#thirty-something and married is even worse

[starsreminisce]

Happy Elain Day!

for @elainweekofficial

Word Count: 3K

It was a small shop in the town square, one Elain had passed frequently since she began preparing for her wedding. Its unassuming facade lent it an air of mystery, unlike the neighboring shops, whose glittering displays beckoned to window shoppers. Wedding planning had become exhausting, made worse by the constant clashes between Graysen and Nesta over the dress, the food, the location. But Elain saw through her sister's action. She knew exactly why Nesta was being so difficult: she wanted Graysen to reconsider marrying into their family so he would break it off, sparing them the shame or delay until their father could give the proper blessing.

Elain had never cared for a grand wedding even as a child, so when she suggested they elope, Graysen launched into a lecture.

“Now, Elain,” he began, his tone bordering on condescending. “I am a lord's son. We can't elope like peasants, especially given our status in society. People might think you're with child.”

Elain glanced up at the clock tower in the town square. She still had half an hour before her appointment, but the thought of Graysen and Nesta bickering over the flower arrangements, something she wished she could at least have a say in, made her stomach churn.

The black brick of the shop and its tinted windows beneath a purple awning seemed to call to her today more so than the other days. It would only be thirty minutes, she reasoned. Even if she were to get lost in the place, she doubted her fiance or sister would notice if she was late to the florist, considering how little they’ve considered her opinions with everything else. Besides, what if the shop was actually empty? She had never seen anyone enter or leave.

Taking a deep breath, she marched toward the door. Her hand rested on the handle, and to her surprise, it opened.

A small bell chimed as she peeked inside. The shop had no displays, nothing to sell. The only decor was a single table with two comfortable-looking chairs set across from each other. The scent of burning sage lingered in the air, and tapestries of the beginning of Prythian adorned the walls.

She should have left. Instead, she stepped fully inside, her eyes drawn to the strange story the tapestries told. One in particular was a woman with outstretched hands holding a sphere that captivated Elain. Gooseflesh prickled her skin as she realized she was inside of a shop belonging to a Fae sympathizer.

Graysen and Nesta's voices echoed in her mind, berating her for her fae sympathies, even though their sister Feyre had left the family to live with a Fae lover. Even though their father had always reminded them that they all shared this land.

“Hello, dearie,” a croaking voice stopped her from leaving.

Elain spun around to see a weathered woman. Long, graying hair cascaded past her shoulders. She wore a deep blue dress, and a silver circlet with a pale blue stone rested between her brows. Her eyes were sharp as she looked at Elain with interest.

“I was just leaving,” Elain murmured, avoiding eye contact.

“Have you been having doubts about your upcoming marriage?”

Elain’s gaze dropped to her left hand, where her pearl-and-diamond ring sat. She curled her fingers into a fist, as if she could hide it. She wasn’t sure if the crone had seen it before she asked.

“I'm sure it's just normal wedding jitters,” Elain managed, inching toward the door. “Thank you for your time.”

“Then would you want to know about the man in your dreams?”

That gave Elain pause, her heart pounding at the words. She had never told anyone about him. The mystery man had appeared in her dreams only a few days after Feyre left. His face was always hidden behind a fox mask, and each dream left her more unsettled than the last.

In the first, she saw him being flogged. His back was torn open, but his face stayed calm, refusing to show any pain.

In the second, he was drugged, dragged, and chained beneath a bed of spikes, yet he remained still, as if resigned to his fate.

The third dream was filled with violence. Nightmarish creatures attacked him, but with unnatural speed, he fought them off, cutting through them effortlessly even after he fell off his horse.

But the last dream was the most haunting. She had watched him stand before the same golden beast that had taken Feyre from them.

Elain swallowed hard and faced the crone. “Can you stop the nightmares?”

The woman gave a small, sad smile. “No, I cannot.”

“What exactly do you sell?”

“I read fortunes,” the crone said softly. “If the Mother deigns to show you who the man is, you will see.”

Elain’s curiosity gnawed at her. Her head urged her to leave, to let it go, reasoning that if it were important, the answers would come in time. But her heart… her heart needed to know. She needed to know who he was, why his presence in her nightmares lingered long after she woke, as if his pain was somehow hers to bear.

“How much?” she asked, her better judgment faltering.

“Whatever you can offer.”

Elain hesitated, her mind bouncing from one thought to another, until she felt a tug low beneath her ribcage. Fortune readings were becoming popular among her friends, she reasoned. Surely, there was nothing dangerous about it. She found herself nodding and followed the crone to a small table. Taking a seat, she placed a gold mark on the table, which the crone pocketed without a word.

The old woman lit a stick of palo santo, swirling the fragrant smoke through the air, around the deck and the tight space, before resting it in a ceramic holder. Elain watched as the crone shuffled her cards. The rhythm of it was hypnotic, and time seemed to blur, until finally, the crone paused. Her brows knit together, and she tilted her head, as if listening to a voice only she could hear, before drawing the cards.

Three cards: Four of Wands reversed, Tower, Death.

“Not good,” the crone said, her eyes narrowing. “The foundation is shaky. Something will come to destroy its foundation, causing you to be reborn.”

Elain immediately thought this woman was a scam artist, waiting to peddle crystals and old bath water to salvage her engagement. She could almost see the words forming on the crone’s lips, ready to spill out like a rehearsed script.

She was ready to leave until the crone pulled three more cards: Ace of Cups, Knight of Swords, The Sun.

“There is someone new coming,” the crone continued. “He will come like a knight in shining armor, one who reminds you of the sun.”

Elain tried not to scoff. Despite his shortcomings, she loved Graysen with all her heart, and the idea of someone new coming to sweep her off her feet sounded highly unlikely.

“Is it the man from my dreams?” she asked, curious by the crone’s certainty.

Nine of Swords, Page of Cups, Seven of Cups.

“Yes,” she affirmed. “You’re having nightmares about this young man because your fates and souls are intertwined, but the path ahead is unclear. There are many choices, many possibilities. Some real, some illusion. You’re struggling to see the truth through the confusion.”

“Can you tell me more about him?” she pressed.

King of Wands, Seven of Wands, Nine of Wands reversed.

“He is a fiery male,” the crone said. “Meant to be a ruler, but it seems he has been treated as an underdog so much that he tries to avoid conflict and is exhausted from doing so.”

Elain clicked her tongue in disbelief. This man sounded like the farthest thing from what she wanted in a lifelong partner. She preferred men who were decisive, calm, and steady—like Graysen, who seemed the very picture of what she was looking for. But fiery? Avoids conflict? That didn’t sit right with her. None of it aligned with the traits she valued.

The crone pulled three more cards: Strength, Three of Swords, Two of Swords reversed.

“Be careful not to be so stubborn,” she tapped on the Strength card with a long, bony finger. “Your heart will hurt, and it will make you feel closed off. If you're not careful, you’ll do something that you’ll come to regret.”

Elain said nothing as the crone pulled three more: Three of Cups reversed, Eight of Swords reversed, Ten of Swords reversed.

“You will get the wandering eye. It’s due to no fault of your own, but your actions will be your undoing.”

Eight of Cups, Wheel of Fortune, Nine of Cups.

“Things will change for the better,” the crone reassured her. “Only when you decide to leave for good will your wish come true.”

“And what might that be?” Elain asked, chewing her lip.

Two of Cups, Hierophant, Ten of Cups.

“An equal love in marriage to bring you the home you longed for,” the crone concluded.

Elain waited for the crone to sell her something to assure her of this future, but she merely nodded her head, her eyes losing their sharpness as if the reading had drained her. Elain still didn’t believe a word of it but nonetheless offered two more gold marks for a tip before leaving to join her sister and fiance at the florist, arriving right on time as they argued over Baby’s Breath.

The reading stayed with her until Graysen noticed her being distracted. She winced and said the wedding planning was stressful, which then he agreed. She laid with Graysen that night. A futile action as though to cement that if she gave him everything, she would always his.

She had forgotten about the reading when Feyre came back, now changed into a fae, seeking to use their home to broker an agreement with the Queens.

Feyre told her story, but her arched ears were more of interest to Elain, until the name Lucien sparked something deep in the recesses of Elain's mind. She didn’t know why this name was so important to her, why she gravitated towards it as though it were a string being pulled towards her. She listened to Nesta and Feyre argue back and forth, her engagement ring mocking her to tempt fate, until she finally said, “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men couldn’t save me from … from them.”

Mere days after being told the Queens refused to help, a cowled priestess stumbled in, pale as death, her wide eyes darting frantically. “Feyre,” she gasped, trembling. “Captured. Tortured.” Her voice faltered as Elain and Nesta rushed to steady her, but the terror clung to her words like a curse. Before either sister could react, the priestess added, her voice breaking, “Come with me quick.”

“No,” said Nesta.

Elain whimpered as rough hands shoved a gag into her mouth, her tears streaming silently as she was yanked into the shadows. Her captors paid no attention to her shaking or the weak struggles of her body, her kicks and blows finding only empty air.

Her quiet sobs soaked her gag as they dragged her toward the Cauldron. Her feet scraped against the cold stone floor, her fingers clawing desperately for something—anything—to hold on to. But there was nothing. Somewhere through the chaos, a male voice shouted a command to stop. That it was enough. But it didn’t matter. The icy black water loomed before her, and then—then it swallowed her whole.

Cold. All-consuming cold ripped through her body, and her soul felt as though it was being shredded, torn apart like delicate lace. Elain thrashed, but the water had her, seeping into her lungs, her bones, her very thoughts. This is death, she realized in a strange, detached way. Her body was breaking, dissolving, as if she was being unmade, piece by piece.

So this is what dying feels like.

