whether they wished to or not. Such was the burden of leadership. But pity…

Pity was a mantle that was distinctly his to wear.

Every time he saw it in the faces of those who looked upon him, he was reminded that his crown was secondary to his condition. That they saw the Leper before they saw the King. It was not that he lacked appreciation for those who truly worried for his health and his well-being, but in their eyes he saw reflected back at him what he tried desperately to ignore from the moment his physicians departed in the morning until they returned at night to dress his wounds.

The corner of his mouth twitched beneath his mask, and his quill stilled, poised for a moment in the one hand of his that still had life in it before he reached to return the pen to its stand.

Lady Y/N had never looked at him that way.

Sitting back in his chair, he wondered if she was enjoying herself this night. If Sibylla was hosting her well. He hoped that she was, and that his sister had not overwhelmed the poor girl with her almost shamefully lavish tastes. It was evident that Y/N was quite unused to Jerusalem’s abundance in almost every respect; those first few days after her arrival at court, her wide-eyed wonder had rendered her speechless on more than one occasion, or so he’d heard.

A light hum escaped him at the memory of their first meeting. It seemed as though it was forever ago, and yet, at the same time, it felt as if it were only yesterday.

She had been rather distracted, he recalled… so distracted, in fact, that she hadn’t seen him in the corridors, watching as she’d unwittingly wandered into the realm of the royal apartments. With great accuracy, he’d anticipated the trajectory of her meandering steps, and he purposefully made to intercept her before she breached the threshold of what the guards deemed acceptable, even for a lost lady.

Baldwin wasn’t quite as quick as he used to be, though, in part due to that damned dragging foot of his, and he’d neglected to account for his reduction in speed, resulting in an unfortunate collision on the terrace above the gardens.

Or perhaps, he thought in hindsight, it was fortunate after all…

He’d heard enough from his informants to guess who she was. Tiberias and others amongst his court might have suspected she was an assassin simply playing the part of a lost newcomer, and he had to admit that the thought had crossed his own mind, if briefly; in a world such as theirs, it was difficult to imagine anyone without some kind of ulterior motive. Yet it soon became apparent that she was as innocent as the day was long – if there was anything his disease had given him, it was experience reading tone and body language, and he wasn’t certain the best actress in the world could have feigned her level of self-conscious nervousness.

No, Y/N was simply curious and lost. And from what those same informants had told him, she was in desperate need of someone local she could trust. Though evidently satisfied with her new home in every other way, she had been slow to acclimate to the social environment of the court, preferring to keep to herself whenever possible. From this, he suspected her need to get away from the appraising gazes of total strangers was what had initially propelled her away from the great hall, and her natural inquisitiveness had continued to pull her into the quieter depths of the palace.

But the faint smile she’d worn and the sparkle in her eyes had been replaced with fear the instant she realized who she’d run into, and the stuttering apology and low curtsey she’d given him betrayed her anticipation of reprimand.

That was something he’d had to correct, and quickly.

In the moments that followed, he’d gauged it most appropriate for them to smooth over this encounter by getting to know each other better, and thus he’d invited her to do just that in the privacy of his quarters, where they would face little chance of interruption.

As he’d hoped, she’d accepted. And it was this first conversation of theirs that had led him to believe that Lady Y/N was terribly lonely.

Her chatter was slightly nervous and yet, at the same time, somewhat eager. There was little doubt that he’d learned far more about her than she had about him; with but a little coaxing, he had discovered much about her circumstances and about what plagued her. It had displeased him greatly to hear about the thieves that had raided her entourage’s tents on the way to the Holy City, and it irked him even more that she’d lost a treasured possession because of it. Her journey had already been a long and arduous one – had that not been enough?

Y/N put up a rather convincing façade of indifference on the matter, but when he focused on her voice alone, he heard her pain. No, she was no actress, he concluded.

He also hadn’t failed to notice her willingness to make eye contact with him… to look him full in the face and speak freely with every question he asked; she dodged neither query nor gaze. Outside her initial fright on the balcony, she displayed few other signs of trepidation regarding his presence. In fact, it seemed as though she’d just been waiting for someone with whom she could share her thoughts and feelings – as if she’d bottled up everything he’d asked about since arriving in Jerusalem and finally found someone willing to listen.

Had she truly felt so comfortable with him already, or was she simply a trusting soul? He was unaccustomed to both, and it was… refreshing.

His instincts warned him that the jackals of the court would surely eat her alive, and he feared what their viciousness might do to her. What kind of slander and gossip would come from what had been innocent curiosity on her part. How much her character would be maligned for sport. The very thought of it being a possibility made his blood boil.

Over the course of their subsequent conversations, however, he was forced to rethink that initial assumption. Kind-hearted she was, and still too good for the likes of her peers, but she could hold her own among them better than he had anticipated; a few casual inquiries over a few chess matches revealed that much. She saw, heard, and understood far more than her outward appearance would suggest. Behind that warm, gentle, and charmingly-inquisitive exterior was a clever and tenacious woman whom he found to be utterly captivating. No matter the storm around her, she always projected an air of geniality and good cheer, evidently determined not to let this unsettled world tear her down.

In short, the court didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve her.

She never asked him for anything, and likewise she didn’t press questions upon him about his condition. Whenever they passed time together, he felt like neither king nor leper, but like an ordinary man. In her sparkling eyes and healing presence, he saw not pity, but life. A normal life for once. One where he did not have to dread what the next morning might bring.

Alas, that glorious feeling of contentment left him with her every departure.

The sound of exuberant cheers down the corridor pulled him from his musings, and he found himself back in the relative darkness of his chambers, watching the candle’s flame flicker upon his desk. He wondered which dance it was they’d just finished, imagining Y/N in his mind’s eye moving as hypnotically as that very flame. If she danced as beautifully as he envisioned, she would have the whole court entranced…

“Sire, you have a request for an audience.”

The guard called from the entrance to his quarters.

“Who is it?” he asked, hope, dread, and fear all churning in his stomach in a toxic maelstrom. He hadn’t the patience or the energy to deal with most petitioners this night, other than-

“Lady Y/N.”

His eyes widened.

That was quick.

Hope surged forth at the mention of her name, but neither dread nor fear was eliminated by this revelation. Not completely. He had a feeling the gifting of the brooch he’d commissioned would bring her to him sooner or later, but he hadn’t anticipated it being that very day, and especially not with the festivities Sibylla had planned…

Perhaps it is not that, he reminded himself solemnly, but something else altogether.

“I will see her,” he called back at last. “Let her pass.”

There were precious few seconds for him to compose himself before he saw her, at first a shadow at the entrance to his chambers, and then illuminated by lamp and candlelight as she cautiously strode forth. His breath caught in his lungs at the sight of her, her eyes glittering like stars from all those dancing fires. She wore the most beautiful court dress he’d ever seen her in – a sapphire-blue silk bliaut, laced tight at the sides to flatter her form, seemingly a thousand shimmering pleats flowing from her hips to the floor. At her waist had been tied a fabric belt of lighter blue, embroidered in gold, double-wrapped about her body and knotted in front in Frankish style. Her belled sleeves, with their golden trim, allowed only a glimpse of her stark white chemise beneath, and there, upon that same trim that adorned the dress’s wide neckline, had been pinned the brooch, pulling the dipping V above her heart into an elegant keyhole.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted him with a curtsey, offering a smile that shot straight to his heart. “I hope I haven’t come at an inopportune time.”

“Not at all,” he gestured for her to rise, turning in his seat to fully face her, “although I would have expected you to be at my sister’s gathering.”

Another smile. “I was, in fact. Alas, I felt the need to speak with you on a matter of great import. I hope Her Highness can forgive me for my early departure.”

The king nodded once. “I am all but certain she will. I am, however, glad you were at least able to make an appearance,” he remarked as he slowly rose from his chair, stifling a groan that threatened to escape him from his aching limbs. Then, pausing, he tilted his head as he allowed himself to take in her attire once more. “You look lovely. It would have been a shame to have wasted such beauty on my poor eyes alone; better indeed that you allowed others with keener sight the chance to appreciate your taste and talents before slipping away to these dark and distant halls.”

Even in the low candlelight, he could see her cheeks flush, and as her gaze briefly flicked away from his, he felt his twisted lips pull into an unseen smile.

“You are too kind, my lord,” she replied. “In truth, I found myself… inspired… by this new jewel I received just this afternoon.” Her fingers drifted to that very piece, pinned above her heart, and Baldwin forced himself to school his gaze… to pretend he hadn’t been the one to write up the specifics of its creation for the royal jeweler… that he hadn’t entrusted it to Tiberias to give to a capable courier… that he hadn’t prayed to God he hadn’t made an irreversible mistake by daring to tread on this unknown path.

“Do you like it?” she asked suddenly, her eyes meeting his. “Believe it or not, it is, in fact, the subject of my concern.”

Something in both her gaze and her tone told him she’d made the assumption he wished. Good. He had no desire to drag this out; indeed, hadn’t the time for it. And now that she was here, following the lead he’d purposefully fashioned, his only task was to find out if Tiberias was truly right about her and her feelings…

Swallowing back where his heart had gathered in his throat, he replied coolly, “Yes, it suits you. Although, I am uncertain as to why you would approach me for such an opinion,” he added with a chuckle, slightly bemused at the way she was choosing to approach this mystery. Indicating the chess table where they’d held so many conversations of late, he beckoned, “Come. Sit.”

Wordlessly, she acquiesced, dipping her head before moving to take her usual place, as he did his.

“I…” she began after a moment, her stare focused on one of the pieces as he settled himself opposite her. “Well, the truth is, I was hoping I could ask you for advice in a matter related to it. Regarding the one who sent it to me, in fact.”

“Yes?” he prompted as he watched her. Time to confirm that assumption.

“Well, you see… I don’t really know who sent it…”

His eyes met hers, squinting a little. “You don’t?” he asked, keeping the skepticism from his tone as he began to pull her thoughts from her.

“No.” She shook her head. “There was no name on the note that accompanied it, so I cannot know for certain who might have sent it. But,” yet another smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, her eyes sparkling again as she leaned forth and propped her elbows on the edge of the table, “I do have an idea, and I was hoping perhaps I might pass my thoughts by you. You know a great many in your court, after all. Perhaps you could confirm or deny my suspicions?”

Oh yes, she knew. He knew she knew. And now she played with him as much as he with her, both seeking confession…

“Perhaps I could,” he answered musingly. “What are your thoughts, then, Lady Y/N?”

“Well,” she began, dropping her gaze to the pieces once more, her fingertips toying with the white king, “I was just thinking of how appropriate such a gift was. Indeed, the person who sent it must know me rather well. It appeals so much to my tastes and is so fitting given recent events.”

His heart felt like it was about to beat itself out of his chest. “How fortuitous.”

“My thoughts precisely,” she agreed, glancing up at him. “And of those whom I’ve spent the most time with, there are few who would know me in such a manner.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

She paused, and he felt her eyes studying him intensely. “In fact, there is only one man who would have known just how fortuitous it was. Only one who would have known I would have need of such a piece. Now,” she leaned back a little, offering him a pointed look, “I do realize that brooches are popular as courting gifts,” she paused, her gaze latching to his, “but even so, I find the choice rather… convenient. Don’t you, my lord?”

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I understand your meaning.”

Deafening silence stretched between them during which neither of them moved.

“Only one man,” she repeated, her own voice having gone quiet, and Baldwin saw her eyes glimmer in the lamplight. Before he could even open his mouth to offer another comment, she leaned forward again, her gaze burning a hole through him. “Only one man who bothered to know me. To know my heart. To care for me and my life enough to remember what I held dear.” He saw her swallow heavily. “You, my king. You sent it to me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, nodding once in affirmation.

“Do you mean it?”

Her question was barely a whisper, yet Baldwin felt it in his heart – a probing inquiry seeking out the truth of his intentions.

His blood was rushing in his ears. “Every word, written and unwritten.”

And with that final admission everything was confirmed on his part. But as for hers…

The tears were obvious in her eyes now, pooling at the edges of her lashes. In that moment, he was sure he understood how the condemned felt just before the stroke of the headsman’s axe, before the tightening of the hangman’s noose. What would her answer be, then? He knew in his heart it would be better for her to simply walk away. But would she? Would she willingly doom herself to heartbreak?

At last Y/N spoke once more, her voice a tremulous whisper, and he hung upon every word as though his very life depended on it.

“I know this cannot be a courtship in the traditional sense,” she began softly, her liquid stare never leaving his, “and I know what the others will say…”

He began to feel lightheaded. At this rate, he was going to faint before he could hear her answer in full.

“…but I don’t care. For as long as there is life left in both of us, my king, I am yours. In whatever capacity you desire.”

“Oh.”

The word left him on a whoosh of breath, hissing behind his mask as relief washed over him in a powerful wave, every muscle in his body relaxing at once. Yet he couldn’t help the warped smile that overtook his countenance behind that façade of silver at the implications of her words.

She…?

“Yes,” she said with a nod, as if hearing the question his thoughts posed. A soft laugh followed, even as a shimmering tear slowly tracked down her cheek. “I love you, Baldwin. With all my heart. And I have since the day we met.”

At that, then, there was no longer any question of her feelings. He felt his own eyes welling with emotion, and he leaned towards her as close as he dared, propping his good hand on the table for support. “I regret that I will never be able to show you the extent of my own for you, my dear Lady Y/N. But understand this…” he paused, swallowing heavily. “My purest devotion has and always will belong to you. As much as a wretch such as I can be, I, too, am yours.”

She shook her head. “You are no wretch. Not to me.”

It was then her hand slowly moved towards where his gloved one yet lay on the table’s polished surface, and he flinched, a spike of fear darting through him like the bolt from a crossbow. “Y/N, no…”

Her gaze bored into his, her hand yet poised above his own. “I’m not afraid, my lord.”

“Y/N… please…”

The word was barely a whisper, slipping between the slightly-parted lips of his mask before he could catch it – a cry for her to stop and yet a plea for her not to. It was as if he had been paralyzed, unable to move away despite every corner of his mind screaming at him to withdraw.

If the glove was not enough… if it couldn’t safeguard her…

And yet all thoughts of everything came to a halt the moment her fingers lightly grazed his own, his breath catching in his throat. He felt it – the warmth of her through the thin silk – and it took all of his strength not to flinch away from her again, to curl his hand into a fist and recoil in upon himself to protect her from his horrid disease. Her eyes searched his, seemingly sifting through his soul as further she went. Slowly. Steadily. Her fingertips brushed with a feather-light touch over each set of knuckles, back and forth, and he couldn’t breathe. His lungs were desperate for air as she traced the delicate golden embroidery on the back of his hand; they finally betrayed him then, a shuddering exhale followed by a hitched intake of air he was certain she heard.

Yet Y/N only smiled at him once more, in that warm and gentle way of hers, her hand stilling as it rested atop his. And the entire world stilled along with it, his fear slowly ebbing as reason returned to replace it. These touches were all they had, he realized. All they could permit themselves. And yet still they could hold all the tenderness of a kiss.

Speaking of which…

He moved much more gently, then, as he twisted his hand underneath hers to catch her fingers in his grip. His gaze holding hers, he stroked his thumb across her knuckles before bringing that hand to his mask, where the cold and unfeeling lips touched the back of it in place of his own disfigured ones.

Despite not being able to give her a proper kiss, though, she evidently still understood the gesture, as another blush flushed her cheeks. A soft chuckle escaped him, and he remarked dryly, “There appears to be a bit of an obstacle here…”

At that, uncontrollable laughter burst from her, merry and full, and she clamped her other hand over her mouth to muffle it, leaning against the back of the chair as she continued to shake. He, too, laughed softly at her merriment, and for a moment the sound filled the room with a kind of joy it hadn’t witnessed in years.

After a moment, Y/N finally recovered, and she glanced over her shoulder as the faint strains of another song could be heard. Her gaze glittering with stars, both hands grasped his now and gently tugged as she stood. “Come. Dance with me.”

He blinked even as he slowly rose before her. “I… fear I’m not capable of much these days…”

“Not to worry,” she assured him with a grin, “I’ve just the dance in mind. Like this…”

With that, she pulled him to the open floor at the center of his chambers and began to show him the steps – two sidesteps here, two sidesteps there, a slow twirl of the lady in his arms, and begin again. For the first few cycles, she counted quietly until he caught the rhythm, and then there was only a warm, comfortable silence between them, the two gently swaying and turning to the distant music.

Tiberias was right. In that moment, Baldwin knew only happiness. Peace. Comfort. And so long as Y/N, too, felt these things, he could be content with whatever God had willed for him. He could only pray that, upon his death, the Almighty would be merciful to this woman, a living angel on Earth…

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If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you want more of my writing, I also have a WIP Baldwin-centric longfic posted on Ao3 (shameless plug)! 😁Do let me know if you want me to continue this Y/N story! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Also, the dance mentioned at the end of the story was inspired by this lovely one:

[bqstqnbruin]

Forget About Us

Hello this is my first fic in like almost 6 months inspired by Forget About Us by Perrie Edwards

Thanks to my loves @nicohischier @assmanselke and @matthewtkachuk for yelling at me and letting me yell about this fic :)

Summary: Carson meets Jack, Jack falls for Carson, Carson does what she wants.

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, aNGST

Flashbacks are in italics. Also, I swear I read through this more than once but there might be errors unintentionally 😬

_________________________________________

Looking up into the stands, every game he plays in this city, he’s looking for her. He had been doing it for the past few years, always expecting to see her.

___________________________

“Can you stop pouting? We’re going to go out after the game,” Morgan begs. 

“I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to be here or anywhere else besides my bed.” 

Morgan rolls her eyes, sitting down in her seat. “Carson, you never go out.”

“Because I never want to go out,” she repeats. “I don’t have the money to go out.” 