She hit the ground hard facedown, sucking in air as water streamed from her, a gasp of air filling her chest with burning life. Her soaked nightgown clinging to her skin as she rose from the ground onto her elbows. Yet all she could focus on was her shame, as ridiculous and misplaced as it was, as she shivered on the wet stones, her legs and breasts on display.

Her mind held one absurd thought: I am dead, and all I care about is how indecent I must look.

He will come like a knight in shining armor that reminds you of the sun.

A light flared. Too bright. It pierced through her dazed vision, and she squinted. Worn Boots thudded toward her and before she could react, a warm jacket was draped over her trembling shoulders. Elain flinched, instinct curling her further into herself, expecting more violence, more violation. But the jacket … the jacket smelled of chestnuts and something warm—something almost like hope.

He is a fiery male.

Strong arms lifted her as Nesta poured out of the cauldron. Firm, but gentle. She was weightless in them, and for a moment, she let herself surrender to the feeling, the water still streaming from her like the last remnants of a terrible nightmare. He was so warm, so comforting, even in the midst of the chaos. He grounded her. She believed she was safe until her sister tore her away from her knight. She needed to know his name, staring as she waited.

He never offered it.

She could feel instincts running through her: Mine. I am yours. You are mine…

“…mate,” his whisper broke through the chanting.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

All she could do at that moment was to stare at him until another flash of blinding white light came, reminding her of him, even if it came from Feyre. Elain clutched the jacket, inhaling its scent, wishing he were holding her instead until a blonde fae slammed her mate away, and she was gone.

As soon as Elain materialized into the large house perched atop the mountain, she clutched to the jacket draped on her shoulders. The air was thick with silence, but she broke it with a scream, the sound ricocheting through the red halls.

“Take me home!” she cried again and again, each plea more ragged than the last, until her words became nothing more than a hoarse whisper. Exhaustion claimed her, her body collapsing into a heavy slumber, as though the weight of her cries had stolen every ounce of strength she had left.

The iron ring on her finger felt heavier, a cold reminder of a debt she owed. Beneath her rib, the golden string—delicate and shimmering—tugged gently, a promise, a tether she couldn’t name but always felt. She drifted somewhere between the worlds of waking and dreaming.

Faces blurred and shifted—her mate, her betrothed—figures flickering like shadows at the edge of her consciousness. She was pulled between what she was owed and what she was promised.

Again, she opened the windows, trying to let more sunlight in. But no matter how much light flooded the room, it couldn’t pierce the murkiness clouding her mind. She glimpsed a male figure bathed in sunlight, and then a woman—transformed into a fiery bird—screeching in anger. Loud. Everything was loud. The earth groaned beneath her, shifting and unstable.

The light she let in did nothing to clear her visions. The shadows remained.

Finally, she heard Feyre’s voice.

“I want to go home,” Elain murmured, her voice softer now, as though she were speaking to herself. Then, in the stillness, she heard it—a heartbeat. Deep, rhythmic, intimate. It thudded inside her chest, yet it was not her own. She knew without knowing that this heartbeat was home.

The golden string shimmered before her eyes, pulsing like a beacon. She rose from her bed, drawn by its soft glow, her feet moving before her mind could catch up. It led her through the quiet corridors, past the cold stone walls, past Nesta’s fussing voice, until she found herself in front of a window. She sat. She waited. The heartbeat grew louder, more insistent. Was he speaking to her? Was this real? She couldn't tell if she was still dreaming, lost in that liminal space between sleep and waking. She didn’t respond, and didn't dare to break the spell.

The sunlight hit his eye—golden, strange, glowing.

He will come like a knight in shining armor that reminds you of the sun.

She turned slowly.

His presence filled the room, familiar and yet foreign. His gaze held hers, unwavering, as though he had been waiting for her to see him fully.

He didn’t have dark hair. He didn’t exude the quiet, mysterious confidence she thought she’d been searching for.

But he was him—the most beautiful man, no, the most beautiful male she had ever seen.

And in that moment, she knew. Knew it as surely as if it were a memory she had long forgotten, buried deep beneath years of doubt and hesitation. She was his, as he was hers.

“Who are you?”

“I am Lucien,” he said, his voice steady. “Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

The name crashed into her like a wave, sweeping away the fog that had clouded her mind. She blinked, the murkiness around her vision dissolving as everything clicked into place. His name, the golden string, the heartbeat—it all made sense now. It was as though the sunlight that she would flood her bedroom for days had finally broken through into her very being, illuminating the truth buried deep within her soul.

“Lucien,” she whispered, tasting the name on her tongue. “From my sister’s stories. Her friend.”

If she had remembered the rest of the crone’s reading, it might have saved her—saved her from the ache that had lived inside her chest for so long, from the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at the edges of her heart, from the waiting, the endless waiting, for happiness she thought would never come.

But then again, Elain had never been one to believe in premonitions. She had never tempted fate—until the one time she did. And that had led her here, to him, to her mate.

The Mother, in her twisted sense of humor, had given her the same gift.

[sinner-as-saint]

scary? my god, you're divine

Hitman/Mob!Bucky x Reader 

Run-through: Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right? 

Themes: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, bucky’s in his late thirties), mentions of violence and death, hitman!Bucky, smut, fluff, explicit language, virgin!reader, HEA

Something woke you up in the middle of the night. 

And you’d been staring at the dark ceiling above your bed for the past few minutes now. What had woken you up? It could’ve been the strong winds hitting the large Georgian windows. Or perhaps it was the soft ticking of the nearby clock. Or maybe even the weight of all the incessant thoughts running through your head. 

Gods, you thought, what a day. 

It had started out like any other. Your father was pacing around, worried and barking orders on the phone, trying to find a way to put a stop to this chaos that was quickly forming into a full war between him and his number one rival. Small attacks had turned to frequent drive-bys, threats had turned into taking turns and blowing up each other’s warehouses and clubs. And it would only get worse and worse. 

But this morning, as he watched you come downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, something in his eyes was different. And you could tell what was coming. You had been thinking about this for days. So when he sat you down and discussed how you could do your part in helping to put an end to all of this. 

“It’s only a matter of time before he sends his son, his favourite weapon after us all,” Your father sounded defeated. “And none of us would survive him. No one ever does. You know that.” 

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I know.” 

The son of your father’s rival, Bucky Barnes, was a name which could make even powerful men like your father tremble in fear. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. No one knew what he looked like. Those who had seen him claimed that he always wore a muzzle-like mask to conceal his identity. He was known for being his father’s most prized weapon. They say he never misses, that his aim is and has always been as sure as Eros’ arrows. He was like an evil Cupid. 

“The marriage would only be on paper of course, you don’t have to live with him.” Your father explained, seeming desolated, “But you being married to him would make us family, and…” He trailed off, sighing. 

But you knew what he meant. Family meant everything in this society. If your family and the rival’s were joined to each other by marriage, all attacks would cease. Because keeping family safe was everyone’s number one priority, even in this line of work. 

So this was all up to you now. Your family’s safety, the safety of people who worked with and for your father, all the allies, and friends, and acquaintances. It was a heavy weight to carry. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Things happened so quickly after that. Phone calls were had, arrangements and deals were made, and by the afternoon, a sheet of paper was brought to you. That’s it. No groom, no fancy shit. Just a piece of paper on which Bucky Barnes had already signed. And with your signature added next to his, you two were now forever husband and wife by law. 

It was weird, being married to a man you had never seen before. He was just a name. Granted, a name with immense magnitude in the society, but still just a name. No face to go with it. 

By the evening, your things were packed. It was an order by your new husband. He wanted his new bride in his home, and things were so freshly mended that neither you nor your father wanted to argue. So Bucky sent cars and a bunch of his soldiers to escort you to his house. It was not unexpected that he was so absent from all this. Bucky Barnes had a reputation of living in the shadows. He was so rarely seen.

Bucky’s house was not too far from your family home. In fact, the closer you got to your new home, the more you realised that despite everything, you did not mind this as much as you thought you would. 

Your husband’s home was this stunning piece of architecture. A lavish Georgian-style mansion. Beige stone, carved details and mouldings around the many windows and main entrance. Dark shingles on the roof, well-manicured lawn, a long driveway giving it a sense of both elegance and exclusivity. The mansion sat on a beautiful, seemingly endless estate. Lush and green. It was a testament to the wealth and the power of its owner. 

You were politely led inside the home by one of the many staff members who took care of the house. And the interior was just as breathtaking. Luxurious, with the right amount of vintage accents. 

“We did what we could with the limited time we had to prepare a room for you.” The kind lady had said to you. She also mentioned that this room would be entirely yours. Bucky apparently had his own on the other side of the mansion. 

You murmured that it was alright, and when she finally showed you to the room they had ready for you, you were pleasantly impressed. The layout, the colour theme, the decor, all of it was to your liking. You even had a personal little balcony which looked over the endless green backyard. 

That night you dined alone, which was not a surprise. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes was a busy man, and he was apparently above trivial things like dining with his new wife. But the silence was welcomed. After dinner you found yourself back in your bedroom, and soon in bed with a book. 

Well, maybe this was your new life now. Grand mansion with an impressive library. Solo dinners and kind staff members. A giant, dreamy bedroom all for you. Dare you say, it wasn’t too bad. 

–

But here you were now, unable to fall back asleep after some mysterious thing woke you up. You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You couldn’t even blame your new surroundings for your inability to sleep. Everything here was so quiet, and comfortable. Even this new bed felt like laying on the fluffiest cloud. Perhaps you could read some more–

You froze when you heard it. 

Someone breathing. Someone else’s breaths. A soft exhale, but it was enough to make your heart race in panic. It was the middle of the night. And there was someone in this dark room with you. 

Slowly, you tried to reach for the lamp on your bedside table to turn it on, but then you heard a voice say, “Don’t.” 

A smooth, relaxed, male voice. Sounding like it came from one corner of the room. It could only be one man, couldn’t it? 