“The tickets were free from my job and I told you I would pay for your drinks tonight.” 

“I don’t feel good,” Carson whines, knowing that it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“You’re fine.”

“I’m on my period.”

“So am I, what’s your point?”

“Your period doesn’t make you double over in pain for three days.”

“This is the fourth day of your period when you have told me you always feel fine. And your period has been regular since you were fifteen when you went on birth control.”

“I don’t like that you know that.”

“Then maybe don’t tell me the same thing like a broken record every month?” Carson continues to pout, even though her friend is right. “Do you really not want to be here? We can leave after the first period if you really aren’t having fun. But, you do keep telling me you’ve been wanting to come to a game since we moved here.”

“No,” she drags out. “I just had a bad day at work.”

“What happened?”

The teams start coming out onto the ice for warm-ups, everyone booing the away team. It made no sense. They weren’t even actual rivals. The other team, from Carson’s understanding, was so inconsequential that they shouldn’t even matter. But who was she to argue? 

“Anthony came by work today.” 

“Anthony? Like Anthony, your ex, Anthony?”

“No, Anthony Michael Hall from The Breakfast Club.”

“What did he say?”

She and Morgan had this same conversation every week. “He wants to get back together.”

“And you told him, ‘no,’ right?”

“I’m grumpy, not stupid.” 

Morgan sighs. Anthony kept showing up at the cafe Carson worked at between classes to ask for her back for the last month. He didn’t seem to care about the fact that they wanted wildly different things in their lives and that they weren’t going to work. Carson wanted to get her JD and leave New Jersey for good. She was tired of the debate over whether or not the central part of the state existed, if it was called Taylor Ham or Pork Roll, and which beach down the shore was the best. She wanted out as soon as possible, and Anthony wanted to stay here and settle down. He wanted someone who wanted to be at home with the kids, which Carson really didn’t want. The only way she could think about staying in New Jersey was if her partner wanted everything else she wanted. Whoever she ended up with had to be everything else to her. Anthony wasn’t it.

Morgan slowly forms a smile on her face, one that immediately makes Carson panic. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

“Who said I’m going to do something that you’ll hate?”

“Every past action that you’ve done without talking to me about it first says you’re going to do something I’m going to end up hating.” 

Morgan rolls her eyes, pulling out her wallet and handing Carson her debit card. “Here, you go get us beer and pizza so that way you don’t have to see what I’m about to do.” Carson sits there, Morgan shoving the card into her hands. “Go.” 

Both of them get up from their seats, Carson feeling a sense of panic as she watches her roommate go down to the ice while typing furiously on her phone. Carson tries to get back to their seats as fast as she can, worried about what antics she was about to be dragged into. She wanted to be home early that night so she could start studying for one of her exams that week. She did not have time to do whatever it was that Morgan was planning to do. 

“Here,” Morgan hands her something as she sits back down, Carson still trying to figure out how to balance two overflowing drinks and two slices of pizza larger than her own head. “I got this for you.”

“You got me a puck?” 

“Yes.”

“Ok?”

“You could say thank you.”

“Thank you for a piece of rubber that could probably break a bone if you get hit with it hard enough.”

“You’ll get the rest of what I got you tonight.”

“I swear to god,” Carson starts. “I’m not god, but I am close to a goddess.”

Carson groans, trying to focus on anything other than the terror that she was sure was about to come to her tonight. One of the players kept looking up at her, over his shoulder and seemingly ignoring his teammates. “What did you do?”

Morgan shrugs, nudging Carson’s shoulder as she waves at the player. “His name is Jack.”

“Just because I’m studying law, that doesn’t mean I’m above breaking at least one of them.” 

“Yes, it does.” 

The game starts, Carson’s eyes staying on the one player who had been watching her before. He gave her the vibes of someone who would end up naked and drunk in the hallway of her dorm in college, passed out and unsure of where his pants or keys were. 

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Morgan asks once the second period starts. 

Carson doesn’t make a noise, just nodding. He was the exact type of mistake she would make on a night out when she needed to forget about something. “Why does he keep staring?”

“Probably for the same reason you’re staring at him even if you do look like you want to kill him.” Carson turns to glare at Morgan. “I’m just saying, you might be hot, but you also look like you could commit a felony right now.” 

Carson sighs, waiting for the end of the game. She had no idea what was going on, but Morgan seemed to be into it at least. 

Carson lets out a yawn as the fans start to file out of the arena, Morgan dragging her along behind her. “Can we please just go home?” 

“No, I have a surprise for you.”

“Last time you had a surprise for me, I ended up needing three of my tires replaced.”

“And they gave you the fourth one for free, anyway,” Morgan grabs Carson’s hand, pulling her in the direction of some bar she wouldn’t remember the name of in the morning.

Carson knew that no matter how much she complained to Morgan, her friend would have something to counter every whine. They had lived together all four years of college before finally somehow scraping together enough money to each get their own places, despite the fact that they were still neighbors in their apartment building. Morgan, unfortunately, could get Carson to do anything she asked her to since she knew exactly how to make it so Carson wouldn’t say no. Most of the time, it involved physically dragging Carson places, like she was doing right now, but it always somehow worked.

“I’m paying for drinks,” Morgan tells her, dropping Carson’s hand as they two walk into the unreasonably crowded and slightly smelly bar. 

“Yeah, like that was in question,” Carson tells her. 

“You go sit down, I’ll find you.” 

Morgan leaves Carson alone. The scene around her made her want to run away, except for the fact that Morgan could track her location and would not be above chasing her down the street and dragging her back to the bar. Everyone seemed like they were five drinks in, Carson feeling anxious about being what seemed to be the only sober person around. 

“You ok?” a voice comes behind her, snapping her out of her potential spiral. She turns around, the guy from the game standing in front of her. 

“This isn’t real,” she mutters, shaking her head. How the hell did Morgan manage this? 

“What?” the guy asks, understandably confused.

“Sorry,” Carson says. “I mean, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” 

“I’m dehydrated.”

“Can I get you water, then?”

“No.”

“But, wouldn’t that help with the dehydration thing?”

Carson stares at him, dumbfounded. “I can get water myself,” she says, her tone a little harsher than she intended it to be. 

“I’m Jack,” he introduces himself, not getting the message at all. 

“That’s nice.” 

“Do you have a name?”

“No, that spot on my birth certificate has been blank for the last twenty four years. Everyone calls me whatever nickname they can think of. The current one is ‘Maverick.’” 

Jack opens his mouth to say something, Morgan appearing in between them before he can get a word in. “You actually came!”

“How could I pass up coming to meet someone as sweet as your friend here after the game?”

Carson barely knew him, but she already knew he would be a thorne in her side. 

“She’s already been mean to you, hasn’t she?” Morgan laughs, finally handing Carson the drink she got for her. 

“Hey,” Carson tries to protest, despite both of them ignoring her. 

“It’s fine. It’s kinda hot,” he smirks, staring at Carson. She didn’t care that she couldn’t help but stare back, her cheeks bright red at his words.

___________________________

She always sat in the same general area, a few rows from the top of the section right behind their bench. It was easy to find her. How could he not at least try?

___________________________

“Why are you anxious?” Morgan asks, plopping down on Carson’s couch.

“Who said I was anxious?”

“You’re scrunchie.”

“What could that possibly mean?”

“You’re scrunching your brow so much and frowning so hard that you have wifi symbols showing on your face. You only do that when you’re anxious.” 

“Please don’t say that to me ever again.” Carson lets out a sigh. She shouldn’t be anxious. She’s done things that were so much more difficult than this. She graduated with a 4.0 GPA in high school and college. She participated in every possible extra curricular that she could, and did so perfectly. She had her life scheduled down to the minute, when she would study, eat, have free time. She didn’t have time to be anxious. “Jack is supposed to be here any minute.”

Morgan lets out a squeal so high that Carson covers her ears. “You’re finally going on a date with him?” 

“If you want to call it that.” 

“Tell me everything,” Morgan says, plopping herself at Carson’s feet.

“No.” 

“Carson,” Morgan whines.

“Morgan,” Carson counters. “I don’t even know where we’re going. From what it sounds like, it’s not even going to be just us, it’s something with the team.”

“He’s taking you to meet the rest of his team?” she yells. 

“If you get that loud again, I’m throwing you out the window.”

“We both know your window doesn’t open far enough for me to get out of it, we’ve tried. Anyway,” Morgan continues, ignoring Carson’s annoyance, as usual. “That means something if he already wants you to know his teammates.”

“It means he already had plans with them when he asked me to go out with him and is dragging me somewhere I wasn’t otherwise invited.” 

“You could be positive sometimes, you know.”

“There’s no fun in that.” 

“Carse,” Morgan says, “He wouldn’t be inviting you if he didn’t like you. He wouldn’t have been texting you every waking moment that he could if he didn’t like you.” 

“It’s kind of annoying.” 

“That’s because you are a black hole personified and he’s the human equivalent of a dumb puppy.” 

Carson scrunches her face while she looks at her friend. “That’s mean.” 

“I’m trying to say that you two are different. And that’s ok. He’s more extroverted than you are. You’re still going to have fun because you’re going to be with him.” Carson looks at her, unsure. “If you’re not fine, I have your location and I will come join you guys, or come pick you up.” 

“Why am I nervous?”

“Probably because this is the first guy you’re going out with that doesn’t look like a dead baby bird.”

“Sometimes, inside thoughts can stay inside.” 

“My point,” Morgan starts, pulling Carson up to lead her out the door, “Is that he’s not your normal type and you don’t know what to do, so you’re panicking. But, again, you’ll be fine.”

Before Carson could say anything else, a knock came from the other side of her door. Morgan opens it, Jack standing there with his hands in his jeans pocket. 

“Wow,” Morgan verbalizes what Carson was thinking as she tries not to ogle at Jack. His jeans fit him way more perfectly than she would have liked, the t-shirt he had on showing off his arms in a way that made her feel like she was actually about to start drooling. For fucks sake.

“I think Carson is supposed to say that,” Jack jokes, leaning against the door frame. 

“Jesus Christ,” Carson groans, Morgan laughing as she pushes her way past Jack to head back to her place.

“Actually, they call me Jack.” 

“If you keep this up all night, I’m not leaving this apartment.”

“Is this your way of asking me to come in?”

“Absolutely not. We’re going now to meet your friends or you’re going by yourself.” 

Carson didn’t see Jack physically swoon at Carson as she walked past him, a stupid grin on his face as he watched her walk away from him. 

___________________________

Morgan was sitting next to her, the two of them seeing less of each other now that they didn’t live with or next to each other anymore. Carson was laughing at something Morgan was telling her, the smile on her face reaching her eyes. 

___________________________

“What are you doing right now?”

Carson groaned, knowing that any time Jack was asking her to do something lately, it was to pull her away from something she actually had to get done. “Studying.”

“When’s the test?”

“Next week.”

“Come out with me.”

“No.”

“I’m picking you up, I’m turning onto your street now.”

Jack hangs up before Carson can protest, her immediately texting Morgan to tell her she was being kidnapped.

‘You aren’t being kidnapped, you aren’t a kid.’

‘Kidnapping is anytime a person’s liberty is restrained by force and taken to another location.’

Before Morgan could text back, Jack was knocking at her door.

“I’m not going.” 

“Come on. Half an hour?” he begs her. Carson glares at him. “I’ll buy ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Says that three cheese pizza you downed the other night.” Carson continues to glare at him. “Please? I’m leaving tomorrow for a week and a half. It’ll be the last time I can bother you until then.”

Carson rolls her eyes, shutting her textbook with her highlighter keeping her page like a bookmark. “I’m studying in the car.” Jack smiles at her, holding his hand out for her. Carson smirks, grabbing another book from her table and putting it in his hands instead. 

Jack runs to follow her, his free hand on the small of her back, a smile on his face as she didn’t fight it. They get in his car, the windows down and the radio blasting as he peels away from where he was parked. 

Jack starts talking, Carson not listening in the slightest as she continues to read the book in her lap, just like she promised. 

“Wait, shut up,” Carson finally says, reaching over to turn up the music that was already loud. “I love this song.”

Jack laughs, glancing at her as he pulls up to a stop light. “Seriously? 1985 by Bowling for Soup?”

“My childhood best friend and I would listen to this song all the time growing up,” Carson explains,the smile on her face something Jack rarely got to see but loved every time. Jack’s smile mirrored hers as she started to sing along. He couldn’t help but laugh again as he listened to her. “What?”

“You are a horrible singer.”

“Yeah, because you would be better,” she snides, looking back at her book.

“Oh, of course I would be,” he says, starting to sing along with her. 

Carson cackles, a sound Jack had never heard from her before. “You are just as bad as I am.”

___________________________

He thought of her whenever that song played, his heart beating faster every time the opening guitar riff played through whatever speaker he was near. He never purposefully listened to that song. The song never played in any of the arenas they played in, except for Rogers Arena, like it was now.

___________________________

“What do you mean, ‘we’re going out tonight?’” Carson groans.

“You just finished finals, Quinn is in town, and we’re heading down the shore for the weekend.” 

“So I have to pack for a whole weekend?” 

“Unless you plan on wearing the same thing for four days, I suggest you do,” Jack says, Morgan laying on Carson’s bed laughing.

“I wish you were helpful,” Carson says, throwing a shirt at Morgan. “I’m not here to be helpful, I’m here to be comic relief.” 

“Then you should try being funny sometimes.” 

Jack laughs, his phone buzzing with a call. “I’ll be right back,” he says, getting up and answering it out of Carson’s room.

Once he was out of earshot, Morgan sits up, a giddy look on her face that caused a pit to form in Carson’s stomach. “You’re going away with him for a weekend!” Carson grimaces. “You aren’t excited?”

Carson sighs, getting up to close her door so Jack can’t hear them. “I think he wants more from whatever this is than I do.”

“What do you mean?” Morgan whispers.

“I can’t see a relationship with him.”

“Carse, he’s perfect.”

“He kind of is. Which is why I don’t see it. Anthony was perfect.”

“No, Anthony was the human equivalent of a stale ham sandwich who, if brains were money, wouldn’t have been able to buy a cup of coffee.”

“Go eat something.”

“What?”

“Your metaphors turn food related when you’re hungry.”

“My point is,” Morgan says, getting up. “Anthony is not Jack. Don’t ruin something before it starts because of something that happened with someone else.” “Hey,” Jack says, startling both of them. “Sorry, Luke was asking if we were on his way to pick him up. Are we ready to head out?” 

___________________________

He was so busy staring at her that he didn’t realize that Luke had skated up to his side.

“You didn’t know she’d be here?” Jack shakes his head. “Quinn doesn’t know you still love her?”

He shakes his head.

___________________________

Carson hated to admit it, but she was having a good time. She hated to admit that she needed to relax, especially after the intensity that she had when she was taking finals. They were sitting around a fire one of them had set up on the beach, the smell of smoke hitting Carson right in the face, the night air starting to chill around them. The guys were all laughing, their partners sitting in their laps as a few of them fell asleep. 

“Where’s Quinn?” Luke leans over Carson to ask Jack.

“You have his location,” Carson says before Jack can answer. The brothers keep anticipating Quinn with every new person that shows up, their usually prompt brother still MIA.

“I don’t know where my phone is.”

“What’s that in your left hand, bud?” 

“Right,” Luke draws out as Carson and Jack both laugh at him. “He’s supposed to be here any minute.” 

Luke gets up to head back to the house for what he claims is to use the bathroom. “He hasn’t been drunk in a while. He gets dumber as he drinks,” Jack tells her. 

Carson checks the can of beer he left behind. “Isn’t this his first drink of the night?”

“Yeah, why?”

“This can is still full.”

“He might just be dumb.” 

“Bold of you to call someone else dumb,” an unfamiliar voice comes from behind their circle around the fire. 

“I was just about to say that,” Carson says to the guy who must be Quinn, given how much he looks like his brother. 

“God, I never realized there’s two of you,” Jack says to Quinn, the color draining from his face.

“I don’t think you’d survive with two of me,” Carson says, Jack mumbling something about going to the house for a minute as he gets up, a smile on his face anyway.

“So, you must be Carson?” Quinn asks her.

“What was your first clue?” she tries to flirt, taking a sip of her drink while maintaining eye contact with him. She knew that Jack was cute, but there was something different about Quinn. She and Jack were opposites. She and Quinn were the same. 

___________________________

He still loved the way she looked in that old hoodie that she stole, the team logo faded and cut through, the number that was supposed to be the right side of her chest gone. He remembered when she stole that, the way her eyes lit up the first time he saw her in it as she told him she liked that she could wear it while he was traveling and he would still be with her. 

___________________________

“Who’s picking up Carson?” Ellen yells up the stairs. 

“I am,” Quinn and Jack both called at the same time, Jack’s mind running wild at the fact that his brother answered with him. Since meeting Quinn a few weeks ago, Carson had been mentioning him a lot more in their conversations. He shouldn’t be bothered by it. They never actually established that they were dating. Sure, they had hooked up, and sure, it was all Jack could think about since, but they were never dating.

He wasn’t Carson’s boyfriend. 

“We both are,” Jack amends, running down the stairs when he hears Quinn do the same. 

The brothers get in Quinn’s car, a smile across Quinn’s face while Jack can feel himself start to panic. “So, you’re excited to see Carson?”

“Yeah,” Quinn lets out. “I’ve missed Car.”

“Car?”

“That’s what I call her sometimes, yeah.”

“Doesn’t everyone else call her ‘Carse’ if they don’t call her Carson?”

Quinn laughs. “She said she likes when I call her ‘Car,’ instead.” Quinn keeps talking the rest of the way to the airport, both boys getting a text from her saying that she had just landed. 

Neither boy had seen Carson in weeks, but it seemed like she had been talking to Quinn much more than she had been talking to Quinn.

Quinn pulls up to the airport, both boys getting out to go find the girl they wanted to see. Jack felt like he was racing Quinn to get to her first, Quinn having no idea what was going on in Jack’s head.

They get inside, both of them looking for her. 

“Thanks for introducing us, by the way,” Quinn says, breaking the silence between them. 

“What?”

“Me and Carson. When you told me I’d love her, I didn’t realize how right you’d be.” 

Jack swallows, the pit in his stomach making him feel like he wanted to throw up. Quinn couldn’t love Carson the way Jack did.

The way Jack did?

Jack spots her first, shaking his head of the thought of loving her when he sees the Canucks sweatshirt with 43 on it hanging on her body. Jack looks at Quinn, Quinn’s favorite sweatshirt on the girl Jack wanted to be with. 

Carson spots them, a smile on her face as she runs towards them, her suitcase clumsily trailing behind her. She lets go of her suitcase, it rolling towards Jack as she runs into Quinn’s arms, acting as if Jack wasn’t there to begin with.

___________________________

Morgan says one last thing to Carson, heading back towards the concessions, probably to get them drinks. Knowing Carson, she was out with Morgan on the condition that she didn’t have to pay for drinks. Jack couldn’t help but laugh to himself, Luke giving him a strange look while he stood there, lost in thought. 

___________________________

Why would Carson want to be out right now?

She wouldn’t want to. 

So why was she out right now at a bar that was way too loud, smelled incredibly bad, and was so crowded she could barely move a muscle without hitting another person?

Morgan.

Well, and Jack.

But, mostly Morgan. 

“I hate you for this,” she yelled over whatever music was playing. 

“No, you don’t,” Morgan and Jack say at the same time, both of them laughing despite Carson sending both of them a death stare.

“You haven’t been out of your apartment in, like, two months,” Jack says as Morgan walks away to get another drink

“We went to get coffee together four times this week,” Carson rebuttes, her phone in her hand lighting up with a text from Quinn.

She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his name, not paying attention to the clear awkwardness that Jack felt when he saw his own brother’s name on her phone. She loved texting him, talking with him every free minute the two of them had. She was falling for him, and she was falling for him fast. 

Quinn loved that she was a lawyer, that she was passionate about helping people, he respected all of her decisions when it came to her uncertainty with her future. He made her laugh, he constantly made sure that she was ok and genuinely showed he cared about her.

He was everything he wanted in a guy, except that he was on the other side of the continent. 

“What’s Vancouver like?” she asks Jack, again having to yell over the noise.

Jack shrugs, “It seems a lot like New Jersey, honestly. I’m never there long enough to find out.” 

Could she see herself in Vancouver? She had looked into it, she just had to take another exam and be approved by their judicial system and she would be ok to practice law. 

Quinn had officially asked her to be his girlfriend when she went to visit the boys a few weeks ago. She wasn’t sure if Jack knew yet.

“I’m going to get another drink, do you want anything?” she asks, elbowing her way back to the bar when he says he’s fine.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she hears from behind her once she orders her drink. She turns around, trying not to audibly groan.

“Anthony.”

“How are you Carse?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Do I need to give more?”

“Well, it’s a genuine question.”

“‘Fine’ is a genuine answer. What do you want, Anthony?”

“When can we get back together?”

Carson scoffs, the bartender handing her her drink that she was now tempted to throw in his face. “We’re not.”

“Come on, Carse,” he says, taking a step toward her, his hand trailing down her arm. “We had so much fun together. Why do we want to throw all that away?”

“I have a boyfriend, Anthony.”

“I don’t see him.”

Before Carson could answer, she feels Jack come up behind her, thankful that it was him and not some other stranger. “Babe, I told you, I was paying for drinks tonight.”

Carson looks up at him, turning toward him so Anthony couldn’t see her mouth a quick ‘thank you,’ to him. “I put it on your tab, don’t worry,” she turns back to Anthony, the smile on her face because of the stupid look on his face. “Anthony, meet my boyfriend, Jack.”

Anthony mumbles something, walking away before either of them could say anything else. 

“I owe you,” Carson says once Anthony is far enough away neither of them could see him.

“Well, drinks are on me tonight,” he says, earning a laugh from her. “Nice job, lying about the boyfriend thing. Think we’ll have to keep it up until we leave?”

Carson laughs again. “I wasn’t lying about having a boyfriend.”

“What?” Jack asks, Carson not noticing the panic on his face.

“Quinn asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

Before Jack can respond, Morgan runs over, squealing something about how their song was playing and that they just had to go dance. Carson quickly hands her drink to Jack, running off with her friend.

Jack downs the drink, ordering another. 

His brother got the girl.

___________________________

He sees Carson waving to someone down on the ice, his heart racing in the worst way because he knew it wasn’t to him. Jack followed her gaze to Quinn, who was waving back at her, a smile on his face while he was on the ice when he was notorious for looking like he was having an existential crisis all the time. He should hate the guy who got to love the girl he wanted to be with. But how could he hate his brother? 

___________________________

“You’re what?”

“I’m moving to Vancouver.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m coming, too.”

“No you aren’t.”

“I can’t live without you.”

“Morgan,” Carson whines, “You’re going to be fine.”

Morgan groans, rolling her eyes. “I’m being dramatic, let me mourn.” The girls laugh, Carson getting up to grab a drink. “So, you and Quinn are actually serious?”

“Yeah, I mean, we have to be if I’m willing to move across the continent and to another country.”

“Are you going to be able to practice law?”

Before Carson can answer, a knock at her doors follows with someone walking in.

“Are you a murderer?” Morgan yells to the stranger from Carson’s kitchen, prompting Carson to roll her eyes.

“Definitely,” Jack says, appearing in the doorway. “I got us dinner,” he says, holding up a bag. “What are we talking about?”

“If Carson can practice law or not.”

Jack laughs, setting down the food. “How did you manage to get disbarred already? You passed like three months ago.” 

“I shot a man in Reno,” Carson deadpans. “I didn’t get disbarred. I’m just,” she hesitates, knowing that telling the two people who were her best friends was going to be the hardest. “I’m moving.”

Jack’s attention snaps to Carson, a look of panic on his face. “Where?”

“She’s moving in with Quinn.”

“You’re moving to Vancouver?”

“Yeah. Quinn asked me last week to move out there with him, and I told him yes today.” 

Jack didn’t hear anything else while the three of them sat at Carson’s table and ate the food Jack brought. She would be able to practice law in Canada with a few more steps to get there, she would be living with Quinn.

She would be away from Jack. 

She would never be with Jack. 

___________________________

He could see the engagement ring on her finger from here, the sapphire in the middle catching the light in just the right way. His mother had their grandmother’s engagement ring, something much more simple, that had been intended for whichever boy wanted to give it to their future partner. Jack didn’t want to give it to anyone. He knew that their grandmother’s ring was picked for their grandmother. He wanted to give his person a ring meant for them. He wanted to give a ring he knew would suit her and would make her think of him whenever she looked at it. That’s why he and Quinn had helped the jeweler design it in the first place. It had to be made for her.

___________________________

Quinn had texted in the family group chat that the ring was ready and that he was picking it up from the jeweler that day after practice.

Everyone in the family congratulated him, his mom gushing about how excited she was to have a daughter, and how happy she was that it was Carson. His dad talked about how he was glad Quinn found someone who made him happy. Luke gave a thumbs up and texted in the group chat without their parents something stupid that Jack still hadn’t read yet.

Jack said nothing.

And he wasn’t sure anyone noticed. 

Quinn and Carson were going to be engaged soon.

Jack didn’t know who to talk to, his finger hovering over Carson’s contact. He shouldn’t call her. He could call Morgan. But he knew Morgan was busy doing something with her job. He didn’t want to bother her.

He pressed it, turning on the speaker and pushing his phone away from him before he could hang up. 

“Hello?” her name comes out of his speaker. He opens his mouth to say something, realizing he had no idea where to begin. “Jack, are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, dropped my phone,” he lied, lunging to grab it. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

Carson laughs, Jack’s insides jumping at the sound he hadn’t heard in a while. “Yeah, it has been a while.”

“How are things?” he asks, silently smacking his forehead at how stupid he sounded. He used to be able to talk to her with ease, having conversations that would go on for hours before either of them even found any silence between them. 

Now he could barely talk to her, the sound of her voice something he wanted to hear so badly, something he missed more than he could actually put into words, and he didn’t know what to say so that he could listen to her. 

“Things are actually really great,” she says. He could hear the smile on her face coming through the phone. “Quinn and I just work together, you know?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he repeats to himself, trying to hide the pain he felt hearing that. “Have you and Quinn talked about…” he starts, his voice trailing off, the words catching in his throat knowing that Quinn could technically ask her at any moment. 

“About what?”

“About you guys getting married?”

Carson stays quiet for a second, a smile on her face forming that broke Jack’s heart with every millimeter it grew. “Yeah, we have.”

“And?” 

Carson’s cheeks turned red. “He hasn’t told me outright, but I think he’s proposing soon.”

Jack’s heart fully shattered, a fake smile on his face. “That’s great.”

“He hasn’t talked to you about it at all?”

“We, uh,” he starts, running his hand through his hair as he laid down on his bed. “We haven’t been able to get each other on the phone lately.” The two of them sat in silence, one of the first times neither of them knew what to say to each other. Conversation used to be so easy between them. “Don’t do it.”

“What?” Carson asks, Jack unsure if she didn’t hear him or thought she didn’t.

“Don’t get engaged to him.” 

“Jack-”

“Carson, I still love you,” he blurts out, leaving Carson stunned. “Carson, please say something.” He wasn’t planning on telling her during this conversation. He wasn’t planning on telling her at all. 

“Still?”

“I think I started falling for you the first minute I saw you.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jack swallows, trying to stop his voice from cracking. “By the time I realized it, you were already falling in love with Quinn.”

“Jack.” 

“How could I tell you I love you when I was watching you fall in love with my older brother?”

“Jack.”

“How am I supposed to sit here knowing that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone who is perfect for you knowing that I was so close to being that person?” he says outloud.

“What do you want me to say?” she whispers.

“Tell me you won’t do it.”

Carson squeezes her eyes shut, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I can’t.” 

“Carson.”

“Jack, I love Quinn. And he loves me. It has to go both ways. I can’t tell him ‘no’ because you feel something for me that I never felt for you.” Jack says nothing, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say. “I have to go. Quinn will be home any minute.”

Carson hangs up, without saying another word, the front door opening as she whipped away her tears. 

“Hey,” Quinn says, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “You ready to head out?”

“Uh, just give me a minute. I was talking to Jack and got distracted.”

“Yeah? How is he? I haven’t heard from him in a while.” 

“He mentioned that,” Carson nods, getting up from her chair. “I’m gonna go grab my shoes.”

Quinn watches her walk away, checking his pockets to make sure he had everything he needed for the night. 

Phone, check.

Keys, check.

Wallet, check.

Engagement ring.

Check.

___________________________

Quinn skates over to his brothers, who were still standing next to each other. The crowd starts yelling, as they normally do when the three brothers are on the same ice at the same time. Luke and Jack greet Quinn, Jack trying to pretend like he wasn’t distracted. 

“Hey, wait,” Quinn says when the two are about to skate away. Luke hangs back slightly, pretending not to listen. “Carson wants to get together after the game, all four of us.”

Jack looks at Luke. “Uh, we have a flight out tonight.”

“Luke said you guys are leaving until the morning.” 

“It got changed,” Jack lies, making a mental note to turn off his location and hope he can convince Luke to do the same. “The weather’s supposed to be too bad to fly out in the morning.”

“Come on. It’s the last time we’ll be able to get together, just the four of us, before the wedding.” 

___________________________

“Ready to go?” Luke asks, suitcase in hand as their boarding group gets called. 

“No,” Jack mumbles. 

Luke rolls his eyes, yanking Jack by the arm to pull him towards the plane. “What’s your problem with Carson?” Jack fastens his seatbelt, pretending not to hear his younger brother. “Dude.”

“I don’t have a problem with Carson.”

“Then why do you shut down and act like a prick any time we go see them, or anytime her name is mentioned?” Jack doesn’t say anything. “No, we have 6 hours on this plane, so either you are going to use that time to tell me why you have a problem with our future sister-in-law or I’m going to tell Quinn that I’m worried you’re going to Richard Ramirez her in her sleep.” 

Jack looks at his brother with a look of horror. “What the fuck? I’m not the Night Stalker.” 

“Talk,” Luke pokes his brother’s side.

“I liked Carson before she met Quinn.”

“You’re acting like this because you had a crush on her?”

“I’m acting like this because I fell in love with her and she never even thought of me that way.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Every interaction you’ve ever had with her now makes sense.”

“What?”

“Every time you talk to her, you have that look on your face like she was telling you she killed your first born.” Jack looks at him horrified, again. “Yeah, like that.”

“Stop watching CSI.” 

“There’s so many seasons.”

Luke keeps talking about something while he doesn’t realize Jack is barely paying attention, interjecting with a generic confirmatory noise every once in a while until Jack finally pretends to go to sleep. 

His brother eventually falls asleep instead, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts without his brother’s voice in his ear. He hadn’t seen or talked to Carson since the night she called him before Quinn had proposed. She went from a stranger, to someone he could see in his life forever, back to a stranger. 

He couldn’t even talk to a girl anymore without thinking of Carson, how she compared to her, how her humor and deadpan delivery wasn’t the same as Carson’s, how she didn’t look like Carson or walk like Carson. He was in love with his brother’s fiance, on his way to their engagement party.

___________________________

Jack barely processed what happened during the game. He made the plays he had to, passed the puck when he needed to, but his mind was empty. 

After the game, Luke comes up to him once they're both dressed. “Ready for this?”

“No.”

“Let’s do it, then.” 

They wait for Quinn outside, the adrenaline coursing through him more than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t sure he could face her, even after all this time.

“Hi,” he hears behind him, the voice he once loved now sending panic through him. 

“Hi.”

___________________________

“Alright, you’ve got to get it together,” Luke says as they get out of the car that brought them to the venue. Their parents were already inside, Carson and Quinn definitely inside. 

“I’ll be fine,” he lies, a gift in shaking hand as he opens the door with the other to let Luke go first. He took a deep breath, bracing himself to go in and face Carson for the first time since their phone call the night they ended up getting engaged. “I’ll be fine.”

The party was set up in a way that made exact sense for Carson, it was classy and elegant, while still having shades of Quinn’s chaos thrown in here and there. He didn’t know exactly why it made sense for them, but it did. 

Because they made sense.

“Hi,” he hears behind him, causing him to jump. Carson stands behind him, a short white dress fitting her perfectly in a way that made his heart race. He knew there was a reason to wear a black shirt, and it was to hide the sweat that he felt coming on just being around her. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says, holding out the gift. “This is from us.”

“Us?”

“Um,” he shakes his head, letting out a nervous laugh. “Me and Luke. You didn’t expect him to pick something out on his own, did you?’

“No, not at all.” 

They stand in silence, neither of them knowing what to do. “You look good,” he says, probably one of the first opinions he shared that actually had some semblance of truth to it.

“Thanks, you do, too. How are things?”

“Things are good,” he says, trying not to cringe at how awkward this whole thing felt. He shouldn't have come, but how was he going to say no to the girl he loved and his own brother? “I’m seeing someone, actually,” he hears himself say, surprised by the lie he didn’t know was coming.

“Really?” her eyes light up. “Jack, that’s great. Quinn didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s still new. I haven’t really said anything about it to Quinn yet. I don’t want to jinx it, you know?”

“I get it,” she nods, a smile still lighting up her face. “I’m so happy for you.”

She pulls him in for a hug, Jack keeping one of his hands in his pants pocket. He knew himself too well; if he hugged her too tight, he wouldn’t want to let go.

He hated how corny and stupid he felt. She is his older brother's fiance. He had to forget about her in that way. 

“Hey,” Quinn joins them, pulling Jack in for a hug. “Sorry to interrupt, but Car, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Go, go, I need to find my way to a drink anyway,” Jack waves them off.

Carson takes Quinn’s hand, turning to be led off somewhere by Quinn. She turns over her shoulder, smiling at Jack, as he watched the two of them walk off. She turns away, Jack staring up at the ceiling, not wanting to watch her walk away.

___________________________

The four of them get to a restaurant Quinn had taken his brothers to before, despite the fact that Jack couldn’t remember the name for the life of him. 

Jack sets his phone on the table, the rest of them doing the same.

As they order, Jack’s phone lights up with a text from Morgan: ‘When do you come home? I miss you.’

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my May 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

We Were Such Fools by kiddle / @bluejeanlouis (98k)

Rule #1: The Rewind Machine cannot be used to change the past, only to experience it. History will reset itself to the original timeline every 24 hours.

On his fiftieth birthday, two things are consuming Harry’s mind: what he’s going to make the kids for dinner tonight, and the fact that his marriage is crumbling at his feet.

So, when his best friend gifts him the trip of a lifetime, Harry chooses to venture off to the summer that set his life on its course—all the way back in 1987, California.

It only took him one summer to fall in love with his husband the first time around. How hard could starting all over really be?

Once Bitten and Twice Shy Series by pinkcords / @pinkcords (60k)

once bitten and twice shy (19k) This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?” Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended. These Stars Will Guide Us Home (41k) And then he’s gonre. Harry watches him take off his shoes, sort his belongings into bins, and keeps watching until he vanishes entirely, around the corner to his gate. Louis doesn’t look back and Harry can’t blame him, certain his expression, body language, entire being would implore him to stay. It would just make it more difficult on both of them. Louis’ always been intuitive like that, strong enough to make the hard decisions that protect both of them. Or Harry lives in New York and Louis lives in Wisconsin.

Cabin Fever by germericangirl / @germericangirl (46k)

“What the fuck is he doing here?“ He asked still looking at him, before he turned back to look at Niall for an answer.