“Bucky?” You questioned, for some reasons pulling the covers up to your chin as if he was not a man but a ghost. 

A pause, then he said, like he was gently teasing you, “Hello, wife. Can’t sleep?” 

You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness better. You strained your eyes until you could see the silhouette of a man in the corner of the room. He was sitting in one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, quiet, still like a marble statue. 

There was almost no light coming into the room. The thick curtains allowed very little moonlight in, and it was hard to see. But you couldn’t ignore that large silhouette now that you’d noticed him. Something near him was shiny, almost metal like, you couldn’t tell what it was. 

“Do you always lurk around in the shadows like a ghost?” You asked, wondering where the hell you found the confidence to talk to one of the finest hitmen like this. It’s not like he would shoot you if he didn’t like you. A small voice said. Would he? 

A chuckle. Deep, and careless. A boyish sound. 

“It’s my house,” He responded in that same gentle but teasing tone, “I lurk wherever I please.” 

Well, he did have a point there. 

“Well then,” You said in a casual tone, “If you’re done lurking and spying on me, I’d like to go back to bed.” 

A soft scoff. Then he said, “I’ve watched you toss and turn for the past half an hour. I’d say you’re having trouble turning your brain off.” 

Half an hour?! 

“Wouldn’t you?” You retorted, keeping your voice calm and steady. “If you were forced to marry someone who’s so mysterious that no one’s ever seen them before, wouldn’t you have some trouble turning your brain off?” 

“Ah.” He got up, and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he was approaching the bed, “No one forced you to marry me. A suggestion was made and you agreed to it.” 

You replied quickly, “The alternative was watching everyone I love and myself be murdered by you, so semantics.” 

Another chuckle as he stopped at the edge of the bed, so close to you. You refused to move. You tilted your head up but could still only see his silhouette. He spoke in that teasing tone again, “They said you were smart, and beautiful. Guess they forgot to mention you were bratty too.” 

You frowned. “What?” 

Silence. Then he began moving away from your bed and towards the door. “Good night, wife.” 

“Good night,” You muttered, slightly annoyed and confused, “Ghost.” 

You heard his soft chuckle right as he shut the door behind him and left you all alone again in the dark. You didn’t dare turn the lamp on even after he left. 

— 

“Is Bucky ever home?” 

You asked one of the staff members at breakfast the next morning. The lady smiled at you and answered, “He keeps to himself. We rarely ever know if he’s home or not. He works at odd hours, you see? Besides, our job is to take care of the house. We clean, we make the meals and leave them in the fridge, we get our paychecks each month. Everyone is happy. We don’t pry.” 

You nodded, sipping on some tea. “So… are you one of the people who don’t know what he looks like?” 

“Oh no. I saw him recently.” She said, smiling. 

“How recent?” You asked. 

“A couple of months ago. He’s a busy man, he’s rarely ever home.” 

Unbelievable. 

“Doesn’t it feel like you’re employed by a ghost?” 

She smiled again, refilled your cup and said, “Oh, we’re used to Mr. Barnes. Sure, sometimes it feels like the house is way too empty. But look, now you’re here! We get to take proper care of someone for once.” 

She was so cheery and kind that you couldn’t help but smile at her words. How on earth did a man that grim manage to have the best staff members in the whole world? 

— 

The following night, Bucky came to see you again. 

You woke up upon hearing the door of your bedroom opening. You sat up again, leaning against the headboard. You didn’t reach for the lamp on your bedside table this time. Instead you said, “Lurking again, I see.” 

“Oh yes,” He answered, taking a seat on the same sofa by the dark fireplace. “How was your day, wife?” He asked, as if this was the most normal way to have a conversation. 

“Good.” You said, “I spoke with your staff members. They say they barely ever see you at home.” 

He sighed, “I barely ever am at home.” 

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see it. He was too… intangible. Faceless. There was nothing you knew about him aside from his profession. And not knowing was starting to annoy you. 

“Why can’t I see you?” You asked. “I mean it’s not fair. I married you. I’ll eventually see you someday.” 

He was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Will you?” 

“Well, yes.” 

“What for?” There was that teasing tone again. So subtle. But it was there. 

Your face burned. “Well… we’re married.” You stated the obvious. “And it won’t be long till our families start asking for, you know, grandbabies.” 

“Babies can be made in the dark.” His smooth voice felt like a gentle caress. Like the finest, cool silk sliding over your warm body… 

Oh no. You can’t like his voice. Not yet. 

“That’s not what I–,” You sighed, “Why are you so against showing your face? Are you ugly?” 

He chuckled then. Loudly, if you could see him you’d surely see his shoulders shaking. “You think too much, wife.” He got up again, ready to leave. “Good night.” 

You sighed, defeated, and listened to the sounds of him leaving the room. Then almost angrily whispered, “Good night, husband.” 

—

“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it?” You asked two of the staff members one morning while they set the table for your breakfast. “That’s why he doesn’t show his face?” 

The two ladies chuckled to themselves, and one of them said, “No he isn’t.” She sounded confident too. 

“Have you seen his face? Like properly?” 

They both nodded. 

“And? You don’t find it weird that he doesn’t show his face?” You questioned. “He refuses to let me see him. He only comes to talk to me in the dark. Like some messed up Eros.” You whispered the last part to yourself. 

One of the ladies said, gently, “Give him time. He’s not… terrible.” 

— 

“Your staff speaks highly of you.” You said to him when he came to see you that night. Again, sat in that corner like a ghost whose only purpose was to haunt your bedroom specifically. 

“Do they?” 

“Yes,” You made yourself comfortable, leaning against the headboard like you had the habit of doing. “Do you pay them to sing your praises?” 

He chuckled. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m not some sort of monster?” 

You sighed. “If not then why can’t I see you?” 

“Not yet.” He said. 

“Why?” 

“Because I said so.” He replied, and by the sounds of it, he stood up. Surely ready to leave. “Now, is there anything you need?” 

You tried to see if you could tell where he was standing but the room was too dark. However, it seemed like, judging by the sound of footsteps, that he’d gotten closer to the end of your bed. “There’s nothing to do around the house. The ladies take care of everything. I appreciate the library, but…” 

He was quiet, like he was thinking. Then said, “I’ll see to it.” 

“I’m assuming you won’t let me go back to work in my family’s companies.” You could tell he wouldn’t. 

“No,” He said, as expected. “You’re my wife now. I’m well equipped to provide for you and see to your needs for the rest of our lives. But if you have any hobbies, please, indulge away.” 

Something about his calm tone made you confess your little secret, “I like to paint. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.” 

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Perhaps the dark helped you open up better. Maybe the fact that you didn’t know him made it easier to talk. Like how people tend to prefer texting over calls. Him being so invisible made it so much more effortless. 

You continued, “I always wonder what it must be like to have an exhibition of my works.” You chuckled. “I know it sounds vain but… I’ve always wanted to let my mind and soul leak all over canvases, and share it with the world. I think it’s such a brave thing when people do that.” 

He was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in that teasing tone, “Painting, huh?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of me, ghost.” 

He chuckled. “Get some sleep, wife.” 

And then he left. 

— 

The following morning, you woke up to two surprises. 

The first one was waiting for you at the breakfast table. You noticed the box on the floor immediately. It was partially opened, and had a note stuck to it. 

The note read: ‘Since there’s nothing to do around the house…’ written in a messy handwriting. Surely Bucky’s. 

You opened the box and in there, on a folded blanket, was a sleeping, fluffy little puppy. A black lab it seemed. With a pink collar around her neck. You gasped as you gently picked it up and couldn’t resist bringing it up to your face. Puppies always smelt so good. 

The little one yawned and let out some cute noises as you held her up to look at her properly. By now the two ladies whom you saw frequently around the house walked up to you and one of them said, “He left something else for you.” 

You followed the ladies, new puppy in hand, and they led you to what seemed like a newly built studio. It was in an area of the mansion where you didn’t go very often. And as you walked in, you gasped in surprise for the second time that morning. 

It was located on the ground floor. A bright and spacious space. The beige walls felt like a giant blank canvas in itself. The large Georgian windows allowed the perfect amount of light in. And everything in the room was neatly organised. Art supplies, paints, canvases, palettes, easels. 

Oh, it was perfect. 

The ladies left you to explore on your own, saying something about bringing you breakfast in here. But you were distracted by the bright yellow sticky note on one of the easels. You walked up to it and it read: ‘For your mind and soul to leak all over. Paint me something. I’ll consider it a wedding gift.’ 

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read and re-read the note left by your mysterious husband. You whispered to your sleeping puppy, “Maybe our ghost isn’t so bad, huh?” 

-

Hours went by. 

The ladies brought you and the puppy your meals, a bed for the pup, snacks for you, all while you were busy letting your creativity flow as much as possible. 

The first few canvases were horrible according to you. You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in so long so it felt like day one all over again. But gradually, over the next few canvases, you could see what your brain was trying to create. 

The blank canvas soon turned into flowy shapes. Curves, facial features, hands. Entwining bodies. Two of them. And the colour purple, lots of it. It didn’t make too much sense at first, but the more you worked on it the more you realised what you were painting. 

It was your version of ‘The Abduction of Psyche’. How fitting. 

By the time you were done and happy with it, your back was aching from sitting on that stool all day. It was almost time for dinner. The sun had set. The puppy was awake so you held her up to show her the canvas and asked, “You think our ghost will like it?” 

She let out the tiniest, softest howl. 

“Yeah, I think so too.” 

You left to shower and have dinner. Then once it was time for bed you asked one of the staff members, “Does Bucky have some kind of an office?” 

She replied saying yes he does, and that she could show you where it was. You grabbed the not yet dry canvas and carefully carried it all the way to where Bucky’s office was. The lady again left you all by yourself to explore. 

At first you didn’t want to spend too much time in there. It was Bucky’s space after all. But then you thought, if he was comfortable walking into your bedroom at odd times during the night, why shouldn’t you check out his office? 

So you did. You left the canvas where it could dry without any problem and where Bucky would see it upon entering the room. Then you began exploring. The room was not what you were expecting for someone like Bucky. You thought it would be less… old school. 

He had a vintage looking typewriter on his desk for gods’ sake. Not one he used of course, but it added layers to his character you thought. Dark wooden furniture, comfortable looking chairs, more bookshelves filled with cloth-bound books. It was… cosy. 

So cosy in fact that you grabbed a book and made yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. You’d read for an hour or so then head off to bed, you thought. 

But soon, you drifted off to sleep. Right there. In Bucky’s office. 

-

You woke up and felt something soft and fluffy moving around on your lap. You opened your eyes and quickly realised you weren’t in bed. The room was dark. With very little light coming in from the outside. There were no curtains in this room, but also it was situated in an area of the mansion where very little moonlight came in.

Before you could panic though, a voice spoke up from not too far away, “You’ve been busy today, I see.” 

Ah, Bucky. And fuck. You’d fallen asleep in his office. 

You refused to feel embarrassed. So you asked, “Did you like your wedding gift?” 

“Yes.” He replied, and gauging by the sound you could tell he was sitting at his desk, in the darkest corner of the room. “I’ll hang it in my office.” 

You smiled in the dark, feeling a little proud of yourself. “And where’s my wedding gift?” 

“In your lap.” 

Fair. 

“What should we name her?” You asked, reaching to caress your puppy who let out an adorable grunt. “Hedone? Donnie, for short?” 

He let out a chuckle. “You are really leaning into this whole Eros-Psyche thing, huh?” 

You shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just show me your face. But you keep choosing not to, so deal with it.” 

A pause. Then he asked, “You like your new studio?” 

That made you sit up straighter. “I love it. Thank you.” Then you added, “My family always thought painting was a waste of time. They said it kept my head in the clouds too much. That it was… pointless.” 

He was quick to say, “It’s not. Besides, your hobbies don’t have to make sense to anyone else but yourself. And I’ve seen the other canvases you left in the studio. They’re good.” 

You turned to face the dark corner he was in. “You think?” 

“Yes,” He said. “We can hold an exhibition if you want. Let me know when you’re ready.” 

You let out a surprised chuckle. And when he didn’t laugh you realised he was serious. “Bucky, it's not so easy.” You explained calmly. “There’s so much work that goes into it, there needs to be some cohesion to the art pieces. There’s marketing, there’s research, there’s…” You exhaled, “There’s a lot of work to be done. Art exhibitions aren’t as easy or quick as you think it is.” 

He replied, “Leave all that to me. Just let me know when you want to hold one.” 

Just like that? 

“I… okay.” 

You felt warm in a way you’d never felt before. No one had ever taken your interests so seriously before. You’d never even been able to discuss this freely about your hobbies. And here Bucky was, ready to listen and interact with it. 

You got up to leave because this was… a lot to process. “Well then. Good night, Bucky.” 

A soft scoff. “Think I liked it more when you called me a ghost.” 

You smiled as you approached the door, puppy in hand and amazed at how well you were able to navigate in the dark. “Night, ghost.” 

He gave you a satisfied hum, then, “Good night, wife.” 

— 

It was bizarre to admit but you’d gotten used to those conversations in the dark with your husband. Days went by quickly given how engrossed you were with painting. Especially with the thought of a potential exhibition now in the back of your mind. Gods, that would be a dream. 

And while your days consisted of painting, playing and training your puppy, exploring more and more of the grounds and your new home, making quick trips to the stores to get more supplies, catching up with your friends who were still trying to grasp the fact that you got married so quickly, getting to know the household staff and the guards better, your night consisted of waiting and fighting your sleep until Bucky came to talk to you. 

It was always short conversations. Filled with easy banter and teasing tones, sarcastic comments and you asking each and every night if he was in the mood to show his face. Bucky always said no. And you always sent him off with a ‘good night, ghost’. 

You had gotten used to your ghost. As had your puppy. She would bark happily each time Bucky would enter your bedroom door at night. She’d run to him for playtime and cuddles as he sat in his dark corner and spoke with you until you fell asleep. 

Bucky would often leave you some kind of a note, for you to read in the morning. At the breakfast table, or in your studio. Sometimes he would leave compliments and comments on your dry canvases. Eventually, you stopped fighting the smiles which formed on your face as you read his notes. 

But all of it only made you want to see him more. Not that it would change anything. Bucky had quickly become… a friend, you’d say. A confidant if you will. He had become a habit. Part of your routine. 

And then one night, he didn’t come to see you. 

You waited. He usually came around midnight. It was well past 2 a.m. and he never came. 

At some point you went downstairs, pretending as if you just needed some water. One of the guards caught you trying to peek out into the driveway from the kitchen window. 

“Boss is not home yet, ma’am.” He said. 

You acted like you didn’t care. But still asked, “He does this often?” 

“Sometimes.” 

You nodded. You took your drink and with your puppy in your arms you walked back upstairs, passing by the many guards who were on duty inside the house at nighttime. 

“It’s alright, he’s probably just busy.” You whispered to the sleeping pup as you made your way up. “Or maybe he’s hurt and tending to his wounds somewhere else.” You felt a gentle pinch in your chest at the thought of Bucky hurt and alone out there. So you forced yourself to think of something else. Something way worse. “Or maybe he’s with someone else.” You scoffed, nuzzling the soft fur of your pup, “This marriage means nothing to him anyway. But that’s alright, we don’t need him. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other. Don’t we?” 

Safe to say, you went to bed slightly annoyed that night. And in denial too because you refused to admit that you missed him. 

– 

There was a note waiting for you in your studio the next morning. 

It read: ‘No I did not spend the night with someone else. I’ll explain later. See you tonight, wife.’ 

Huh. Looks like the guards have really good ears. 

Well, whatever. It’s not like you were impatiently waiting for night to come just so you could talk to your ghost of a husband. Right? 

Except you were though. So much that you couldn’t paint a decent thing. You were easily giving up on each canvas, and leaving a trail of unfinished work the more time went on. 

Eventually you sighed and left the studio. You tried reading but that wasn’t happening either. So you did the only thing you knew would take your mind off things. You asked the ladies to show you where everything was kept in the kitchen and you got to baking. 

Which you did until it was time for bed. Your mood was off, and it was all because of a faceless man. And that somehow annoyed you even more. 

You grabbed a plate of the mini muffins you’d made earlier and made your way upstairs. Your puppy had just gotten used to the stairs so she happily followed you everywhere you went now. 

You proceeded to sit in bed, and eat your muffins angrily and forced yourself to try to sleep. 

-

You woke up sometime later. And you just knew who was in the room with you. 

Except he wasn’t in his usual spot. 

He was standing by the windows which faced your bed this time, with his back to you. The curtains were pulled, the moonlight came and there was his dark silhouette. And… you frowned as you noticed the shiny metal arm. 

“You’re home.” You said. 

Bucky turned his head to the side, “I am.” He said. 

You took a second or two to admire the side profile. With the moonlight shining all around his silhouette he looked like a fallen angel of sorts. “You didn’t come home last night.” 

“I was out working,” He said. 

“Maiming and killing?” 

“You know me so well.” 

“Is that a… metal arm?” You questioned. 

“It is.”  

“Were you hurt?” 

“I was.” 

You sighed again. “Is it always going to be bland answers and mystery with you?” 

“Get used to it.” He said in that teasing tone. 

You got out of bed as quietly as you could. “I think I liked you better without the attitude, when you sat in the corner like a ghost.” You took some steps away from the bed, approaching the giant windows. The room was rather spacious so it would take some more steps to get close to him. If you’d only– 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He warned, but remained in the same spot. 

You groaned. “Don’t you think this is getting tiring? I mean, I’m married to a man I’ve never seen before. In fact, no one has ever seen you. Why? What are you hiding?” You added, sounding defeated.  

Bucky lowered his head, which only accentuated how broad his shoulders really were. He sighed. “Do you know how much trouble could’ve been avoided if only Psyche trusted Eros?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I think she had her reasons. A mysterious, faceless lover who only shows up in the dark and hides in the shadows is bound to raise some doubts. Don’t you think so?” 

He chuckled. You blinked and he’d turned around to face you. But despite that, you couldn’t see his face at all. Even though he was inches away. 

He was quiet. Observing you with interest. The moonlight allowed him to see all of you, and he just… stared for a moment or two. A shiver ran down your back. An unfamiliar, but pleasant shiver. 

Without a word said, Bucky reached out and gently touched the thin strap of your silky night dress resting on your shoulder. His metal finger gliding along your skin and making you gasp at his cold touch. 

“What’s this?” He asked in his usual teasing tone. “Trying to tempt me with this excuse of a night dress, wife?” 

Fuck. Had his voice dropped lower? 

Fuck! He was so close to you. You didn’t even notice that your heart had begun racing. Your breaths had deepened. Shit. Why was this so hot?! 

“Are you? Tempted?” You asked with a steady voice, without thinking obviously. You just needed to say something so he wouldn’t notice the way you were basically panting after him like a thirsty dog. 

He chuckled. But remained quiet. 

So you said, “Thought so.” You sounded smug but you were feeling the complete opposite. 

Bucky scoffed in that arrogant way he often did. It was insane how easily you were able to pick up on his mannerism when you hadn’t even known him for that long. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to sleep with you?” 

Oh. 

Oh this was bad. Because now your brain was making up hot, steamy scenes in your head. Scenes involving you and your faceless, mysterious husband in the dark. Entwining bodies on soft bed sheets. Fuck, you should paint that. No, what?  