Niall’s mouth fell open and he looked at him with wide eyes "He um changed his mind?“

Harry stared at Niall for a few seconds in silence, before grabbing a bag and walking towards a bedroom without looking at anyone else, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Liam flinched in front of Louis.

“Well I’m happy to see you too.“ Louis mumbled, some of the tension leaving his body. This wasn’t exactly how he thought their first meeting would go. It was quiet for a moment before Louis finally spoke up “Did you seriously not tell him I was coming?“

Or:

One cabin, one bed, two ex-boyfriends. What could possibly go wrong?

You, In Every Color by blueskiesrry / @blueskiesrry (38k)

But then he thinks of the soft curves and sharp angles he had imagined when he first drew up the sketches for the collection, the specific green of fabric he had picked with the thought of how they’d saturate green eyes, the glossy silks and soft velvets he had once pictured sitting delicately against milky skin.

“We’re drunk,” Louis decides on a sigh. “We shouldn’t make any drastic decisions now.”

or: fashion designer louis and his model bf harry have vowed to never work together again, but with the show for louis’ first solo line on the horizon, they decide to give it another shot

We'll Be Alright by ShatteredGlassHouse / @larryislove (36k)

"Lou, I know this-"

"Not plan? Of course, this wasn't planned. Harry, this can't be happening. We can't have a kid. We are not even supposed to be sleeping together."

Harry flinched at Louis' words. He was right, but Louis didn't need to be blunt about it.

"I'm not ready to have kids. I said that when we started this… Relationship," Louis stuttered the last word, trying to find the proper wording.

"Do you think I am? I'm not even twenty-four. You are almost twenty-nine! You're at the age where most people start a family."

"Doesn't mean I want to have one!" Louis snapped.

"Well, it's happening," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Be serious, Harry. We can't have a baby. If people find out, you'll be fired."

Harry subconsciously wrapped his arms around his middle. He suddenly felt small. He didn't expect Louis to be excited. This wasn't the best news for their situation, but he thought he'd be happy.

"I know, Louis."

Or Louis is the Captian of Liverpool FC and Harry is one of the team's physiotherapists. They have a secret relationship going but things become complicated when Harry finds out he's pregnant.

Host of a Name by Signofcomfort / @signofcomfort (35k)

Louis leaves the band in the middle of the tour and drops off the face of the earth. Five years later, they might have a chance to meet him. Harry can finally have some answers and tell the truth for the first time.

Cabin on the Bluff Series by juliusschmidt / @juliusschmidt (6k)

Beech Tree in Autumn (1k) Louis walks forward. Harry walks back. And back. And back. Off the two track, through the brush, until his heel bangs against the trunk of a tree. Louis presses further still. Without so much as a, 'hello,' he's kissing Harry, hard and hungry. Mosquito Bites and Cheap Beer (2k) Harry’s careful not to look at Louis as he plays. At least, he starts out that way. But then the sky behind Louis begins to shift, clouds morphing from piles of gold-tinged wool to scoops of pink and orange sherbet. And at some point, Harry forgets-- forgets not to watch. And when he catches himself, it’s fine. Louis’ watching him right back. Sandwiches on the Shady Shore (2k) “You don’t have to do this,” Louis says. It’s hot in the little kitchen, even with the windows open and a breeze blowing in. Harry feels a flush enfold him from the inside out. “I know,” he says. And then, because he’s already showed up embarrassingly early in the day and made Louis a cheese sandwich, he adds, “I wanted to.”

Trust Me to Take You Home by hattalove / @hattalove (4k)

“I made breakfast,” says Harry, and Louis can feel him smile where his face is smushed against Louis’s shoulder blade. “Full English. All for you.” Louis finally opens his eyes, and blinks. “What about the others?” “Asleep,” Harry whispers, “it’s five in the morning.”

or, a clichéd tale of two boys in love and their first valentine's day together.

[semperama]

I've had a few drinks, so I'm gonna speak my truth: If it's over 500 words, y'all need to put it on AO3.

[kakusu-shipping]

Where were you the day Mondatta died?

a self insert fic about loss, grief, and the stages we go through.

Ramattra was in a Talon meeting, under an agreement he’d regretted making. He was mad, he was rash, and now he’d face the consequences of his actions

Akande Ogundimu, more commonly know as Doomfist, stood proud, a live feed from Talon’s best assassin playing on a holo projection before him. Next to Ramattra was Maximillien, the highest ranked Omnic in Talon, just there for the ravager’s personal comfort.

They’d both assured him of this assassin’s efficiency, how she always hits her mark. One shot, one kill, they’d all said. When he’d had a moment, Ramattra couldn’t help but question her on this reputation.

“Everyone misses” she had answered, and now here Ramattra stood in a room of people he despised watching the brother he loved through the eyes of a killer he himself requested.

Ramattra’s grip on his staff would be enough to crush the woman’s spine three times over, as he stared unwavering at the screen, and prayed for the first time in a long time for a miracle

In an hour, the deal would be set. Mondatta would be dead, and Ramattra, his troops, his Omnics, his skills, would belong to Talon.

He would have no time to mourn in the long hours following his brother’s death. He would have no time to reflect on those back at the Shambali, the family he’d abandoned, and how they may be dealing with the loss. He would have no time to allow the pain of his choices to sink in.

And in the quiet hours, the few of them he had, he would return to the day he’d met Mondatta. Caked in blood and oil, alone on a battle field somewhere in New York city, he’d point his gun to the Monk, trembling. Mondatta would approach him and gently lay the gun to rest. He’d embrace the ravager, staining his beautiful white and gold robes in blood and oil, and Ramattra would cling to him, whimpering like a child, unable to face what he’d been made to do.

Could he face it now? Could he stand on battle fields of his own making and face his past again, knowing for sure this time his brother would not come to embrace him as he once had, sharing in the stains of his past

He had no time to ponder such things. What’s done is done. He had no time for regret, he had no time for doubt. It was time to push forward, to take what he’d been given and what he’d asked for and use it to better his people’s lives. 

The time for action is now.

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

Genji and Zayne, Shimadas healed in the Shambali temples, were on tour. A journey of helping, of time off, of moments spent together free as they’d ever been.

They’d stopped in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, a small city with a little silly bit of history they both enjoyed looking into.

In moments they’d overhear someone watching the news a little too loudly in public about the loss of Mondatta. Their carefree moment of exploration around a funny man moth driven town ruined. They’d be left crushed, huddled together in a back alley attempting in vein to calm each other down

Moments from now they’d both experience grief worse than they’d felt sense Genji first died, grief over a man who loved them, who welcomed them into his home and brought them to a family that would stand by them as they healed and grew.

They would find a hotel, and grieve over night. They next day they’d pack up, and return to the Shambali to find the village quiet, in mourning, monks locked away in their homes in meditation, grieving as Zayne and Genji had.

Emile would force a smile to welcome them, and apologize for the quiet. They wouldn’t see Zenyatta.

A week would pass, sitting in silence by a crackling fire, Genji would face his little brother.

“I want to find Hanzo.” The older couldn’t bare to loose any more family, and his brother was out there, lost, thinking himself alone in a sea of his own thoughts, thinking Genji dead and gone from this world. “I want him to know I’m still here. That I still.. love him.”

It would be hard on them, the older and younger so close, and yet still so distant. A love just rekindled, splitting.

They would continue to travel, separated by entire oceans. Would they keep in contact? Could they keep in contact? A family split, miles and miles of land and sea separating them.

That would be their future. For now, in this moment, they sit together in an alley in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, crying together for the loss of someone they’d known their entire new lives.

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

Emile was in a bar, packed full with his family, other students of the Shambali, Omnics big and small.

The bar tender had turned on the live broadcast of Mondatta’s speech. They didn’t have a television in the Monastery, and this bar was the only place open late enough to catch most of Mondatta’s touring live.

The room was hot with tightly packed monks, machines whirring and scraping together as they chatted amongst themselves, always a buzz to leave the temple.

Emile sat at the bar, a cup of orange juice in hand as he once again thanked the bar tender of letting them all take control of his television. He never minded, liked seeing the monks, he’d say, they always seemed so chipper.

In just a few seconds the atmosphere would change. All would go dead silent as Mondatta fell limp on the television.

No one would speak, no one would move. The humans in the rooms would hold their breath and wait.

Waiting for anything other than what they’d just witnessed to be true.

They’d all wait for hours in that little bar. They’d barrow phones from passers by. They’d knock on near by doors. The entire town would be up, awaiting an update, news on Mondatta’s situation.

Within two hours it would be officially announced that Mondatta has died.

There was only one who could shed tears in that bar that night, despite the near hundred people packed in together. He would cry enough for all of them.

In the coming days the Shambali Monastery would grow silent. Monks holed up in their homes, deep in meditation and prayer. The village would become a ghost town, spare one little human.

Emile just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sleep in that home, knowing Mondatta would never return. He couldn’t wear those robes, knowing Mondatta would never straighten them for him again. He couldn’t sit to meditate, knowing Mondatta could never sit by his side once more.

So he cleaned, in his sweater and jeans that no longer fit quiet as nicely as they once had. He swept snow off the stairs and dusted the sanctum and washed laundry that had already been cleaned thrice over.

He would not eat, he would sleep, for a near 4 days the human kept himself busy, and never once would he step foot in Mondatta’s home.

He’d smile when Zayne and Genji would come back. He’d tell the townsfolk the village was doing just fine when he’d go to get supplies. He’d keep himself busy as the monks around him mourned.

And in 5 days time, he would collapse in the snow, dressed in few too little clothes, just as he had the day he’d arrived at the Shambali. And like that day he will be saved by a monk he’d come to know better than all the rest.

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

On that day, the day they’d lost Mondatta, Zenyatta was at home, in meditation. He loved his brother dearly, but watching his speeches at protests was starting to get rather same-y. The monk needed new lessions, Zenyatta had thought to himself.

He’d be unaware of the loss for another 2 hours, until the chimes of the temple rang out, and he would join his siblings at the sanctum, and hear the news from the group that had gone into town.

Like everyone else, Zenyatta would lock himself away in his home. Sat against a wall he would stare blankly, perusing the web in his own head for any and all sources he could find on Mondatta’s death.

He’d loose track of days, reading article after article, watching video after video, scanning for anything new he could find.

Why, he would ask himself, why would anyone take out Mondatta? What could he have done, who could he have hurt just trying to spread love?

Zenyatta would spend time wishing death on whoever would do something so awful, just to retract the thought moments later. His brother would not want such a thing for even the person who would take his life.

On the third day of mourning Zenyatta would stumble into something he would wish he hadn’t. An image of the assassin.

A face to put to his desire of vengeance.

A woman with blue skin and long dark hair, an awfully tight purple suit and a large sniper rifle.

For the next few days Zenyatta would spend all his time staring at the blurry photo of this woman, wishing the worst upon her. May she loose those closest to her and may it be her own fault. May she feel the worst pains imaginable and survive. May she live the rest of her life with these regrets and no way to return. May she find a path to recovery just to have the door slammed in her face.

On the fifth day, these thought plaguing Zenyatta’s head would finally drive him mad. He would storm from his home with a bag of few things, vengeance his only thought as he crushed snow beneath his feet.

His plan to leave the village, to find the woman who did this, to put her in the ground himself, would be interrupted as a white haired man with puffy red eyes would collapse in front of him.

Thoughts of her would leave the monk alone after so long of obsession as he found himself in the company Emile, the human had taken the loss of Mondatta just about as well as Zenyatta.

That night, they would stop avoiding the truth. They’d lost Mondatta, their brother, their master, their family, and it hurt. Together they would face this, over hot tea and by a dying fire, they’d relive stories of their life in that Monastery.

Stories of sneaking out of meditations, of snow ball fights, of counting stars atop the mountain, of learning, and laughing, and being home and happy.

The night would pass and they would still be sat there, at Zenyatta’s low tea table Mondatta had gotten him for his birthday two years ago, sitting back to back in a comfortable silence.

“I want to find Ramattra,” Zenyatta will say, his hand laid gently on top of Emile’s. “He is lost, wherever he is, I am sure he is as lost as we were” He thinks back to the day Ramattra left, the fight he and Mondatta had, the last words he’d said to their brother... He knew Ramattra regretted that, now more than ever.

“We’ll find him.” Emile will smile over his shoulder, “Together.”

And in that moment, a moment of calm between storms, Zenyatta will look back and realize quietly to himself

He is in love. He has been in love for years. This. This was what love was for him.

[thiswildernessismyhome]

help i cannot stop producing Content™️ about the women of the expanse

[thegempage]

on one hand, i really enjoy poll for initiative: bedlam* and would love to get more people into it, if at the very least as a VOD watch to enjoy the story

on the other, today while i was in the shower i had the image of a tiktok screenshot of someone saying that adding cassandra was clearly pandering and that they shouldn't be so loudly in love pop into my head and it was a goddamn horror story

*mostly only specified bcus eventually act 5 will come out and i have my suspicions that act 5 will be the last one and thus the second season will begin... eventually

[tonycries]

Three's a Crowd (But Four...) - G.S.

Synopsis. “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, foursome (but they’re all Satoru + you LMFAO), NSFW, unprotected sex, double penetration, spit-roasting, face-sitting, doggy, missionary, anal, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, babe), oral sex (male + female receiving), overstimulation (female), swearing, slight breeding kink, cum (like lots).

Word count. 3.0k 

A/N. A lil' sum while I get on with a 10k arranged marriage fic. H O R N Y >>> actual JJK technicalities. 

Jokes, but idc what that technique was, I took that one chapter and ran with it. Art by @_3aem on X.

Cross-posted on AO3

“They just nerfed Naruto in Boruto cuz they knew he’d be too DILF-y.”

“Amen.” 

Sprawled out on Satoru’s couch, both of you were fixated on the Naruto episode playing on-screen. It wasn’t anything new for a Friday night. His soft hairs tickling your chin, and legs dangling off the other end of the couch as he lay atop, cuddling you like a 6’3 housecat. 

Times like this, it’s easy to forget that your boyfriend constantly bears the burden of being “the strongest”. That is- until Satoru, eyes still locked onto the screen, speaks up “I can do that too, y’know.”

You turn to look at Satoru, “Do what?”

He nods his head towards the screen - now showing young Naruto mastering his iconic technique. “You could call it Shadow Clone Jutsu.” he hums.

Raising a brow, “So you could make tens of thousands of Satoru clones? The world may never know rest.”

Eyes brimming with smugness, he grins “Something like that.”

You cock your head, wanting to know more, “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?”

“Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” he wiggles his brows in a way that would definitely be creepy if it was anyone but Satoru.

“You wish.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, before going back to using your breasts as his personal cushions. “Not quite clones or holograms, they’re still me. But also not really, y’know?” he murmurs.

“Ahh. No.”

The conversation dwindles into a comfortable silence.

Or so you’d think. But the air was charged with something, and - knowing Satoru - you had an inkling it didn’t bode well for you down there.

As quickly as you suspected, he turns the TV off and turns to you with twinkling eyes.

“Toru...” you reproach.

He whines dramatically, “Come onnnn. Don’t they say the best way to learn is hands-on experience?”

“You just have ulterior motives, Toru.” 

“Hell yeah, I do.” he mutters into the valley of your breasts. Satoru peeks at you through his thick lashes, eyes bright with mischief. 

How could you say no to those eyes? And, well, you’d be lying if you said that the idea of multiple Satorus didn’t make your pussy clench in excitement.

That’s how you found yourself here.

Shirts thrown across the room and splayed out on Satoru’s overpriced silk bed sheets. You gasp in pleasure as he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, he rocks into you, pushing you deeper into the plush bed. Your pussy drips with anticipation as you feel the outline of his rock-hard cock straining against his sweatpants.

Hooking two fingers under your waistband, he swiftly pulls off your panties along with your shorts. “Already so wet and ready f’me…” he groans out. Quickly shuffling your bodies around, “C’mon sweetheart.” 

Now, Satoru knows he has a pretty face - too well, in fact, he uses it to his advantage to get his way with you too much. And he thinks there’s nothing that makes his face prettier than you on it.

It’s why he has you bent over and straddling his head. The tighter you squeeze him, the better.

One arm holds you in place while the other spreads your folds. Satoru teases your entrance with a finger, gathering your wetness before popping it into his mouth. He groans sinfully as he tastes you. “Fuck- always so good for me.”

You slowly put your weight onto him, failing against the strong arm that pulls you to sit on him properly. 

Satoru moans around your cunt as he finally dives nose-deep into it. Languidly, he licks long stripes against your folds, purposefully catching your clit in the process. “Hah- Fuck. Toru, more!”

Satisfied with your whines, he finally slides his tongue inside your dripping pussy, fucking you with his mouth till his cock twitches for friction.

You notice, and urgently shuffle his sweatpants down. Satoru’s cock stands achingly hard, precum dripping enticingly along the vein on the side of it. You lean down to kiss the shaft, delighting in his noises that send vibrations down to your clit. 

As you take his blushing red head into your mouth, Satoru increases his abuse on your cunt.

You arch your back further into his face - moaning around his thick cock. He starts fucking into your mouth steadily, forcing you to take more and more of his length. Drool drips down the corners of your mouth, “Mmm Toru- Feels so good.”

If one Satoru makes you feel this good…what would two feel like?

As if reading your mind - you wouldn’t be surprised if he actually could - Satoru pulls away slightly, ropes of spit still connecting him to you.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he murmurs lowly, hot breath making your cunt quiver.

And before you can respond, the hairs on your body raise as the air stills with the crackle of jujutsu. You remove yourself from Satoru’s cock with a wet pop! Looking up to see…those cerulean eyes. 

Another set.

“Toru…” you drone out, turning behind to glare at Satoru - who was now placing innocent kisses to your dripping pussy. His eyes peek out with visible amusement, “Jus’ say the word and I’ll stop.”

Satoru knew he had you cornered. He’d fully felt the way your walls clenched around his tongue once you saw the other version of him. This was going to be fun.

Harshly rolling his tongue against your clit, he lightly smacks your ass - signaling you to pay attention to the other Satoru in front of you now. 

So you do.

It was quite surreal seeing an exact copy of your boyfriend grinning down devilishly at you. He cups the back of your head, bringing you closer to him. “Don’t be scared, pretty. It’s jus’ me.” 

At first, you were unsure of what to do, the only thing you know being that - clone or not - this one was just as well-endowed as your boyfriend.

Experimentally, you press soft kisses to his hot tip, relishing in his drawn-out groan. You take him in deeper, tonguing the slit in the way you knew your boyfriend liked. “Yeah- Jus’ like that.”

He tightens his grip on your head. Pumping your Satoru with one hand, you use the other to steady yourself as your mouth gets used as the other’s own personal fucktoy. 

Shit. This was heaven.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you pull away, “Hngh- Toru, feels so fucking good.” Mewling at the stimulation on your cunt as well as the depravity of the act, you grind your hips deeper into Satoru’s mouth - searching for your high. 

Soon, you feel that familiar snap in your stomach. Satoru uses his fingers to spread your lips as you cum all over his tongue. He laps up your juices with lewd squelching sounds as his clone fucks your face deeper. Nose meeting his snowy white pubes and balls hitting your chin, you choke from both the position and Satoru’s relentless tongue. 

“Yeah, cum all over my tongue, sweetheart.”

You ride out your high on Satoru’s pretty face, slick spreading all over his mouth and nose. With a final kiss to your cunt, he shifts your legs and moves to tower over from behind. 

Removing yourself from the other’s cock, you look over your shoulder to see your boyfriend sensually pumping himself, readying to enter your eager pussy.

“Hey now, eyes on me, pretty.” A long finger moves your chin so that you face the Satoru in front of you. Seems that no matter what, every Satoru was a little possessive over you.

He rubs his dripping tip on your face, smearing his precum as a gloss before fucking into your mouth once more. 

Almost at the same time, Satoru fully rams his cock inside your pussy without any warning, tip kissing your cervix.

 “Shit. Always taking me in so good, sweetheart.” he huffs out as your walls flutter around his length.

You groan loudly around the cock in your mouth, partly from the pain of being unprepared and partly from the pleasure of getting what you wanted the most - both ends filled by your loving boyfriend.

Your eyes were dazed as you stare doe-eyed up at the Satoru that was plunging into your mouth mercilessly - the other fucking your hole at a similar pace. Strangled yelps leave your mouth as his balls sinfully slap against your clit. 

The room fills with loud, wet noises, and the slapping of skin. Both Satorus hunch over you in pleasure, muscles rippling. Your cunt quivers in an almost-animalistic way at the small grunts falling from their pretty lips.

You whine as he finds that one spot inside you which makes you see stars every time his hips meet yours. One hand - you were too far gone to recognize whose - reaches under you to draw harsh circles on your clit.

Tears spring to your eyes at the sheer overstimulation, and you rock your hips to meet his powerful cadence. One of your hands reaches for the other’s hip for stability, nose meeting his pelvis nails dragging along the soft skin. He grips your hair tighter, lips bitten and swollen at the stimulation.

From the way your pussy was clenching, you knew it wouldn’t be long before you were cumming again.

Now, throughout his life, Satoru has been called crazy many times. Crazy powerful, crazy handsome (in front of the mirror), and just downright mad. But it’s right about now - watching as you choke and cry around his own dick as he plows into you from behind - that he truly thinks he just might actually be a little crazy.

Slowing to shallow rocks, he focuses on his technique. 

Satoru basks in amusement when your whines of disappointment at his slowing pace die down as you register the tugging and sucking on your nipples from below.

You gasp as you break away from the Satoru in front of you and look down, breath catching in your chest as you realize that your boyfriend has conjured up another clone of himself. 

He was going to be the death of you.

“Pay attention, sweetheart.” you hear from behind you as Satoru starts up his relentless rhythm once more, hand now moving to squeeze and spread your ass. 

You knew where this was going, and you didn’t mind it one bit.

The stretch of your cunt as it adapted to Satoru’s length burned almost as much as your nipples as his clone continued to bite and tease them. “Feels good, babe?” he sighs around your breasts. Yet your whines of pleasure are quickly muffled by the flushed tip kissing your lips once more. 

“Hope you didn’t forget about me, pretty.” 

“More- Hngh, Toru!” you whine, not sure which Satoru you were addressing anymore . All three of them speed up their motions, the pleasure from all points pushing you over the edge.

You as you cum fast and hard. 

But your Satoru(s) don’t let you have a moment’s rest as your orgasm is quickly overshadowed by your boyfriend’s hands on your ass. Teasingly drawing circles around the rim. You shiver, hole quivering at the cold feeling of his saliva hitting you. 

His cock still ramming into your abused cunt, Satoru enters a finger into your ass. Using his spit and your slick from before to stretch you out till he’s satisfied. “Fuck- Taking me so good, sweetheart.” he moans out at the sight of you being stretched out from all ends by him and only him.

You continue mewling as the pleasure overtakes you. He was going to ruin you.

Half-delirious from all the stimulation, you barely hear the lowly “Ready, babe?” from below you before Satoru pulls out and suddenly you’re flipped. Easily manhandled by your boyfriend, your head lolls against his replica’s strong shoulder as you’re caressed from three sides once more.

“Feeling alright, sweetheart?” your boyfriend rasps from above. Now hot and bothered once more from how your loving boyfriend was using you like a ragdoll, you gasp out “Yeah, Toru. Need you so bad.”

“Oh yeah?” he grins, lining himself up with your pulsing pussy. “Tell me how badly you want me in all your tight lil’ holes.”

You choke out a sob at the way your Satoru was teasing your folds with his thick cock. “So bad- Need you so bad Toru. Want you to fill me up everywhere.” 

Arching your back, you grind your ass against the furiously hard cock prodding at your asshole. Hearing choked gasps from below you, your pussy clenches in anticipation around nothing. To Satoru, your arousal is almost palpable - as strong as the cursed technique in the air surrounding you two.

And that seems to be what finally makes Satoru snap before he sheathes himself entirely in your dripping cunt. Your strangled moans are cut off by the other Satoru slowly bullying himself into your other hole.

“Ah- Ah!” you yelp in both pain and pleasure as you’re stretched to your limits. You feel full. So full. You were going to snap - like a rubber band - and your boyfriend was going to be reveling in his success. The man in question furrows his brows, groaning at the sweet feeling of his pretty lil’ girlfriend being so tight.

A single tear streaming down your face is gently brushed away as a pair of muscular thighs come to rest beside your face. “Shhh, pretty. You can take it.”  

Both of them start moving carefully.

Satoru would never admit it, but feeling his own dick stretch you out twofold has been a little fantasy tucked in a deep, dark corner of his mind ever since he realized the nefarious purposes his technique could be used for.

He could feel his other version pumping into you from behind as he ruts into your cunt mindlessly. The friction mixed with the gummy wetness of your pussy was mind-blowing - fuck, he really should have watched Naruto with you sooner.

Satoru gazes at you through half-lidded eyes as you press kittenish pecks to his clone’s cock above you. You stare right into your boyfriend’s eyes as you take the length into your mouth once more, inch by inch. Nose meeting his pelvis.

Shit. Satoru feels like he could pass out - whether from seeing the sinful image of all your holes filled by him or from the excessive use of his cursed technique, he doesn’t question. Your walls flutter, struggling to take him both.

Fuck, he really feels like he’s gonna explode.

Satoru pulls out fully before harshly thrusting into you once more, keeping up a pace that has his abs burning and you struggling for air. He sees another tear fall delicately down your cheek.

“My girl takes me so well, huh? Fuck. Made jus’ for me, sweetheart.”

The air was stagnant with the smell of sex and jujutsu. 

All three Satorus thrust into you fiercely, the bed creaking furiously. Satoru has half a mind to worry about whether it would break down in the middle of all this. How inconvenient that would be, he’s so close. 

It was animalistic, the way you could just sit there and take it as your boyfriend used you in all sorts of ways you never deemed possible. 

You’re pretty sure your body is completely bruised and raw at this point. Eyes fluttering shut, tears cling to your lashes as you’re filled up. Your brain, as well as your holes, were overwhelmed with only Satoru Satoru Satoru. If your mouth wasn��t suckling on his length, you’re sure you’d be screaming loud enough for Satoru’s neighbor’s to file a noise complaint.

Good. So good.

Feeling that sharp tug on your stomach again, your legs flail as you steadily reach your climax. Held down by three sets of large hands - all caressing you relentlessly in various ways - you finally cum with an exhausted whimper.

Brain foggy and eyes unfocused, you barely feel the twitch of Satoru’s cock. 

With a throaty moan, all three versions of your boyfriend cum - not one pulling out. Your senses are overtaken as Satoru doesn’t relent his pace, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

Ah- He felt he was gonna fuck another Gojo into you. Carry on his legacy. Shut those old cows up about a Gojo heir.

You’d look so round and beautiful with his kids. 

“Only I get to cum in this pussy.” he drawls out as he keeps rutting his sensitive cock into you. Low whines get stuck in his throat as he loses himself in the feeling of your tight walls coated in his semen. His other versions were also at their limit, shooting out thick streams of cum to paint your face and ass. 

You were so beautiful like this. Fucked out and covered in his seed. 

His and only his.

As you slowly come to your senses, the first thing you feel is wet. Not from your own slick, but from Satoru’s thick cum - it was everywhere, decorating your lips, your tits, all the way down to your holes below. 

The second thing you feel is raw. You weren’t too sure anymore that you’d be able to make it to that family dinner tomorrow, Satoru had absolutely gone all out tonight. 

Laying there, willing yourself to move, you flinch as something soft and wet touches your legs. “Shhh…easy there, sweetheart. Get some rest, I’ll take care of it.” you hear the soothing whisper of your one and only boyfriend. 

You muster up the strength to look up and see his gentle smile. “Rest.” he breathes out as he continues to wipe you down. In the back of your mind you register the distinct lack of the other presences of your boyfriend.

“T-Toru...” you were too fucked up to formulate proper sentences.

“Shhh it’s okay.”

At his tender whispers, you easily drift into a fatigued sleep. You dream of shadow clones and blue, blue skies. 

Waking up after your brief nap, you find yourself dressed and cuddled by Satoru on a fresh set of sheets. “You okay?” he mutters in-between innocent pecks to your bruised lips.

At your affirmative nod, he probes further “Learn anything about my technique?”

“Absolutely not.” you sigh, pulling him in closer. As you snuggle into the crook of his neck, you almost miss the devious grin spreading across his face.

“Then…wanna try six next time?”

A/N. No Part 2 till I figure out better ways to differentiate these bitches LMAO.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[mrsbarnesblog]

Tattoo

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Tattoo Artist! Bucky Barnes x Bookshop Owner!Reader

Summary: When Natasha begged you to come with her to get her new tattoo done, you didn't expect that her actual plan would be to set you up with a fine-as-hell tattoo artist.

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: +18❗️smut, p in v sex, oral sex (r receiving), protected sex, dirty talk, strangers to lovers, Bucky is hot as fuck, shy and socially awkward reader, insecurities.

Author's note: sooo, it took me forever to write, but I finally finished it and I'm kind of proud of this one. Bucky with tattoos and a low bun? yup, I'm totally ready to do whatever he desires! I hope y'all will like it too. feel free to leave comments or fic ideas💘

“I’m going to be there almost for a whole day. I love those idiots, but I still need my best friend to cheer me up." Natasha threw her hand over your shoulders, trying to convince you to go with her on a tattoo session. It was not her first time, but now she wanted to get a much bigger one on her thigh, and, for some reason, she really wanted you to go with her, using the fact that it was your day off. 

“Nat, you know that I hate going to such places. I’m socially awkward; what am I gonna do there for so long? I don’t even know those people.” You frowned, already feeling a bundle of nerves in your stomach. 

You were what others may call boring, but you rarely went to unknown places or hung out with random people. You would rather stay with a book in your apartment and read for a whole day than get into such situations. Not to mention, that tattoo salon was full of men, and it made the whole situation even worse. 

“But you’re going to be with me. They are the nice guys, I promise. You will sit with us in the room; we can talk, or you can read another book, while Barnes will do my tattoo. I just don’t want to die of boredom there. Please?” She pulled you even closer, and you knew that she wouldn’t let that go. So you had no other choice but to agree. 

You didn’t know what you were thinking when you decided that wearing a light, flowy dress would be a good idea. Because now, following Nat out of her car to that tattoo studio, it felt too short, too open, and just too much. You tried to calm down, thinking to yourself that there was nothing serious; you were just going to wait in the corner, and other people probably wouldn’t even pay attention or talk to you. Natasha, with her boldness and openness, was always the center, and you were totally fine with that. 

But you were so wrong. 

As soon as you walked inside, four men stopped talking, turning around to face you and Nat, and you honestly thought that you were going to faint. 

“Hey, guys. Hope you don’t mind that I brought my friend. So I do not have to listen to your boring asses complain all day." She teased, dragging you by the hand like a mom who tried to encourage her kid to talk. You were round-eyed, and a wave of heat washed over your body when you were face-to-face with a blonde and big guy. But before either of you could say or do something, a person who you didn’t recognise at first stepped in, pulling you into a hug. 

“Isn’t it my favorite book girly ever? How are you doin’?” Sam’s enthusiasm and energy were always so refreshing to you, so when he quickly pulled away, instead wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pushing you further into a studio, you tried to stay calm and not freak out.

"I didn't know that you were working here. How’s Sarah?” You asked, looking up at him. 

“Yup, for a few years. She is doing great, but AJ and Cass are a pain in the ass. They are growing too quickly, you know." He chuckled. “Now, say hi to those idiots.” He moved his head toward the men who were silently observing your interaction. “Tony, Steve, and Bucky.” Sam named them in order. Tony just nodded to you, Steve smiled with the friendliest smile you had ever seen, and Bucky... 

Your head became empty as soon as your eyes landed on him for the first time. He was leaning on the wall at the back of the room, so you didn’t pay much attention to him at first. He was hot. Unbelievebly hot. He was tall and muscular, with a low bun at the back of his head and tattoos covering the visible parts of his arms and neck. And as your gaze moved to his face, you almost choked on a fucking breath. 

Piercing blue eyes looked right directly at you, and the slightest smirk curled the corner of his lips. You didn’t know whether you felt too cold, too hot, or if you just wanted to vanish right on the spot. Your face heated, your eyes started running around the room, and your heart was beating a few times faster. It was overwhelming, and you thought that you would have to go out of there, but right on time, Natasha stepped in front of you, dragging all attention to herself. 

Bucky had to admit that once in his life, Sam was right. Sam tried to convince Bucky to go to that book shop for a few months, saying that he had to meet with the girl who worked there, but he was way too stubborn. 

He would have done it a long time ago if he knew you would look like the most precious, cute, and sweet person. Bucky could not take his gaze away from you as soon as Natasha dragged you inside, absorbing everything—from the way you looked so soft and pretty in that dress to the way you blushed and were nervous about the whole thing. 

He saw your reaction—how you became even more flushed after your intense stares at each other. Bucky was never the type of guy who liked to tease you, but Goddammit, he wanted to see how you would react if he stepped closer and talked to you. He also wasn’t creepy towards women, but the only thought that came to his mind was that he wanted to taste you. The desire to shove your back into the wall, lift up the skirt of your dress, and fall to his knees was shocking; he had never felt such an instant pull toward another person. 

“Barnes, are we going to start, or you’re planning on standing and staring for a whole day?” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest as if she were annoyed, but you thought that you heard something weird in her voice, as if she held back a smile. 

And then she quickly looked back at Sam and nodded with a smirk. 

You just followed Nat and Bucky to his own part of the studio. Too lost in your head because of your friend’s weird behavior, you sat down on the sofa in the corner, and the next thing you noticed was the tall figure leaning above you. You probably got carried away to much because now there was a cup of tea standing in front of you on the table.

You looked up, only to meet those pretty blue eyes again. Bucky looked down at you with the same smirk on his lips, and you could barely form a normal thought in your head. 

“Hope you don’t mind a hot tea, princess?” Yup, you were dead. Of course, he had to have the sexiest voice you have ever heard in your life. It was not enough for him to be charming or look like a fucking sin—he also had to sound hot. 

“Thank you.” You almost whispered. 

Bucky gave you another mysterious smile before going back to his place, where Nat was already without her pants and ready to start.

You and Nat were talking for the next few hours—well, she was mostly talking about a girl named Maria that she met not so long ago, and you were nodding, listening, and sipping your tea. That way, you almost forgot about Bucky sitting in the room with you because he was too focused on his job and didn’t even look away from the tattoo. 

To be honest, you accidentally looked at him one or two times because it was hard not to notice a few curls slipping out of his bun, or the way his tattooed and veiny arms seemed so sexy, or that perfect face profile... Fuck. But everything was good until Nat suddenly asked him to stop for a few minutes. 

“I really need to pee, Barnes.” She quickly jumped out of her place, winking at you as she walked away. 

“Natasha…” You hissed at her when she left you and Bucky alone in the room, your insides already shivering with nerves. She was fucking doing it on purpose. You were sure that everything here was her plan to set you up with Bucky because she had never left you anywhere alone, knowing your nervousness. 

“Are you afraid to stay with me alone?” Bucky chuckled, stretching his neck from an uncomfortable position. Your cheeks heated, and you unconsciously started scratching the surface of your phone case. He was charming. He obviously knew that, judging by the way he acted to tease you. When his question was left without an answer, he just shook his head, smiling to himself. “I didn’t know that Nat was dating girls.”