“Then why haven’t you?” You found yourself asking. 

Okay then, bold as fuck it is. You’d gone past the point of no return now. Guess it was time for this conversation. 

Bucky’s fingers remained on your shoulder, tracing the thin strap there. And you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he asked, “You want me to?” His metal hand dropped to your waist and before you could fully process it, he pulled you closer, leaned in to whisper into your ear, “You want my hands all over you, wife?” 

You could feel his slight stubble against your skin as he spoke. His lips brushing against your ear, making you gasp and tremble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders. And oh, he was pulling you even closer. Your chest pressing against his. The cool material of his suit felt amazing against your warm skin. 

“Look at you,” He cooed into your ear. “Is this what you want? Hmm?” He placed both his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips moved lower, brushing against your neck as he spoke. “You like how rough my hands feel?” He moved his hands up and down your sides. “Do you know how many people I’ve hurt with these hands?” He chuckled when he heard the tiniest moan leave your mouth. “You’re so soft and warm, aren’t you worried what these hands might do to you?” 

He nuzzled your neck, hands roaming all over your sides and back and squeezing your butt. You became so pliant under his touch. Tilting your head back to allow him to kiss all over your neck, pressing your chest more and more against his like you couldn’t get enough. The layers of clothing, you wanted them gone. 

With a shaky voice you murmured, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or turn me on.” 

He laughed. And it was the best sound you’d ever heard. 

“You’re sick in that pretty head, huh?” He teased. “That beautiful brain is filled with filthy, dirty, dark thoughts, isn’t it?” His metal hand reached up and carefully wrapped around your throat. 

You gasped as he squeezed just a little bit. Those dirty thoughts he spoke about really started to fill your head. 

“Are you just all talk or–,” 

He cut you off by dragging you all the way to your bed, still holding you by the throat. 

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he gave you a slight push, ending with you falling onto your bed on your back. You looked up at him, hovering above you, his lower body pressing into yours. 

“Do you just run that mouth?,” He asked, supporting himself with one hand while the metal one remained wrapped around your throat, his voice low and menacing but in a way that made your legs part on their own so his hips settled in between them. Your bodies fit together like the most perfect puzzle pieces. “Or do you know how to take it like a brat as well?” 

You felt the need to let him know then. “I don’t know,” You said, sounding both breathless and bratty. “I’ve never had to take it.” 

He paused for a moment. Then asked in subtle surprise, “What do you mean?” Even his grip around your throat loosened completely. 

You squirmed in slight embarrassment but that only caused your hips to grind against his and for a moment there both of you let out a strained moan. Fuck. The tension between the two of you was almost physical now. Even in the dark, even with Bucky being nothing more than just a shadow above you. 

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, still feeling his cold fingers all over your skin, “I’ve never been with anyone before.” 

He was quiet. As if thinking. You tried your hardest but you couldn’t see any of his facial features. You knew he had a slight stubble because you’d felt it earlier. But aside from that, you knew nothing. Not even his eye colour. 

“You want us to stop?” He asked, shifting his body slightly as if he was ready to pull away if you asked him to. 

“No,” You answered way too quickly. Then you got bold again and let your hands find their way back to his shoulders. You pulled him down, closer to you just a little and said, “This is okay.” 

His fingers moved up, from your neck to your mouth. “Yeah? You want this, huh?” He mumbled, tracing your mouth with his fingers. You shivered under his touch. “You’ve been a whiny little brat lately, haven’t you, wife? Pouting and all just because I wouldn’t show myself to you.” He whispered, leaning in to just brush his lips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his soft lips rubbing against yours. Bucky chuckled at your reaction. “Don’t think my staff doesn’t report back to me. I’ve been well aware of all the times you asked the ladies to give you details about me.” 

Now that made you squirm in embarrassment. Still you said, sounding a little annoyed at being caught. “Can you blame me?”

“Can’t you just trust me?” He argued. 

The danger and authority in his tone had your thighs clenching together to try and alleviate the torturous pain in between your legs. You were almost certain you had never been this turned on and annoyed at the same damn time before. You sighed in frustration. “This isn’t fair.” 

“No, it isn’t,” He said, pulling away and began undressing you to your pleasant surprise. “Deal with it.” 

Oh fuck. 

Fuck… You had to hold back from whimpering each time his hands rubbed against your skin. He took his time in sliding the straps of your night dress down your shoulders, dragging the silky fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked under him. 

You shivered once he left your night dress bunched around your waist carelessly. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air. It was because even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was staring right at you. 

You spoke in a hushed voice, not daring to speak loud in fear that it might break whatever spell you were under. “So you get to see me naked all you want, but I can’t see your face?” 

He chuckled. “You want me to leave this room right now? Leave you here all wet and squirming? Or do you want me to take care of it and make you come? Huh?” 

That shut you up really quickly. 

“I thought so.” He sounded smug again when he said that. “I should spank you for the brat you are. But since it’s your first time… I’ll be nice.” 

His hands touched you everywhere, your thighs, your stomach, your sides, your chest, your neck… everywhere. He left you gasping and trembling under him. 

“Please.” You caught yourself whispering. 

Bucky leaned down, his soft mouth brushing against your cheek as he said, “Please what?” 

You squirmed, “Touch me, please.” 

He chuckled. You felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your naked body. “Look at you,” He murmured, lips brushing against your stomach, “You’re so eager already.” 

You heard the faint chuckle which left his mouth the moment he noticed your legs spread apart for him naturally. Your face felt like it was burning but fuck, you were too turned on to even be properly embarrassed. Also, being in complete darkness helped. 

Damn. You were really getting intimate with your husband whom you hadn’t even seen yet. And somehow that fact was making you want this even more. 

But that mystery stopped being an issue the moment Bucky leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.

He poked at your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than before. Back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan at the foreign feeling. Fuck he felt good. You whimpered as you felt his tongue stroke your most sensitive parts. Your immediate reaction was to pull your hips back from the overwhelmingly good sensation his mouth was causing. And that made him grip your thighs tighter, keeping them pinned to the bed. 

“Stop moving.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble. 

You whined as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to his mouth. The metal hand on your warm skin made you shiver and tremble so much that you were thankful for the darkness. 

The small amount of moonlight which came in allowed you to only see the silhouette of his broad shoulders, and his head moving slowly, sensually in between your legs. Fuck… somehow the mystery only made it hotter.

Oh you were fucked in the head for real. 

And oh, Bucky was a fucking tease. Once he noticed how easily you cried out and moaned for him, he slowed down and began kissing around your clit just to purposely mess with you. He kissed your thighs, purposely avoiding touching where he knew you needed him the most. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin around your inner thighs. 

“Bucky, please!” You cried out, hand reaching for his hair. When you managed to grab a fistful of his soft hair, you gave it a gentle tug. “Stop teasing me.” 

“You don’t get to give me orders, wife.” He said, sounding all proud and mighty. “I could just walk out of here and leave you like this. Naked and squirming.” 

“Please,” You begged again. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you. 

A scoff. Then he leaned in again. You whined and whimpered under him, with your legs wrapped around his head. Fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp instinctively as he flicked, and sucked, and teasing your clit as much as he could. 

“You’ve been a brat because you wanted your husband’s attention so badly, huh?” He taunted. “Is that what you wanted? Just my attention?” He chuckled. “You’re as calm as a happy kitten now, aren’t you?” 

His stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and the friction burned a little but it was the kind of pain you kept wanting more of. You wanted more of him. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” You murmured, throwing your head back, moaning as he kept teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. 

“Come for me, wife.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud. 

You couldn’t even hold on for much longer, and ended up coming undone all over his tongue. Heart racing, legs trembling in his grip as you came. Your moans were soft and incessant. 

Fuck… that felt amazing. 

You had barely gotten your heart to stop racing, and Bucky was already standing up and in the dark you couldn’t see very well but it did look like he was moving away from the bed. 

“You’re leaving?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from sounding a little upset at his departure. 

All he said was, “Good night, wife. See you tomorrow.” 

You scoffed after he shut the door behind him, leaving you in darkness yet again. “Ghost.” 

— 

That night ended up being the first of many. 

Your days consisted of painting, and finally finding a flow in most of your pieces. Perhaps if you’re able to make a decent collection, you could start thinking about the exhibition seriously, you thought. When you weren’t painting you were either training your rapidly growing puppy, or baking. You’d begun taking your puppy out for walks around the mansion, consequently doing some more exploring of the grounds. 

After all that, each night you’d get in bed and wait for Bucky. It became part of your routine. And each night with him was different. He’d spend his time touching you slowly until you were purring for him like a kitten. Kissing you all over your body in the dark. Making you come all over his tongue and fingers. Kissing you until you moaned and pulled him closer just to feel his weight pressing down on you. 

But he would always leave after making you come. And you two never actually fucked. Neither would he let you make him come. 

On nights when he wouldn’t make it home, you’d worry yourself to sleep. But then each morning you’d find a note from him either in your studio or the breakfast table. He would always say some cheesy shit. And he would always promise to come see you later that night. 

On nights when you two didn’t engage in anything sexual, it was still just as fulfilling. Bucky would tell you things about his work, his past, his family. You learnt that he was over a decade older than you, and teased him about being an old man until he pinned you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe. 

You learnt that he liked to keep to himself and stay as far away from his family as possible. He liked peace and quiet, which would explain his lovely home being here away from most people. 

The more you learned about him, the easier it was to grow fond of him. But the more you grew fond of him, the greedier you got. You wanted more. More of his time, his touch, his attention, and most of all, you wanted to see him. 

The mystery, while hot as fuck, was killing you. 

—

One night, things changed. 

Bucky came into your room as usual. He’d gotten bolder lately, he wouldn’t sit in the corner like a ghost anymore, instead he would find his way to your bed and only leave that bed after making you come hard. 