Bucky was desperately trying to make you talk. He saw how you looked at your friend when she left you alone with him, and knowing Nat, she would not have done it if you were truly afraid of him. So he was hoping that you were just too shy to talk to him and that he could make something out of it.

“Mhm. What, you hoped to have a chance with her?” You finally looked up, and you couldn’t hide the disappointment in your voice. Of course, Bucky was just trying to hit on your friend. Everyone tried. And you knew that she was so pretty and an amazing person, really, but you just wanted to experience it yourself at least once.

“With Nat?” Bucky almost laughed, genuinely taken aback by your response. “Nah, she’s cool, but not my type.”

“And who is your type?” You asked before you could even think about it. 

"You know, those cute and shy girls who can barely talk to anyone and easily blush or get nervous." You froze in your place, and you swore that the blood in your veins had done the same. Your eyes widened in shock, looking at the proudly smirking Bucky. Did he really mean that, or was it just a stupid joke? 

Natasha came into the room, curiously looking between you two, but you just stayed silent and looked away again, staying even quieter until the end of the session. 

“Why did you do that?” You frowned, looking away from Nat and crossing your arms over your chest. As soon as she was done, you almost ran out of that place, the mixture of weird feelings bubbling inside of you, and you were too frustrated to even talk to someone there. 

“Did what?” Your head snapped back at her innocent, unbothered voice. She rolled her eyes, not looking away from the road. “I did that because I love you.” 

“And I love you too, but I hate that you and Sam put me in this position!”

“I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable. Don’t be mad at what I’m about to say, but I know that you feel lonely and that you want to have someone or to date someone. I understand your anxiety; I really do, but I wanted to help you.” Her voice sounded so genuine, and even if you were mad, you knew that Nat had always tried to do what was best for you. “Bucky is a good guy. He’s attractive, he’s kind, he’s funny, and he's definitely not a player. I just wanted you to meet him, and from what I saw, there was a sparkle between you.”

You didn’t say anything to that, because she was totally right. Even if you had never said that out loud, you wanted someone to like you. Was it that much to ask? It was just hard to believe that someone as attractive as Bucky, who could easily get a good handful of women whenever he wanted to, had actually flirted with you. 

The next day, when you finally returned to your favorite place in the world, it was crazy. For some reason, too many people came to the bookshop, and almost everyone needed your advice or help. You were running around the shelves, putting the books in their places, receiving the payment, and then welcoming new customers. So when, at 9 p.m., you put the sign ‘closed’ on the door, you felt the relief that the day was almost over. 

You still had a lot to do, though. Taking the pile of books from the front table, you went to the back room, where you stored some of them. Suddenly, you heard the bell ringing and heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. 

“I’m sorry, but we are already closed. Please come tomor—” You forgot what you wanted to say when you looked out of the room into the main part of the store and saw the last person you ever expected. 

“Hey, princess.” Bucky put his hands into the front pockets, which made him seem even bigger, and smiled at you in a way that made your knees weak. He looked similar to what you saw yesterday—a low bun, black jeans, and a shirt that revealed some of his tattoos. God, his tattoos made you imagine things that were too inappropriate to say out loud. “Sorry that I came so late, but I just got off work, and I really wanted to see the place Sam has been bugging me about for weeks.” He noticed how you were looking at him again, but he decided not to tease you about it. 

“Um, hi.” You dusted off your hands and fixed the bottom part of your dress to make sure that everything was in it’s place. Bucky couldn’t help but follow your hands, staring at the way the hem of your dress moved around your thighs. “Do you need something? Like a book? Or you came just to get rid of Sam?”

“Yeah, maybe a fantasy book or something like that.” 

“I can show you where we have it, but I, um, need to finish the work here, so it would be great if you'd find a book that you like by yourself. Is that okay?” His stare was intense, and you really didn’t know what to do with this. Was he always like that with women? But Nat said that he wasn’t a player, and you trusted her more than yourself.

“Totally.” You nodded, calmed down your nerves as much as you could to not embarrass yourself in front of him, and you showed the way to the shelves at the back of the shop. 

“Take as much time as you need; I’ll go... there.” You pointed behind you to the piles of books, and Bucky chuckled at the way you were nervous around him. That was so fucking cute that he wanted to just scoop you up in his arms and make you blush again and again. 

Almost ten minutes later, you showed up again with a few books in your hands that were from the fantasy section, and as much as you wanted to escape Bucky, you also wanted to finish your job. He just quickly looked at you, too interested in the book in his hands, but didn’t say anything. 

You tried to reach the highest shelf to put the book in it’s place, but it was too far away. Usually you used a small ladder, but it was somewhere else now, and you just tried to do it standing on the tiptoes. 

“Let me do it, princess.” Bucky chuckled, closing his book and putting it down, and reached out to help you.

“No!”

“You won’t reach it. Just give it to me.” He placed his hand on your back, stretching the other one. 

“I can do it myself!” 

You couldn’t. Because the next thing you know, the book slipped out of your hand when you tried to make more distance between you and Bucky, and you also lost control of the ones you held near your chest. Everything fell onto the floor with a loud ‘boom’ and you prayed that nothing got damaged. 

Your head snapped back to say to Bucky that it was his fault, but he was already looking down at you, and you immediately forgot about everything. Only then did you realize that he was so close to you; his hand was holding your waist, and your back was almost pressed against his hard chest. 

“Sorry.” He didn’t know what he was sorry for. That he distracted you and made you drop everything, or for what he did next. After his eyes quickly looked at your plump lips, his right hand fell onto your cheek, and he kissed you.

Your instant thought was to push him away, run, and hide in the storage room, but the firm hand on your face and waist made it impossible to move. Bucky almost devoured your mouth and completely controlled you, and you could barely keep up with the rhythm of the kiss. 

He was good at it. 

No one ever kissed you as if it were the best thing they'd ever tried, but Bucky just couldn’t stop. He spined your body, so you were not in that awkward and uncomfortable position anymore. Now that you were standing chest to chest, your back got pressed into the shelves, and Bucky was towering over you. It felt unknown but so right at the same time. Your experience in this area was really poor, but the adrenalin in your blood made you a little bit more sure of yourself. 

“You’re doing something to me.” He breathed into the kiss, and you just whined without realizing it. He connected your lips again, tightening his hands on your waste and, that way, pulling you even closer. You had no idea where to put your hands, but your body seemed to work on autopilot, so they landed on his chest.

You felt something hard on the lower part of your belly, and the thought that Bucky had become hard solely because of the kiss nearly drove you insane. Hot, handsome, and charming men had never kissed you as if you were their last meal, teasing you with their bulge in the middle of your shop. 

God, he must be big. 

Your heart started beating so fast that you heard it in your ears. Was it the right thing to do? What should you do or say after that? Did he think that you kissed badly? 

“I can almost hear the thoughts in your head. Why are you worrying? You don’t like or want it? Just say, and I’ll step away.” You licked your lips, as if you tried to taste him again. You felt how your face heated again from being so close to Bucky. He didn’t sound or look as if he were judging you, and it made you feel safe enough to tell what was going on in your head.

“I just—I'm not really familiar with it. I barely know you, and you just kissed me, and I am at a loss for what to do." You said, nervously playing with the material of his shirt. Bucky's hand cupped your cheek, making you look at him. It surprised you that he didn’t try to do anything to push you, like many other men who just think with their dicks. Your stomach tightened from the way he stared at your face.

"I understand and that’s okay if you feel a little bit scared. I’m not pushing you and you can say no to me. I really came here just to talk to you, but I cannot think of anything else but you. Can I kiss you, princess?” Your eyes closed when you felt his breath on your lips again. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it too, so you just slightly nodded to his question. 

Bucky kissed you deeper and slower, allowing you to follow him. He stroked your cheek gently as his tongue slid into your mouth, causing you to moan. You swore that he smiled at your reaction, and it encouraged him to push his other hand from your waist to your thighs. 

Your skin started tingling when you felt it going under your skirt. Tattooed fingers traced the soft lines on your legs until they reached your underwear. Only then did you realise that you were getting wet. This whole time, it was not just nerves; oh no, your body actually just craved that man in front of you and now you could do nothing to hide it. In your last attempt, you tried to push your legs together, but you made it worse when Bucky’s hand slipped higher and touched the wet spot. 

“Holy fuck.” He growled, ending the kiss and looking down, where his hand stayed under your clothes. “You are not so innocent, huh?” 

“Shy and innocent are two completely different things, Bucky.” 

“Right.” Biting his lip, he looked up at you again with darkened eyes, and you felt his hand pressing onto your dressed core more firmly. “Can I taste you?"

Your eyes widen in shock. You were not a complete virgin, but unfortunately, you had never experienced that before. “My sexual life is actually really, and I mean really, meager, and no one ever asked me to do it.” You whispered, almost in embarrassment. 

“So you’re telling me that no one asked to eat you out, princess? Well, that’s a shame. I bet your pussy is as sweet as you are.” He ran his nose across your cheek, enjoying your delicate skin and the light scent of your perfume, until he reached the sensitive part of your neck. “Your scent drives me crazy... You’re so sensitive, God. When was the last time you were with someone?” You tried to act normal and not shiever, but when Bucky’s finger was running up and down the soft cotton of your panties, it was nearly impossible to do. 

“I don’t know. I did it just a few times, and I don’t date. Guys are not really interested in me.”

“Loosers.” 

“Bucky.” You moaned his name when he suddenly fell to his knees. That view was so surreal for you. He seemed desperate to touch and taste you, to please you, even though he was painfully hard in his jeans. But he did not go too far because he was waiting for your response. “What if someone walks in?”

“There is a sign on the door. Are there many people who go to bookshops at that time?” Bucky took your left leg, slowly putting it on his shoulder. Your eyes followed every move with curiosity and a hint of worry when he turned his head to softly kiss your thigh.

“Okay.”

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder but only to slide his hands under your dress and take off your underwear. He did not break eye contact when he helped you step out of it and then put them in his jeans pocket. With a quick motion, your leg returned to it’s place near his face and you blushed, realising how close he was.

With his right hand on your thigh and the left one slowly creeping up your other leg, Bucky started leaving kisses higher and higher, until he finally reached your pulled-up dress. When his head suddenly lowered and you felt the first touch of his tongue, you almost died. 

Up until that moment, you didn’t even realize how tense your body was, but that first lick sent a hot wave over you and you could not hold back a whine. You just became a fucking puddle under his touch. 

Bucky was not much better than you. He gripped your thigh harder, as if he wanted you to be even closer, and moaned when your taste blossomed on his tongue. He knew that he was addicted now and that he could spend hours in between your legs. His tongue slipped across your folds, collecting your juice, and then circled around your sensitive clit. 

“Fuck, princess. You’re s’ sweet.” 

"Bucky—oh my god, please!” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but that tight knot in your stomach was becoming almost too painful, and you felt tears forming in your eyes. As if Bucky had already understood your body better, he put two fingers of his left hand at your entrance, slightly pushing in just the tips. 

You moaned again, your hand moving on it’s own and grabbing Bucky’s hair in despair. He slowly slipped inside, letting you adjust while still not stopping the movements of his tongue. You felt so fucking tight and wet around his fingers and his cock painfully twiched in his jeans. He started pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, and if you weren’t so far up in your head, you would’ve been embarrassed by the noises coming out of you. 

The combination of his thick digits and tongue pushed you into your first orgasm. Your back arched, and your legs unconsciously tried to close, but Bucky did not let that happen, gripping your thigh tighter and holding you in place. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl. C'mon, don’t be shy.” He encouraged you and that was everything you needed. 

You had no idea what happened next because your body felt like it was floating and your head fell back with a moan of Bucky's name. He let you go through it, slowing his pace and pulling out his fingers. As much as he didn’t want to stop, he knew that it was enough for you for the first time. 

You felt how Bucky jently lowered your leg and then, holding you by the waist, stood up and shamelessly licked his shiny lips. “I can’t believe you actually just did that. No one has ever given me an orgasm.” 

“Princess… You’re unbelievable.” He got closer to you, nuzzling into your neck and breathing in your scent. You could feel hardness in his pants, and while Bucky did not try to push it any further, the desire within you made you bold. 

“Do you have a condom?” Bucky immediately pulled away from you, his eyes darker than before and his hands tightening on your waist. You bit your lip and lowered your gaze, as if you said something wrong. 

"No, no, no, you can’t get shy after you just asked me this. Eyes on me, princess. Do you really want it?" 

“I do.” 

Bucky connected your lips, distracting you from unnecessary thoughts, and you felt two hands on the back sides of your thighs. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, as if your body knew what to do better than you. You both moaned when his bulge met with your dripping core; Bucky’s grip tightened and he slightly moved your hips. 

Firmly holding you in his hands, Bucky stepped away from the shelves and went to the table that was standing nearby. He blindly moved aside some books there, dropping a few on the floor and receiving a groan from you. He put you on the flat surface, not moving away from between your legs. 

Your hands finally felt more confident to study his tattooed skin. You never realised that you were into people with tattoos, but now, looking at the variety of things covering his tanned skin, your belly tightened with anticipation. Your hands slowly reached his neck, slightly pulling him closer. 

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you have it?” Instead of replying to you, Bucky, not breaking eye contact, reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. He opened it, taking the shiny square that was sticking out of there. 

Your eyes shot up at him, meeting his half-hooded and full-of-lust eyes. Bucky looked right back at you, mesmerized by your beauty—by the way your cheeks heated and your lips were slightly swollen. He quickly unbuttoned his pants, sliding them with boxers down his legs, until his hard as rock cock was free with pre-cum leaking from the tip. 

“If you’re going to look at me like that, then I might cum like a teenager before everything starts, princess.” Bucky growled, squeezing your thigh in his hand. You closed your eyes for a few seconds, then looked at his face again. You didn’t want to stare at his cock, but holy shit, it was better and bigger than everything you’ve seen before. You wondered what it would taste like, and that one thought made you clench around nothing. 

With a quick, smooth motion, Bucky opened the package with his teeth, sliding the condom down his shaft. His hand moved you closer to the edge of the table, so now your faces were just a few centimeters away and you could feel his cock through the fabric of your dress. 

“Be a good girl and hold it here for me.” Bucky folded your dress on your stomach, guiding your hand there, so he had better access to your sweet pussy. He had to see how he was disappearing inside of you with his own fucking eyes.  

“Bucky…” You whined because of the way you were exposed to him, but you still did what he said. With wide eyes, you looked at how he moved even closer to you, slightly brushing your folds with the tip. Your free arm gripped his tattooed forearm, digging in your nails. 

“So wet for me, so pretty... God, princess. I won’t be able to keep my hands from you. Say you want this. I need to hear it.” He palmed the side of your face, making you look up at him, and held himself at your entrance at the same time. 

“I want it. Please.” You whispered, your eyes running back and forth between his pretty blues. 

When he finally started slowly pushing into you, your mouth opened with a silent moan, and your eyes almost crossed with the way your whole body got covered with goosebumps. Bucky could not tear his eyes away from the place you two were connected. He felt every movement of your body and felt how your pussy almost sucked him inside. 

He knew that you would feel good, but he did not realize that it would feel like the most correct thing in his life. 

Bucky finally bottomed into you, stretching you the way you had never been before. You both thought that you could cum in that exact second, but you also both wanted to extend this moment as much as you could. 

“Princess…” That sounded so desperate when Bucky finally started moving his hips, dragging his cock out and then pushing right back in. "Fuck, I need to kiss you. You feel like a fuckin’ heaven, holy shit.” Not stopping sliding into you at a steady pace, he dragged your face closer, as if his life were depending on it. Bucky greedily bit and sucked your bottom lip, swallowing every moan and whine you let out.

“Mh— I can’t— oh, Bucky!” You cried, trying to hide your face in the crook of his neck.

He pulled you back away from his body, holding you that way so he had a better view of your face and body. He felt the way your thighs tried to squeeze together, your face started to heat and you tried to look away. 

“Don’t you dare become shy when I’m balls deep in you, princess.” He slowed his movements and teased you until you almost begged him to fuck you properly again. “You need to cum, huh? Show me those pretty eyes; don’t hide from me, c’mon.” You looked up, almost whining from the way he was looking at you. Pupils blown out, eyes slightly narrowed, and running around your face with interest and desire. “Do you need something? Speak up, sweet girl.”

“I want to cum. Let me, please.” 

“Good fucking girl.” 

Bucky started fucking you with a new forse; the table under you was squeaking with every move, making the whole scene even dirtier. You could not care about embarrassment anymore, moaning Bucky name and begging him to be harder. 

You both felt how close you were. 

Your hand, with your skirt in it, tightened around the fabric, your spread legs were trembling and you started uncontrollably squeezing Bucky’s cock inside of you. His dirty words made your vision foggy with satisfaction and the way he didn’t stop hitting your sweet spot was enough for you to go crazy with an overwhelming orgasm.

“Bucky! Bucky, oh my— fuuuck!” You cried in pleasure, feeling a few more thrusts of his throbbing cock, until he finally slowed down and emptied himself in the condom. Your body fell forward right into Bucky’s chest, too tired to even sit straight. He wrapped his hands around you, slowly stroking your back and kissing your temple. 

“You are fucking amazing, princess.” He mumbled into your hair and you just hummed in response. After a few quiet minutes, when your head started to clear up and the whole weight of this situation fell on you, you finally pulled away, hiding your eyes from him again. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I just… I don’t know what we are supposed to do in this situation; I mean— it was just sex for you, right?” You asked, focusing on one particular tattoo on Bucky’s neck to not show how nervous you were.

Bucky didn’t answer for a few seconds, but you felt the weight of his eyes on you. Then he lifted your face with one of his hands and softly smiled at you. “If it meant nothing for me, I would’ve already been on my way home. I want you. I wanted you from the moment I saw you and I won’t be satisfied until you let me take you out. Are you free tomorrow evening, sweetheart?” He cooed, playfully tilting his head to the side. That man and his charm would be the death of you…

“Um, okay. I’m free, if you’re not kidding.”

“Not in the slightest. Now get dressed. I'm taking you home.” He pecked your lips before slowly pulling out of you and getting rid of the condom. You slowly jumped from the table, legs trembling from two mind-blowing orgasms, not missing how Bucky’s smirked at you. 

“You don’t have to take me home, Bucky.” You fixed your dress and hair as much as you could without a mirror and then picked up the books from the floor that were forgotten during your makeout session. 

“Well, I didn’t see a car near the shop, so I assume you’re walking home. And it’s dark.” He walked behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist and burying his face into your neck. “I don’t like this idea. I’m driving you home, princess.” 

“Fine. You won.” You playfully made an annoyed voice to what Bucky just chuckled and held you even closer. 

[gojoest]

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 — gojo satoru

MDNI, f! reader, she/her pronouns used, wc: 3.3k, flashback of how you met (1st part of the fic, past tense used, then we jump back to present, divider used to separate the two timelines. both take place on his birthday btw), suguru makes an appearance (as satoru’s wingman :3), established relationship (you’re married & have a daughter), reader wears a dress, first time face sitting + riding (oral, f! receiving), pet names (baby, my love), he cums in his pants, breeding implied at the end (sort of, to avoid spoilers)

a/n: happy birthday to my biggest mental illness ♡

side note: if the story of how you met sounds familiar to you, please note that it was from one of my talk posts from a while ago & i decided to make use of it : )

what gojo satoru wants — he always gets.

after all, it’s how he made you his as well.

“satoru, you’re staring way too hard at her”, suguru nudged him on the arm.

“think she noticed, too?”, satoru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning slightly red from embarrassment, unsure if it was because he got caught or that it was too obvious he was checking you out.

“very likely. i mean, it’s hard not to notice an annoying pair of blue laser beams persistently invading your space”, suguru mocked. “are you going to talk to her?”

“yes”, satoru firmly replied, without peeling his eyes from you, “i’ll ask her out, i think”

“hey, hey. slow down there”

“nope”, satoru shrugged, almost like a stubborn child disobeying his parent, “i’ve made up my mind — i really want to make her mine”

it was a pure coincidence, or some might say fate, that you ended up in the same restaurant — he was there celebrating his birthday with a small circle of friends while you were present to honor your colleague that had just gotten a promotion at work.

satoru’s eyes relentlessly followed your every move, every gesture, from the moment you walked in and settled on the table next to his. it was rather unusual for him to be this interested in someone simply upon sight, in fact, even desiring to pursue something with someone so immediately. it was always the other way around — women would flock to him because of his looks and peculiar behavior, and of course — his money — but he would turn them down without batting an eye. love and seeking romance were never a priority for him, he did not have time nor any interest in them. but here he was, contradicting himself, being blatantly distracted by your presence while somehow trying to simulate an active conversation with his friends, more than frequently averting his gaze to look at you, his brain busy coming up with a plan to get your number by the end of the night.

it didn’t take him too long to finally make his move. he stood up from his chair and walked over to your table, stopping right behind your seat.

“excuse me”, he leaned in, placing one hand at the edge of the table and the other — at the back of your chair, “hello”, his face mere inches away from yours. taken aback by the way he, a complete stranger, had the guts to get this close to you, you turned to face him with a questioning look.

“i felt like i would regret it for the rest of my life if i didn’t come say hi to you”, he spoke.

truth be told, despite being astounded and a bit put off by his approach, you were slightly intrigued. he was handsome, pretty even — like that one oddly eye-catching cloud in a sky full of thousands that you notice as soon as you look up. the white henley shirt he was wearing made the blue in his eyes pop even more, the v-neck revealing a little bit of his well-crafted chest, just enough to leave you tiny bit wondering about the ridges of his abs beneath.

as much as the scenery up close made your cheeks feel hot, his boldness rubbed you up the wrong way, too much to let it just slide, and you snapped. “is that so? well, now that you’ve said your hi, you can go back to your table and live with no regrets for the rest of your life”, you rolled your eyes skeptically, pushing his hand off the table.

“oh, i am sorry”, he chuckled, brushing his hair back with a hand, “but there are three more things i need to do before leaving, i’m afraid”

you raised an eyebrow, questioning.

“first, let me introduce myself — i am gojo satoru, also known as the man to be your boyfriend, then your husband, and then the father of your children”, he smugly said. your eyes widening at the audacity of his declaration that left you at a loss for words. “second, i hope you don’t mind introducing yourself as well — as you are to be my girlfriend, then my wife, and then the mother of my children — it’s only natural that i know your name”, he continued, “and last but not least — i am not leaving until you give me your number so we can make this all work”

wow. this man was really fucked in the head, you were sure of it — who in the right mind would speak such nonsense to someone they just met? “you have to be joking, right?”, you laughed in genuine disbelief.

“no. i am dead serious”, he replied in a heartbeat.

“is this your move? you pull this on everyone you find remotely attractive?”, you narrowed your eyes.

“actually—”, suguru interrupted, placing a hand on satoru’s shoulder as he approached from behind, “no”, he spoke. “believe me when i tell you this — he’s never been this smooth in his entire life. i know he probably came off a bit creepy, considering the boldness of his actions — hell, even i am creeped out because it’s pretty unusual for him to act like this”, he laughed, glancing at satoru to let him know that he got his back on this. “but, what i’m trying to say is — my friend here seems to really like you as i’ve never seen him be so intense and interested in anyone before. he’s also a birthday boy today — so could you at least give him a chance before turning him down so quickly? you can come sit with us before you make up your mind on whether you want to give him your number or not?”

you thought for a second, weighing the options in your mind — he was pretty, although he annoyed you a little bit by being all bossy and arrogant as if you were compelled to belong to him just because he said so. but there was just something about him you couldn’t quite put your finger on that made you question yourself. were you actually drawn to him? you could say “no” and never hear from him again, occasionally pondering over the what-if’s and should-have’s from this night; or you could say “fuck it” and see where this strange encounter goes, and live your life without regrets — as he would say. there — he was already getting under your skin…

“well”, you sighed, “guess i’m down for that”

by the end of the night not only did you give him your number, but also a promise for a date the next day — the first of many to follow after.

“careful, you’ll wake her up”, you whisper, leaning against the doorframe of your 3-year old’s room and watching your husband place a soft peck on your daughter’s forehead.

“can’t help it”, he speaks quietly, “she looks like an angel”, before fixing the blankets around her, making sure she’s tucked in all cozily. “the nanny said she cried for papa while we were gone”, he puts a hand over his mouth to stop his lips from trembling, his eyes filled with nothing but love and tenderness, welling up and flowing from the corners.

“she’s such a daddy’s girl”, you sigh, a soft smile present on your face, “next year we can stay home and invite everyone else over — that way we won’t have to worry about missing her bedtime”.

“yea”, he hums, “let’s do that next year”, giving her one last kiss before turning off the night lamp and tiptoeing to you. “come on”, he puts a hand at the small of your back as you both walk out of the room.

“do you remember”, satoru speaks softly into your ear while walking behind you on your way to your shared bedroom, his front flat against your back, the hand at the small of it now circling around to rest over your navel, while the other — reaches for the handle of your bedroom door to push it open, “the night we first met on my birthday?”, he continues after carefully guiding you inside.

you stop in the middle of the room, his arms still wrapped around you from behind, your hands resting over his and playing with his knuckles.

“how can i not?” you chuckle, tilting your head back to let him rest his chin on your forehead, “that was one hell of a fortune telling you pulled on me back then”

“but i was right, no?”, he brushes his lips on your forehead before leaving a soft peck, “see — you’re all mine now, just like i said”, and then another, ”i made you my girlfriend first”, and another, “then i gave you my last name”, and a fourth one, “and then you gave me a beautiful daughter, made me a father”, before turning you around to face him.

“you partly owe it to suguru though — he eased me into the situation, unlike you”, you reply, humbling him like you always do. your head is nestled on his broad chest as one of his hands caress the back of it. still in his embrace, he slowly walks you towards the bed. sits at the edge of it and straddles you on his lap. his palms finding their way to the plush of your thighs draped over his, caressing them tenderly but needily as his fingertips press and then release against your flesh in quick repetitive motions.

“this is because i asked him to give me a hand in case you cut me off”, he admits, tilting his head to meet your lips, not to kiss but just to keep them brushing against each other as you speak. he loved doing this a lot.

“oh?”, you gasp into his mouth, pretending to be shocked to your core, “you wanted me so much that you of all people, the gojo satoru, had to ask someone else for help?”

“you have no idea. if that hadn’t worked, i would’ve fallen on my hands and knees and begged you to take me”, one of his hands reaching the side of your face, playing his fingers on the strands of your hair covering your cheek before tucking them behind your ear.

“hmm”, you doubt, “is that so?”, nuzzling your nose against his.

“mhmm”, he nods, “there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, i thought you knew that by now. it kind of hurts my feelings that you doubt me actually”, he acts offended, pursing his lips and turning his head to the side to face away from you.

“oh my, what have i done now”, you knit your brows and press your cheek against his, pretending to be very, very sorry about what you just said.

“you made the birthday boy sad”, he huffs a silly, somehow obviously forced, pout, “you’ve got to make it up to me somehow”

“i’d do anything to make the birthday boy smile again — just say the word”, you sweetly pamper, patting the top of his head.

“really?”

“really.”

“anything?”

“anything.”

“you promise not to go back on your word?”

“i promise.”

he pulls his cheek away from yours and looks you in the eyes, the blue in his shining with a darker shade of mischief now. and considering the smug smile on his face, you sigh — perhaps you just got yourself played, falling face down into his little trap.

“then”, he points at his own face, “sit on it”

to say you were surprised by his request would be a lie. he’s many times tried coaxing you into doing this in the past but somehow you managed to avoid it, part of you still shying away from it. it’s not like his tongue has never been inside you before. but riding it as if it were his cock seemed way more obscene in your head than anything you two have ever done previously — and you’ve done pretty much a lot.

“well”, you sigh in defeat, seems like the time has finally come, “today’s your lucky day”, you say as you get up from his lap and turn your back — a signal for him to unzip your dress — to which, of course, he immediately complies.

“as it should be”, his crafty fingers work the slider down, slowly peeling the dress off your body and letting it fall on the floor, followed by your lace thong and bra, “it’s my birthday after all”

“the way you always find a way to make things go your way gets on my nerves so much”, you turn around again and push him on the bed and slowly climb on top of him to straddle his chest.

“make a wish before you blow the candle”, you look down at him, your pussy close to his face, the scent of you tickling his nostrils, and he, instinctively almost, takes a deeper breath, rolling his eyes back and hissing with delight.

“freak”, you quickly look away, embarrassed, but he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him again, “i want you to look at me as you ride my face”, his voice comes out breathy, “will you do that for the birthday boy?”

you nod into his palms, “you’re insufferable” — “suffocate me then”, he coos through a grin, grabbing your knees to pull you forward until you’re above his face.

“jerk”, you say, but softly, as you lower your cunt on his willing mouth, landing your softness on his face in slow motion, immediately earning a throaty groan from him that shudders through your pussy lips.

satoru breathes deeply in and out with your heat on his mouth, the scent of you hitting his lungs and even below, reaching all the way down to his groin to further nurture his cock already throbbing in his slacks. his hand reaching down to unbuckle them slightly, to give more space for his hard-on to grow freely.

“mowe”, he muffles incoherently into your pussy, grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks to push you against his face, tilting his head up and down, jutting his jaw up and out to meet you.

you whimper at the friction, your clit bumping and rubbing against his nose as his lips are kissing your folds, his tongue slowly poking at your entrance with the tip before darting in — twirling around your walls — and out.

“nghh…s-sa-t-to—”, you barely cry out his name, tugging at his hair, mercilessly pulling him into your heat. as much as you hated to admit it, you loved this position. your embarrassment long gone and forgotten, you ride his face in a haze, your pussy getting wetter against his mouth and your movements — faster and harder each moment.

“heawen on my fongwue”, he groans. if he could speak properly right now, he would probably make the nastiest, dirtiest remarks, shamelessly walk you through every single thing he was feeling as you rocked your hips back and forth, grinding on his face. he would probably say something about your boobs, too. how they looked so pretty jiggling ever so slightly from the movement. he can’t speak right now, yes, but he can still get his thoughts reach you through actions — his hands run along your belly, gripping your breasts from below, squeezing and squishing them inside of his palms.

you clutch his hands with yours, “i can’t hold this position for too long”, and force them down on your hips for support. you hear him say something through a loud groan but it’s barely recognizable — most likely just him cursing “fuck” and “baby” from pleasure under your pussy, but also from the ego boost you just gave him — that he can make you weak but at the same time desperate enough to want to continue — despite your hips giving up — not only with his cock but his mouth alone, too.

you let him take over as you chase your high, weighing on his face as his hands grip on your hips, dictating your every move, composing the tune of your hips. his tongue is no more sliding in and out as he makes you grind harder on his face — it stays in, continuously licking your sweet spot clean.

“f-fuck, fuck, fuck…”, you curse loudly, reaching your hands to grab the head of the bed and hammer your pussy harder into his face, squeezing every last drop of strength left in your already cramping muscles until you cum, shuddering on his mouth.

“mfff”, he groans throatily into your hole, sucking and slurping your juices. his hips buck in the air, helplessly searching for friction to soothe his aching cock. his half-unbuckled pants are drenched with precum, leaking out from his tip through his boxers and out through the cloth of his pants, visibly staining them.

you can’t see but it’s easy to figure out from the way the bed bounces up and down as his ass meets the mattress after every time his hips fall down. “how cute”, you utter as you try to calm down your breathing, cunt still resting over his face.

his eyes are half closed, rolling back and hiding their blue away. all he needs is a little push, a little rub, you know it. you know it by the way his tongue has stopped moving inside you, by the way his hands have loosened the grip on your flesh, by the way his shortened moans have grown into one long and steady groan coming from the bottom of his throat — his entire brain solely focused on the muscles of his lower body that is searching, almost beggingly, for relief.

you lean your upper body back a little, just enough to make it easier to reach his shaft while still sitting on his face. “since you’re the birthday boy”, you drag your words out as you place your hand on his clothed cock, feeling the wetness that’s emerged from beneath against your palm, “i’ll give you a hand.”

his ass cheeks tense and squeeze as he presses his hips against your touch, ferociously rubbing his clothed cock on the flesh of your open palm. his groans get louder as he bucks his hips under your hand, pushing them up to meet your hand harder and faster each time — just the way he forces his cock into your tight cunt as he nears — until the last three thrusts that he always prolongs in order to properly and completely pump his seed out.

the inside of your hand feels hot against his clothed cock as he seeps himself out, the stickiness of his cum absorbing itself into the material of his pants and emerging through it to reach the skin of your palm.

you lift yourself up a little only to plop your body down next to his. his mouth, cheeks, chin, even his nose, are covered in his spit and your cum, all mixed in.

“shit, baby”, he laughs, breathing deeply in and out of his mouth, overwhelmed by the whole experience, “what the hell did you just do to me”

“do you really need me to verbalize what just happened”

“yes”

“no”, you slap his cheek with the back of your hand, softly, before rolling on your side to rest your head on the left side of his chest, kissing it tenderly. “happy birthday”

“it really is”, he whispers, tracing a heart shape over the skin of your exposed cheek with his fingertip, “with you, it always is”

“did your wish come true by any chance?”, you tilt your head to look at him.

“not yet. but i’ll work on it later tonight. for now, i’ll let you catch your breath”

“wait, wait.”, you raise a brow, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“my love”, he clears his throat, “do you remember how i said, when we first met, that you’d be the mother of my children?”

“yea? am i not?”

“children”, he stresses.

“oh.”, it finally hits you.

“one more to go”

[seokgyuu]

When fertility clinics fail to give you what you want, you decide it’s time to take the matter into your own hands. And who’d be better for the job than Choi Seungcheol?

Pairing: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Porn with a small bit of plot. 

Warnings: This work contains adult content! MDNI! This whole fic revolves around getting pregnant!! So if you’re uncomfortable, please do not read. Smut warnings under the cut!

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Omg look, she’s back with a work!! And it’s a standalone Cheol fic??? Damn. I wanna thank the lovely @idyllic-ghost for the beautiful banner!! Have fun reading and please be a bit more patient in case you are a reader of Challenge Me. I swear there is more to come!! also big thanks to @beomcoups for reading this over and telling me it doesn't suck, lol.

Tagging: @duhnova, @yoonguurt, @highvern, @smileysuh, @cheolism @the-boy-meets-evil @ourdawnishotterthanourday @gyuswhore

“I don’t really know how to start.” You finally break the silence, sitting on the couch across from Seungcheol, your legs crossed and your hands laying in your lap. He watches as you lick over your lips, nervous eyes roaming around the room and something like a chuckle wants to creep out of his throat. He suppresses it and instead smiles.

“Me neither, don’t worry. We can take it slow if you like. Or I can finish this water and we can go upstairs,” he pauses for a second, “or stay here, whatever you prefer.”

Smut Warnings: unprotected sex (duh), creampie, dirty talk, blowjobs, face fucking, usage of the word daddy, squirting, multiple orgasms (f&m)

Choi Seungcheol has never done this before. He has never sat in the living room of a woman he barely knew with a glass of medium sparkling water in his hand and a pounding heart in his chest. If anything, this had only ever happened in his dreams. Not the medium sparkling water (mainly because he didn’t even like his water sparkled, medium or not) and perhaps with less clothing - even though that specific part was probably about to become reality. 