Tonight started out the same way.  

You felt his hands all over you as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. You giggled as he bit and licked that one sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers had a habit of finding themselves in his hair. It was insane how easily you’d gotten used to being with him in the dark. How easily you could find his mouth with your own. How easily you’d find your way into his arms. 

It was weirdly comforting. His warmth, his voice, his touch. 

“Tell me about your day,” He murmured, kissing your neck while his hands grabbed you and caressed you wherever he could reach. 

You squealed when you felt his metal fingers wandering dangerously close to your clit. Then said, “It went pretty well. I went out to buy some supplies, made a new friend at the store, I went to see my father but he wasn’t home. I took our dog for a walk, I painted…,” You gasped when his mouth trailed down till he took a nipple into his warm mouth, while he slid two fingers inside you gently. “Oh fuck…” You whined. 

He kissed his way up to your mouth again and said, “You sound so good when you moan for me, wife.” His lips brushed against yours. 

He was so close. And it was dark. And you wanted so desperately to see him. 

He moved his fingers expertly in and out of you. Making sure to brush against your most sensitive spots each time, turning you into a whimpering mess under him. He gave you a gentle kiss, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge. 

You whimpered and whined, then in the moment you just blurted out, “Can I please see you now?” 

Bucky stopped. He pulled away from you, making you whimper again as he got up and got out of your bed. 

In the dark it took a while for you to figure out where he was, whether he was still nearby or already making his way out the door. But he was here, standing near the bed. 

“We talked about this.” He said, sounding grave and disappointed. 

“But it’s been so long.” You argued. “I trust you.” 

He let out a loud exhale and said, “Then trust me when I say, it’s better this way.” 

You let out a sigh. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Bucky. Literally!” 

“Yes I can. I will.” He said arrogantly. That tone of his bothered you. “It’s better this way.” He repeated, but it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself instead of you. 

“Oh screw you!” You said with enough bitterness to make a grown man flinch. “If you won’t let me see you then stop coming into my bedroom. I don’t want to see you unless you agree to let go of this weird persona.” 

“Fine.” 

—

That night was the last time you heard from Bucky. 

He didn’t come home the following day. Nor the one after that. 

And no one knew where he went. 

You could tell something was wrong when you began noticing that the guards were talking in hushed voices whenever you were around. You noticed that the amount of security around the house doubled. That’s when you began to worry. 

By the third night, the entire house was filled with this almost tangible tension, worry, and fear. The house staff wouldn’t talk to you as much. The guards were always in and out of the house. The head of security advised you to not wander too far away from the house while you roam the grounds. 

You noticed the guards would follow you whenever you left the property. Be it when you left to visit your father at your old house or when you went out to buy supplies. 

Then you worried some more. But no one had answers to your questions. Nobody knew where he went. Whether he’s away for an assignment or if he’s simply choosing to be away from home. 

You tried your hardest to pretend that you didn’t care. You were still a little angry. After all, why couldn’t you see what he looked like? You’d spend so much time with him in the dark, running your hands all over him, tracing the outline of his facial features, he never had an issue with that. But why couldn’t you see him? 

You were angry, but also very much worried by the fourth day. You missed him, you realised. He had become such a habit, such a constant in your days. His sarcastic humour, his gentle hands, his comforting embrace, the way he left you notes in the morning, the way he took your art seriously. 

Fuck. You sat up in bed one night, patting ‘his’ side of the bed softly. You missed him. Badly. You felt a pinch inside your chest which you had never felt before. It hurt. You wanted him home. You admitted to yourself with a painful sigh. 

“Where are you?” You whispered, looking at the dark corner of your bedroom where he used to sit in silence like a ghost. “It’s okay if you want to stay in the dark forever.” You looked around the dark room which now without him seemed so much bigger and empty, “Just come home.” 

—

The next morning, as you half-heartedly approached the kitchen, you overheard something. And quickly realised you shouldn’t have heard it. It was the two ladies talking in hushed tones, the ones who usually served you your meals and often kept you company while you baked. 

“...cannot tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.” One of them said gravely. 

Sudden panic made your body freeze. You pressed your back against the nearest wall to keep yourself hidden while you processed those cryptic words. No, no, no. Is he hurt? Do they know something you don’t? 

The other replied, “But she deserves to know. Even if it’s not confirmed yet. I mean, do you see how she smiles when she reads his notes? Clearly she had grown to care for him. She needs to know.” 

The other argued, “I know, but I cannot imagine how hurt she will be when she hears about the rumours that her own father kidnapped her husband due to some past rivalry which was supposedly laid to rest after their wedding.” 

“They’ve been looking for him for days now. It’s been too long, he should’ve been found by now.” 

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! 

No. This cannot be happening. 

You carefully walked away from the kitchen. Thinking, processing, analysing. 

If your father did it, it must’ve been for some shitty, arrogant reason. He probably just wanted to rub it in Bucky’s family’s face that he could still eliminate his biggest threat if he wanted to. To show that he could still get rid of them by holding their most precious weapon hostage. To toy with them by making them wait in anticipation. Your father had done it before. Not with Bucky, but other people. He usually never asked for ransom but he liked having his rivals beg him for mercy. 

Shit. He’s had Bucky for days now. 

You moved without thinking twice about it. For some reason, your brain knew exactly what to do even though your heart was still bothered by a multitude of emotions. It felt like you were on autopilot. 

You rushed into Bucky’s office and grabbed a handgun from his desk drawer, checked if it was loaded. It was. You knew Bucky kept it there for safety, he had told you that one time when you two were in bed together. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, then felt movement around your ankles. You looked down at your puppy and gave her a sad smile as you bent down to pet her. “I’m gonna go find daddy, okay? I’ll be home soon.” You left her with a kiss. 

You rushed back downstairs and found a group of armed guards in the foyer near the front door. You didn’t have the time to explain it all to them, especially since you were driven by a gut feeling. Instead you asked, “Do you guys have a way of tracking my phone, or my car?” 

One of them nodded. The rest frowned in confusion. 

You tried to keep your calm as much as you could even though your heart was racing. “Okay, I’m gonna go to my father’s house. Don’t follow me yet, but I need some of you to come find me as soon as I begin driving away from there.” 

Surprisingly, they just nodded and let you go. 

The whole time you drove to your father’s house, it felt you were constantly having to force yourself to keep calm. After four days of having no idea where he was, and now as all the puzzle pieces fit together, it was hard to remain calm. You just wanted to get to him. 

And while you drove, unanswered questions tormented you. 

Was he hurt? Where was he being kept? Was he beaten up? Was he even conscious? Would this end badly? How far would your father take this? Would he hurt him? 

Before you knew it, you were entering your father’s property. The guards let you in like they always did. You had to take a minute to breathe in your car before stepping out and going inside your old home. 

Luckily your father was home. 

You walked in and stopped in the middle of the foyer as you saw him making his way down the stairs. He slowed down when he noticed the glare you sent his way. And when he stopped in the middle of the grand staircase, with you still glaring at him, the guards who were scattered around the entrance noticed. You caught the way they silently got closer and closer, slowly reaching for their guns. 

Good thing you’d brought your own. 

The guards, as well as your father, froze in place the moment you pulled out Bucky’s gun and pointed it at the man responsible for all of this shit. No one made a single sound. No guard moved to even try to disarm you. 

You looked at your hand, which was surprisingly steady as it held the gun. And there, on the side of the shiny metal, you spotted Bucky’s initials. Your heart throbbed in a painful way, but you refused to be emotional right now, even though you needed a good cry after having bottled up your feelings for the last few days. 

You glared at your father, who was still shocked, and asked in a cold tone you’d never used before, “Where’s my husband?” 

Your father frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

You repeated, “Where is he?” 

Your father scoffed, “You’ll shoot your own father? Is this how I raised you?” 

“And you’ll kidnap your own son-in-law? For what? To show that you’re still the shit?” You questioned in a slightly raised voice. 

He sighed like he was disappointed, “You don’t know what–,” 

You cut him off. “We had a deal, right? That these petty attacks would stop after the wedding? That’s why I got married, isn’t it? Because we’re supposed to keep family safe?” 

He was quiet for a moment. Then began talking again, “If I could just get them to–,” 

“Enough!” You sounded just as tired of his bullshit as you were. “Whatever plan you have, just stop!” Then it came spilling out of your mouth, “You were supposed to protect me. All of us,” You said, referring to your older siblings, “Instead you married each of us off in exchange for whatever or whoever was going to benefit you more.” 

He argued, “If this works, you can come back home. Don’t you want that?” 

“No,” You said, and realised you meant it. “This was never home.” You admitted. “He treats me better than my own family ever did. He doesn’t tell me that my art is a waste of time. He doesn’t keep me imprisoned inside his home. He doesn’t choose who I should mingle with and who I shouldn’t. He doesn’t force me to join family businesses because it’ll be good for his image.” You taunted your father. “And he’ll never sell me to the highest bidder.” 

Your father made a sound like he was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him?” 

You remained quiet. I care for him, you wanted to say, deeply. But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? Truth was… you did fall for him. His calm voice. His gentle but playful demeanour. His dark humour. His brilliant mind and sharp tongue, always ready to argue and debate. His gentle touch… you loved him. 

“What I do and who I care for is none of your concern anymore.” You concluded, stepping forward and keeping the gun aimed at his face. “Now, where is my husband?” 

The smirk on your father’s face was maddening. “You’ll never find him,” He said. “I’ve hidden him well.” He added.  

You gave him a smirk as well. One which mirrored his. 

“Oh don’t make me do this.” You cooed. “Did you forget all those times you got drunk and confessed all the bad things you did?” You began listing, “All those times you spilled all your little secrets. About our family businesses, about your allies, the lies and betrayal. The bodies that are buried on this very property. The skeletons in your closet.” You gave him a sick, sweet smile. “Imagine if all that information just magically ends up in the ears of your rivals, dad. Imagine the carnage.” 

His smirk disappeared. “You would betray me by siding with them?” He asked in disbelief. 

You were getting tired of this. So you lowered your gun and said, “I am one of them.” 

You walked out without a single glance back at your father, but you could tell he had his jaws clenched in anger. He hated being outsmarted. But his mistake was underestimating you. 

And as for Bucky’s location, well your father gave it away when he said ‘I’ve hidden him well.’ 

There was only one place he believed you knew nothing about since at the time that he told you about it, he was drunk out of his mind as he confessed more of his crimes: the rundown warehouse which he used as a hideout/storage for weapons and arms. 

Your father had always referred to Bucky being a ‘weapon’ so it was only fitting that he would think to hide him there. Thinking no one would find him. 

But you would. 

As you drove to the warehouse, you hoped that the guards were tracking you as you had instructed them to. Because if Bucky was truly there, there was a high chance that there would be some guards, and that Bucky must be injured. And you’d need help getting him out of there. 

Driving to the warehouse, you had silent tears streaming down your face. Not just out of sadness, but also frustration. Fuck, what had your life become? 

The warehouse was a disaster, you realised as you approached it. Large, crumbling, windows boarded up with rotting wood, broken machinery scattered around the outside. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. And it was exactly the type of structure no one would bother to look twice at. The perfect place to hide illegal things, and son-in-laws you hate. 

There weren’t as many guards as you expected. Which would mean that Bucky was either chained and locked up like an animal, or that he was injured to the point where he was too weak to fight his way out of here. 

Or both. 

You shivered as you got out of your car. The few guards who were around noticed you and one of them began walking faster towards you the more you got closer to the entrance. 

“Miss, you can’t be here. Your father explicitly said no one is allowed–,” 

You scoffed and said, “Oh, I know what he said.” You kept walking. “What will you do? Shoot me?” 

“Miss,” He tried again, “I can’t let you–,” 

You turned towards him and placed the barrel of Bucky’s gun right under the guard’s chin. “You were saying?” 

Then you heard it. A fleet of cars approaching. The guards heard it too. You heard them yelling at one another while the one in front of you remained frozen in place. You smirked at him and said, “Now go play with them.” 

You had just enough time to duck and run inside before the gunshots began. You didn’t stop. The interior of the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the outside, and by the sound of it, there were quite some guards on the roof. Their heavy footsteps as they ran to duck and try to escape the bullets raining down on them echoed inside the empty warehouse. 

It was fairly easy to spot Bucky. But fuck was it painful to see him that way. 

He was chained to the wall, shackles around his wrists and ankles. His body slumped on the ground, his breaths ragged. You could tell he was tired. Perhaps tired of fighting against the chains. You couldn’t hold back your soft sob as you ran to him. 

They had left his muzzle-like mask on him, covering the lower half of his face. The leather jacket and gloves he wore were covered in blood and dirt. A lot of blood. You knelt down in front of him and that’s when you noticed the bullet wound on his thigh. It looked fresh. 

“Bucky?” You called, reaching a hand to touch his face. He was cold to the touch, but stirred at the sound of your voice. “Bucky, come on. Wake up. Please.” You sniffled and inched closer to him, “I’m here, I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?” 

He let out a weak cough. You could barely hear it over the sound of the gunshots outside. 

“Bucky,” You tried to get the chains and shackles off of him, “Come on, wake up. We need to go home.” Your own voice cracked as you felt the silent tears streaming down your face as you were unable to get the shackles off. “Please,” You begged. 

Then as the gunshots outside faded away, you heard Bucky’s faint voice saying, “Use the gun.” 

You turned to face him. “What?” 

He spoke again, his voice raspier than usual and sounding muffled due to the mask. “Shoot at the chains.” 

Your hands trembled just a little as you reached for the gun you had brought. His gun. And you said, “Okay, don’t move.” 

You did. And only missed twice. 

Breaking the chains left the shackles still around his wrists and ankles but that could be dealt with later. You were panicking, wondering how you’d get him out of here but the guards barged in just in time. And you let out a sigh of relief when they ran straight to Bucky and carefully picked him up. 

As a couple of them managed to get Bucky in the backseat of your car, one of them let you know that there was a doctor and his assistants already waiting at home to tend to Bucky. Another one asked you what to do regarding the warehouse. 

“Burn it.” You told him. “I’ll deal with my father later, right now we need to get Bucky home.” 

On the drive home, Bucky kept trying to talk. But he was so weak he could barely get full sentences out. 

“Weren’t you mad at me?” He asked.

You sniffled and said refused to answer that. Instead you said, “Try not to talk. You’ve been shot, we don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” You rambled. “Let’s get you to the doctor, okay?”  

“S’okay,” He mumbled, “It went through.” 

That only hurt more. “Bucky please, you need to save energy, okay? We’re almost home.” 

“They… shot me with my own gun.” He refused to keep quiet. 

At first you thought his brain was being delirious and making him ramble. Because of the pain, exhaustion, thirst, hunger. But then a weak sound left his mouth. Still muffled by the mask because no one removed it, and it sounded a lot like a very weak, faint laugh. 

“Eros got pierced by his own arrow after all.” He mumbled. 

You held back a sob. Then muttered, “I hate you so much, Bucky Barnes.” 

Another weak laugh. “No, you don’t, wife.” 

Then he passed out cold. 

— 

The next few days which followed Bucky’s rescue went by so fast and so painfully. The medical team kept close watch on him for days. Bucky was in and out of consciousness a lot. All the meds and the exhaustion kept him constantly out cold. 

The nurses and the house staff were constantly around him. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to go into his room. Not yet. You’d linger near the door and the doctors and the staff would constantly update you about his condition, but you never went in. 

Mainly it was because of shame. At what your father had done to him. But also you were still making peace with and processing your own emotions and you couldn’t face him until you were fully ready. What was important was that he was rescued and safe in his home. 

About a week later, the medical team finally left. And promised they would do frequent check ups and told you that Bucky needed a lot of rest. 

And that night, you managed to find the courage to finally step inside Bucky’s bedroom. It was a lot like yours, just larger. The room was dark when you walked in. But the open curtains allowed some light in from the outside. 

Okay. You spoke to yourself as you approached Bucky’s bed. It’s high time you find out who you married. 

Your hands shook a little as you reached for the dim lamp on his bedside table. But you turned it on quickly before you could talk yourself out of it. 

The golden light illuminated the room partly, and there he was. A little bruised, with a cut on his lip. His handsome face made you smile and tear up at the same time. You couldn’t hold back from reaching to touch his face softly, carefully. You ran your knuckles along his cheek and whispered, “There you are, ghost.” 

He stirred. And soon, a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at you. For a moment you panicked, wondering if he would be upset. But instead he said, “This is cheating.” 

You let out a soft laugh and asked, “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for days.” 

“I feel like beating your father up.” He mumbled. 

“Oh, same.” You agreed. Then added, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you.” 

Over the past few days, the guards had gathered what had truly happened the day Bucky went missing. Turns out, he did leave for an assignment but your father and his men had been keeping a close eye on him for days, and since the wedding was supposed to have ended all rivalry, Bucky had his guard down as he entered your father’s territory. And your father had the upper hand for once and took advantage of it. Bucky was cornered, outnumbered and taken. He was kept in that warehouse up until you found him. 

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered, reaching for your hand on your lap. He gave your hand a soft squeeze and said, “You saved me.” 

You couldn’t look away from Bucky. It felt so intimate to finally be able to see his face. Then rather sheepishly, you asked, “Can I sleep here? I’ll be careful.” He was still injured and in pain, but you just wanted to be close to him. You needed to. 

He smirked, “Come on.” You walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, keeping some distance between you and him. He turned to look at you and said, “Want me to leave the light on?” 

You nodded. And he did. 

— 

A lot changed after that. 

Bucky was healing from his injury and was starting to walk again. Which meant that he was home a lot. He did ‘work’ but it mainly consisted of him ordering people around on the phone. 

Him being at home meant that he followed you around as much as he physically could. He would spend time in your studio, sometimes he’d stay for hours and watch you finish your pieces. He also spent a lot more time with your dog, taking her on short walks and teaching her new tricks. 

He’d stay with you in the kitchen while you baked. He’d go with you whenever you went shopping for supplies. Bucky became your shadow. And consequently, spending this much together made you feel closer than ever to him. 

He became your best friend. 

He also became a lot more… bold. 

—

One night Bucky found you in his bathroom. After that night when you first slept in his bed, you hadn’t gone back to your bedroom. So now, most of your things slowly found their way into his space. Like your night time skin care products. 

Bucky crept up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. 

You met his eyes through the mirror and gave him a smile. “Your limp is nearly gone.” You announced, noticing the way he walked was so much better now. 

He gave you a look which meant nothing but mischief, “And you know what that means?” 

You could already tell where this was going. You immediately turned him down. “Bucky, we cannot. You’re still injured.” 

“But it’s been weeks.” He said it like it was the ultimate torture. “Don’t you miss those nights we spent together? Hmm?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck. He knew it was one of your weaknesses. “Remember how good it feels when I make you come?” 

You sighed, letting him kiss you and hold you for a moment. “Buck… you’re still healing.” 

“Come on, baby,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll make it so good. I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.” 

You almost gave in the moment he playfully bit your neck, his hands finding the belt of your robe and shamelessly undoing it before sliding in to touch your warm skin. “But,” You tried to find something even though all you wanted was to drag him to bed, “Your stitches…” Your words ended in a soft moan as his metal fingers found their way in between your legs, circling around your clit. 

Bucky growled. Growled. Then said, “Fine, you get to be on top then.” 