“Do you want something small to eat, or something?” You ask now and Cheol flinches slightly, looking up at you with his big eyes and his mouth slightly dropped.

“Oh, no, thanks!” He smiles back and takes a sip from his glass. It tastes awful but he’s not about to say that. 

Your living room is huge; two big couches the color of creme surrounded by tasteful art on the walls. A fireplace and a huge flatscreen above it, pictures of friends and family on the shelves, books from authors Cheol has never heard of. He wonders for a quick second why you would choose this route when you obviously had the funds to do it the… more professional way, but then he remembers that he is getting paid for this. In fact, he already has the insane amount in his bank account waiting to be used to pay off his student loans. 

“I don’t really know how to start.” You finally break the silence, sitting on the couch across from Seungcheol, your legs crossed and your hands laying in your lap. He watches as you lick over your lips, nervous eyes roaming around the room and something like a chuckle wants to creep out of his throat. He suppresses it and instead smiles.

“Me neither, don’t worry. We can take it slow if you like. Or I can finish this water and we can go upstairs,” he pauses for a second, “or stay here, whatever you prefer.”

You think it’s cute, the way he blushes. In a situation like this one, definitely not surprising. You’ve been thinking about this for months now: fertility clinics in your town and even outside of it weren’t working. It wasn’t the money that was the problem, but your body apparently. Or anything else. At some point one of the doctors joked that it would probably be best if you tried getting pregnant in the old fashioned way. By sleeping with someone who had a penis with functioning sperm. And whilst he had meant it as a joke, very clearly trying to uplift an incredibly sad situation (kind of distasteful, you find) you had taken it to heart and here you are now. 

A friend of yours owned a few gyms in town and Cheol was a regular turned PT in one of them. He was handsome and strong, a gentleman, healthy and in desperate need of some easy made money. Your friend had overheard him talking to one of the other PTs and even though it might not have been the most professional thing to do - she had asked him if he wanted to help out in your specific situation. You have to admit - back when she told you it felt extremely humiliating. Asking some stranger to have sex with you to, maybe (hopefully?), get you pregnant. Not to mention her being his boss - if he hadn’t reacted the way he did, he could have more than likely sued her for this. 

But he said yes. And now he's here. Many dollars richer and with an embarrassed flush on his pretty face. 

“Upstairs is probably more comfortable,” you finally respond and he nods, emptying his glass. After, he looks at you expectantly and you feel your insides growing hot. He’s everything you wished for and more. Better than who you had picked first in the fertility clinic for sure. It’s crazy, all of this, you know it, and yet you can’t help but feel like this is also the only right thing. You want a baby. Seungcheol wants to help you get one. 

Finally, you get up and he joins you, a nervous smile on his lips as you lead him to the stairs in the foyer, your legs shaking as you walk up, the sounds of his footsteps behind you echoing in your head. You’re about to lead a stranger into your bedroom. A sexy stranger that will (hopefully) father the child you’ve been wanting for over a year. Your stomach turns in excitement as well as arousal and you clear your throat as you reach the top of the stairs.

“It’s right over here,” you say, pointing at the door to your left and Seungcheol nods, eyes only temporarily leaving your frame. 

A part of him feels like he should come clean about how much he’s been looking forward to this. To sleep with you, to breed you. Ever since his boss had asked him about this, he’s been excited. It was almost as if she had known. Showing him pictures of you, telling him how much you want to have a baby. She obviously didn’t say the obvious, didn’t say that you were desperate for cum in your pussy to get you pregnant. Mainly because that would have been even more inappropriate. But Cheol knew. He still does. Knows that you’re probably dripping into your designer panties wanting nothing but his cum and his only. Fuck, he is growing harder by the second. He has to calm down, remain professional. This is supposed to be nothing but a business transaction, he is well aware. But it’s not like he chose to have an extreme breeding kink, right? 

The door to your bedroom opens and Cheol takes in the furniture and decorations only for a second before his eyes land on you again. You stand in front of your bed, your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“I- uh, I think it’s probably best if we, uhm, get ready by ourselves?” 

Cheol nods. He kind of figured there wouldn’t be much foreplay. Still, just the thought of you behind him, touching yourself… he comes to the conclusion he won’t need much handy work to be hard for you. 

“Should we take our clothes off, or…?” He asks carefully and you swallow, your eyes trying to be subtle as you check him out but he can clearly see what you’re doing. You want him to take off his clothes. You just aren’t sure if you should. It would probably make the situation easier, yes, but it would also expose you to this man that is built like a god. You bite down on your lip and swallow the lump in your throat. Then, you nod. 

With a sense of pride, Cheol moves his hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head without any trouble. Your eyes are immediately glued to his toned torso - the abs, the strong shoulders, his chest. 

“Maybe we should turn off the lights.” The words escape your mouth before they reach your brain. A small smirk tugs on Cheol’s lips - you’re flustered because of him. Without a word, Cheol nods and turns off the light, sitting down onto the bed with his back turned to you. This is nerve wracking. Your face is hot and your heart is beating fast as you sit down as well. You hear him behind you. Hear the sound of his pants opening, of his hands moving to shove it down. There is no stopping the wish to see him, his beautiful body. When you hear the small sigh he lets out a few seconds later, you decide to just follow your instincts. It was you who had called him here. Backing out now would be foolish. So, you bite down on your lip and lean back slightly, your hand wandering down to your clothed core, pressing against it for just a quick moment, before you move to open your jeans as well, making quick work to get them down your legs. 

You begin to circle your clit over your panties, eyes closed and the image of Cheol right there in front of you. The smug smile, the lean muscles on his torso… you wonder what they’d feel like under your fingertips. Now, it is you who sighs softly and Seungcheol behind you groans quietly. The sound shoots through you, makes you crave to hear it even closer, right by your ear. You want him to hold you, want him to say your name as he slides into you. 

The sounds you make drive Seungcheol crazy. His big hand is wrapped around his cock, moving up and down, precum helping to make the glide easier. His whole head is filled with you and nothing but you and he has to stop himself from shooting his load right away just thinking about feeling you tightly around him. Yes, Seungcheol seriously doesn’t know how long he can go on like this without cumming. So, he slightly turns around, tongue slipping over his lips.

“I’m ready…,” his deep voice reaches your ears just when two of your fingers slide into your pussy, already longing for more. You moan, feeling another wave of heat running through your body. Nodding, you let your fingers slip out and turn around, moving fully onto the bed. You hadn’t discussed positions earlier, but you decide to get on all fours, Seungcheol slowly getting up.

He can’t see you, only your silhouette that looks ever so perfect, ass up in the air and, fuck, he thinks he won’t last long. Swallowing hard, he moves and places his hands on your hips.

“Is that alright?” He asks and you nod.

“Y-yes.”

That’s all he needs. Moving forward, his right hand grabs his erect cock, leading it to your core. God, you’re wet. No problem at all to slide into you, into your seemingly perfect pussy that begins to squeeze him right away. Seungcheol is sure there are stars dancing in front of his head already. 

His size almost takes you out. The stretch hurts deliciously and the second he is buried fully inside of you, your head drops and a moan you couldn’t suppress even if you wanted to makes Seungcheol thrust for the first time. He starts out slow but deep, trying to hold on longer by not speeding up. While the goal is obvious, he doesn’t just want to cum inside of you and leave. No, he wants to make this a good experience for both of you. So, he listens to the sounds you make to the way your pussy clenches, the way your body shoves back against him. You seem to like it deep, seem to want it harder and, fuck, if Seungcheol wasn’t so keen on still kind of keeping it professional he would push your head into your pillows and fuck you til you begged him to never stop. 

All that fills the air is the moans both of you let out as well as the sound of skin on skin, of his cock sinking into your wetness over and over again. You want to scream, want to tell him to go harder, faster. All sense of professionalism is slowly but surely leaving your body and when his big hands squeeze your hips, you finally falter. 

“H-harder, please!” You cry out and Seungcheol twitches inside of you, nodding to himself before doing as he’s asked. He leans forward, his hips hitting yours harder and faster than before, fingers digging into your skin as he groans in pleasure. 

“Fuck!” Your hands grab the sheets, knuckles white just when your first orgasm hits. Throwing your head back, crying out in nothing but pure bliss, leaving Seungcheol speechless. He can feel your climax around him, can feel you clenching, vibrating almost. He can feel just how good you squeeze him and there is no stopping his own release following right away, spurts of hot cum painting your warm walls white. He fucks both of you through your orgasms, sweat running down his face and finally pulls out, wishing the light was on so he could see his seed spilling out of you. 

You turn around, falling onto your back, your eyes closed. 

“That… wow.” You can’t find words. Mainly because you can’t even remember the last time someone fucked you this good. Seungcheol licks over his lips.

“Can I turn the light on?” He asks then and something in his voice makes chills run down your back. Your eyes fly open and you bite back down onto your lip before telling him yes. Once the light is back on, you feel another wave of lust rush over you. He’s fully naked. He’s sweaty. He’s perfect. Blonde hair sticking to his forehead, brown eyes taking in every bit of your body that’s free for him to see. Different from what you had believed you don’t feel uncomfortable. More so the opposite. His gaze on your body seems to light you on fire, making you crave more. 

“You’re beautiful.” He lets his hands fall down onto your bare thighs, slowly pushing them apart. His cock hardens again at the sight of your pussy, his cum slowly dripping out of you.. You allow yourself to check him out, seeing how his blood rushes down, how much he enjoys the view. 

“I think… I think maybe another round… would make the probability higher that it works.” Another thing you say before it registers. 

The smug smile appearing on his face now almost makes you gasp. It’s so different from the person he was downstairs, from the shy and slightly awkward man who didn’t know where to look. Now, he looks like a wild animal with its eyes set on its prey. Oh, god.

He leans forward, hands still on your thighs and your throat goes dry. His tongue licks over his bottom lip and his eyes seem to already fuck you a second time. 

“We should get this back inside, don’t you think?” It takes you by surprise when you feel his fingers on your core, when you feel him gathering his release and shove it back inside you, his thick fingers splitting you open deliciously. This time you can’t stop the gasp, your hands moving to hold onto his forearms, eyes wide and mouth dropped.

“That’s right, take all of Daddy’s cum,” his lips are right by your ear and your body is hit by an enormous wave of lust, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he keeps fucking them into you. Moans escape you and your head falls back - at least you think it does until you feel his other hand on the back of your neck holding it steady.

“Look at me,” he breathes, “look at me when I fuck my first load back into you before giving you another one.” 

You whimper as you nod, eyes watering from the desperation of wanting to cum again. Seungcheol is sure to give you as many orgasms as you can take. As many rounds as you let him have you.

His plump lips are opened as he watches you, your sweaty face, your blown pupils, your obvious need for more. Fuck, he’s a goner. Before knowing what he’s doing, he’s leaning in even more, crashing your lips together. Your eyes flutter shut immediately and you kiss him back, opening your lips to invite him inside. He groans against your mouth, his tongue sliding into your warmth, feeling yours a few seconds later. 

The kiss is heated and desperate and every vein in your body seems to be on fire. Your heart is pounding at triple speed in your chest and when Seungcheol parts for air, you’re already craving him again. You want to touch him, want him to hold you close when he’s back inside of you, when he gives you what you need, what you want. There seem to be no coherent thoughts left in your brain as he continues to kiss you with his fingers buried inside your sweet cunt. 

“Do you even know how hot you are, fuck,” he breathes against your lips now, pulling his fingers out of you to have both his hands on you the next second. He kisses you again, hungry for your touch. Hands all over you, gliding from your hips to your breasts, getting rid of the shirt you were still wearing. He wants to see all of you, lose himself in your body, wants to get high on what it feels like to know you want him just as bad as he wants you. This isn’t just about making you a mum anymore. Seungcheol wants to give you pleasure, wants to treat you the way you deserve. He saw it in your eyes earlier - saw how you want it hard and rough, heard it in your pleads for him. 

“On your knees, face me.” It’s an order you’re more than happy to follow. You bite down onto your lip and get on your knees, looking up at him. God, he looks ethereal. 

“Good girl, so, so good for me.” You shiver when he lets his fingers slide over your face, down to your mouth, sliding them in. You suck them in without having to be asked. They taste like you and him and your eyes roll back when he begins to fuck them down your throat, his free hand cradling your tits again. 

“That’s right. Fuck.” 

It’s like he is in a trance, hypnotized by the way you look with his fingers in your mouth, knowing full well his seed is still inside and will soon be joined by more. He feels like he is addicted to you already, like he just can’t get enough of you. He wants to taste you, wants to have you come on his cock over and over again.

His eyes are glued to you. You, who is sucking on his fingers so prettily, your tongue swirling around the digits and Seungcheol grows impatient. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and instead grabs his half hard cock with his slicked up fingers, jerking himself off a few times, eyes never leaving yours. 

“Open up wide for me, baby girl.” 

His cock slides through your lips and into your mouth and your eyes roll back, tongue already pressing against his thick length. The groan he lets out makes slick run down your thighs. You want him so bad, your pussy is throbbing and clenching and you feel like your head has never been this dizzy before. Nothing but arousal is in the air, the smell of you and him and what you’ve done just as hypnotizing as your eyes. 

Working forward slowly, Cheol watches as you take more and more of him down your perfect throat, his own mouth hanging low. No one has ever looked as good with his cock in their mouth. He doubts anyone ever will. He’s big, he knows he is and while he wants to be careful with you - he also wants to ruin you. Wants to see drool dripping down your chin, wants to hear you choke on his huge cock. 

“Take it all, I know you can.” He pushes further, his tip gliding down your throat and you choke, your eyes filling with tears, but there is no part of you that isn’t fully enjoying this. You want him to fuck your mouth, to be rough, harsh. Want to be used by him all while having him breed you later on. He watches you, watches the first tear and the first small pool of drool, his cock growing heavier on your tongue by the second.

“Look at you. So, so pretty. Getting Daddy’s cock hard so he can breed you again, isn’t that so nice of you?”

He does his first thrust down your throat and you choke once more, followed by a moan around his cock that makes him groan. Everything around him is a blur. There is only you and your mouth, the warmth of it, the feeling of how your throat restricts around his length, how you seem to vibrate around him. 

Getting your throat fucked certainly wasn’t on your list of probable things happening tonight. But you lose yourself in the feeling of him using you to get off. Feeling him grow harder in your mouth, spit dripping from your mouth onto your bed, his taste ever so present. God, you wanna devour him until he explodes inside of you. 

As much as he enjoys this, though, there is a reason he is here. With a last hard thrust down your excellent throat, he pulls out, watching you gain back your breath, your eyes fluttering open and looking at him with such desperate want it makes shivers run down his back. 

There is no need for words - he leans forward, pushing you over so you’re on your back, his lips catching yours in another heated kiss. His hand is around his cock, leading it to your entrance. The tip breaches you and you moan into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him even closer. Your legs almost automatically set around his waist, his cock sinking as deep into you as possible.

“Fuck,” he breathes, settling inside of you, giving him and you a second to adjust. God, he could already shoot his load. You feel perfect around him. Like you were made for him and only him. It suddenly bothers him - the fact he’s gonna get you pregnant and never see you again. The thought is scary, and he might have spiraled into something - but you have a different idea. 

Wiggling your hips, you are whining into his mouth, trying to finally get him to move. Your pussy squeezes him, begs him and Cheol is just a man after all. He does his first thrust that is quickly followed by more. Soon, both of your moans are filling the room, his lips kissing every inch of you he can reach, your heartbeat rapidly increasing. You feel like you’re in a different dimension, a dimension that only exists for you and Seungcheol and your pleasure. You arch your back, his mouth on your tits, sucking and biting them, your moans getting louder every second. 

While you don’t want it to end, you also want nothing more than for him to fill you up again. Feel him twitch and lose control because of you. Your nails dig into his muscular back just as he leans back, his dark eyes staring into yours as he fucks you harder, his hands shoving your thighs back, his movements becoming more fluid. Your eyes roll back and you sure you can feel him in your stomach, or no, you can feel him everywhere.

“Look at you, so fucking beautiful, could look at you forever.” 

You wonder if he knows what those words do to you. If he knows how hot he is, how ethereal he looks. Probably. With your mouth and eyes wide, your body in his hands and your pussy crying, begging, yearning for release, you let yourself fall. Fall down into the greatest pleasure of your life, waves and waves of it hitting you, liquid shooting out of you and onto Cheol’s cock and thighs, loud and lewd moans leaving your throat as you reach the highest height you’ve ever been.

Seungcheol’s response is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard, his own eyes not able to stay open as he fucks into you faster and harder, so close to bursting. And when he does, when he lets go as well, when all he has to give is ready to be given - there is no stopping the wave of yet another orgasm hitting you. Spurts of white are met by your pussy squeezing him, by you crying out his name over and over while his hips crash against yours at rapid speed over and over again. 

Then, he collapses on top of you. Your legs fall into their natural position and your hands find the back of his head, stroking through his wet strands of hair. You are both panting, his chest glued to yours. Sweat and drool and other bodily fluids give the air the smell of sex and you wonder how long it’ll linger in your bedroom. You’re not sure you ever want it to leave. Or him, for that matter.

It takes a good couple of minutes before Seungcheol is able to lift his head to look at you. His eyes sparkle and you smile, one hand wandering to cup his cheek and caress it softly.

“Hi,” you whisper. He can’t help but smile back.

“Hi,” he replies quitely. 

He kisses you after. Soft and sweet. He is still buried inside of you, keeping his cum inside you, making sure it’s all right where it belongs. The thought makes him wonder. Makes him ask himself why it feels like it’s not just his seed that belongs to you. He doesn’t dare to speak what’s on his mind. Instead, he just continues to kiss you.

Unknowingly that you were just thinking the exact same thought as him.