You froze, and let out a nervous chuckle. “But I…,” You opened your eyes and met his through the mirror. “I–,”��

“Shh, it’s okay.” He reassured you, remembering the time you told him you’d never done anything with anyone before. “I know.” He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.” 

And he did. Patiently. 

He took his time in undressing both of you and held your hand in his as he laid down and pulled you on top of him. 

“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” You murmured. 

He gave you a reassuring smile. “You won’t, baby. Now come on.” 

He watched as you carefully straddled him, settling comfortably around his waist. One hand holding his metal one tightly while the other remained splayed over his chest. 

Bucky looked up at you with nothing but adoration and lust as he tugged on your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned down gently and pressed your mouth to his. His warm hand immediately rubbed up and down your side lovingly. He pulled away just a little and whispered against your mouth, “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?” 

You nodded, already breathless. 

“Tell me, baby. What do you want?” 

You told him the one thing you desperately wanted. “I want to touch you.” 

Bucky smirked and supported his upper body up on his elbows, with you still straddling his waist, your core pressing down on his crotch. “Go on then, touch me.” He murmured. 

He watched you intently as you reached out and touched his face first. Bucky’s heart was racing, you could tell by the way he breathed, as your finger slowly trailed down his face, along his neck and down till his abs, so slowly that you could feel his muscles tensing underneath your touch. 

You gave him a teasing smile when you noticed the effect you have on him, and how he couldn’t help but stare at your naked body. 

“Don’t tease me,” He mumbled. 

You chuckled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before hesitantly wrapping your hand around his cock. Part of the reason why you kissed him while doing it was because you were worried about your lack of experience, so you did it to distract him. 

But he caught it. And wrapped his own hand around yours, making you grip him tighter. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his pretty eyes. Bucky was breathing heavily. You let his hand guide you as you gave him an experimental stroke, a gentle up and down movement. 

He felt thick and hard, and big. You looked down for a quick minute as you let him continue guiding your hand, lazily stroking his cock, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you looked back up at him and kissed your way down his neck, around the base of his throat, making him gasp in pleasure. 

“See?” He whispered, “You’re learning already.” He said as he slowly let go of your hand and let you touch him on your own. 

You continued exploring this new feeling. He was completely fine with just being there and letting you take your time. And you did take your time, touching him everywhere you could, stroking him as slowly or as quickly as you wanted to. Until he was so close to the edge, eyes rolled to the back of his head, lips parted and occasional moans escaping his open mouth as  pre cum started dripping down his cock. 

Oh he was a sight to behold. But you were getting impatient, and you wanted him in you as soon as possible. So you stopped, earning a groan from him. 

“I want you,” You said. 

Bucky looked like he was barely able to hold back either. “Come on,” He held your hand again, pulled you in for a quick kiss as you straddled him properly. His hand reached down and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole, teasing you with it by sliding it up and down your slit a few times until you were whimpering. “Now sit on it baby come on,” He encouraged you as you began sinking down on him, gasping as his cock stretched you out. “You can do it.” He murmured, breathless as he watched his cock disappear inside you more and more. “That's it. All the way down, come on baby.” 

You were a moaning mess by the time you sunk all the way down, impaling yourself down on his cock. Fuck. You had never felt so full before. So fucking full. 

“You okay, baby?” He asked, holding you by your hips, moving you back and forth just a little bit to create some friction. 

You nodded, moaning at the slight movement. 

“Want me to help you move?” He asked, lips parted and he had that wild look in his eyes.

Fuck, he was beautiful. 

“Yes, please,” You whined, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself for what was coming. 

He wasted no time. Bucky grabbed you by the hips and helped you move up and down his cock. Your wet warmth wrapped all around him, making him swear under his breath and groan at how good you felt. 

You couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes while you rocked your hips against his. You moved against him perfectly, your walls gripping him tightly and feeling him twitch inside you. 

“Look at you.” He cooed. “Look how well you're taking it.” 

You couldn’t help but lean in to kiss his open mouth. He was so perfect. He was everything you had ever dreamt of, you realised. 

His metal fingers moved to touch your clit while you rode his cock, teasing you and bringing you closer to that edge. It wouldn’t take much. You were so overwhelmed already. 

“Bucky…” You whined, dragging your hands down and pressing both your palms against his toned abdomen, carefully avoiding touching him around his thigh area, where he was shot. 

Bucky watched you, your breasts bouncing gently, lips parted, softly gasping as you got so, so close to the edge. 

And he knew. So he quickened his pace, still moving you up and down his cock while he rubbed your throbbing clit. 

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to come for me, okay?” His voice was low, barely even a whisper. His desperation was quite clear. He began to thrust his hips up even harder, matching your movements.

The air around you got hotter, and that look in his eyes made you want to live in this moment forever. Bucky was the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen. A sweaty, moaning mess under you, messy hair, swollen lips, and a throbbing cock. 

You were sure you looked like a mess too as you felt your walls clench around him, gripping him and milking him perfectly. 

“Come for me,” He whispered, “Come on, baby.” 

You came without a warning, crying out loud and impaling yourself down on him one last time as you did. Bucky thrust up into you one last time and came undone as well, both of you breathing hard and fast. 

You carefully got up from his lap and laid down beside him, body limp and slightly sore in between your legs. 

You were still catching your breath as you asked, “Did I hurt you?” You sounded just as worried as you were. 

Bucky chuckled. “I should be the one asking you that.” 

You smiled and snuggled into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer. 

“I’m fine, baby.” He said and kissed your forehead. 

You both laid there in silence for a while. 

Cuddling and relishing each other’s warmth, caressing each other’s skin. 

You felt his fingers drawing random shapes on your back as you laid your head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeats against your cheek. You felt the need to ask him, “Why were you so against showing yourself to me?” 

He gave you a soft chuckle. “You just can’t let that go, huh?” 

“Nope.” 

He sighed, pulling you closer. “I was… afraid.” 

You frowned. “Afraid of what?” You pulled away and looked up at him. “Why did you hide this pretty face from me?” You gave him a quick kiss on his chest as you waited for his answer. 

He sighed again. “Everywhere I go, I… whenever people see me up close, it’s already too late. They don’t see a human anymore, they see death staring back at them.” He paused. You remained quiet. He continued. “I see it, you know? In their eyes. When they look at me and plead, or beg, or curse me.” A humourless laugh, then, “After some years of that, I began seeing it in the mirror as well. I saw the same thing they see. After years of brutality, and killing, and spilling blood,” A soft chuckle, “Years of being an evil Eros as you call it, I grew to hate my face.” 

You felt tears forming at your waterline but you couldn’t look away from him. Not when he was being so brave and vulnerable. 

He continued. “And then before our wedding, I looked you up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “And you were so beautiful.” He looked you right in the eyes and repeated, “You are so beautiful. I guess, I didn’t want you to look at me and see death, and ugly and all the other dark stuff. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the same one I see in everyone. That look of fear and disgust.” He finally admitted, “So I thought, I’d just hide and be a ghost.” 

“My ghost.” You corrected him, reaching out to cup his chin in your palm. “And I’m gonna need you to never stop haunting me.” You said, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “I want you to always be in the shadows. Be with me, even in the dark.” You gave him a smile. “I look at you now and you know what I see? I see a man who treated me with respect. A man who wouldn’t touch me unless I asked for it. A man who gave me so much space for my creativity.” A faint smile, then you added, “You made me fall in love with art all over again, and now everything I paint, I paint with you in my mind.” 

He gave you a smile which both broke and mended your heart. 

“Oh Buck,” You cupped his gorgeous face with both hands and said, “You’re not death, or scary, or any other dark shit. You’re mine, and I love you.” 

He pulled you in for a kiss so quickly you barely processed it. “And I love you.” 

You giggled into the kiss and only pulled away when you were breathless. You kissed your way down his chin and nuzzled his neck, sighing in delight. 

Bucky said, “I think I should retire.” 

“Hmm,” You asked, “And what would you do in retirement?” 

“Watch you paint, raise our dog, adopt some more animals, attend your art exhibitions, and eventually make some babies with you.” He listed it all so easily. 

“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed.

[starvail]

you just lost the game

narumi gen / gn!spouse!reader

synopsis : he’s made a recent discovery that for some reason, when you're the one doing his gacha pulls, his account wins the 50/50, so of course he's gonna abuse your luck for all it's worth.

content : only crack, gender neutral reader, reader works in jakdf, jenshin = genshin btw, narumi should have his own warning, narumi and reader are married (to the chagrin of the defence force), brief mentions of gambling, brief mentions of divorce.

words : 1k

a/n : sorry if you expected longer lol, think of this as a lil warm up before we really get into this series. also apologies for the one day delay, i came home from a surprise bottomless brunch and ahahaha...... i think we all can imagine how that ended up....

part one of 'a cheers to our youth'

It’s not until the time reaches two-thirty in the afternoon do you think to yourself that maybe it will be another peaceful day in Japan.

That is until rapid thumping of footsteps can be heard making their way to the Operations Room before someone slams both of the doors open, almost hitting a few operators that were unfortunate enough to be going on their break.

It was Captain Narumi Gen of the First Division in all his... very sweaty glory.

Hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, he’s frantic in the way that he repeatedly yells for your name and demands where you are.

Something in the pit of your stomach is telling you that something is wrong. But for some reason, it’s not the familiarity of dread that twists your insides with foreboding.

Something is definitely up.

You make your presence known and stand in front of him, hands in your lab coat pockets as you watch Narumi gasp for air, his back hunched over and hands on knees. You look down at him with a side eye, there is no way that one of the top protectors of Japan is out of breath running from where you assume is his 'claimed room' in HQ to Operations.

He grabs your shoulders with the kind of desperation that makes something crawl up your spine. "Thank God you're here!"

Okay, maybe this idiot is actually being serious for once.

"Is there an emergency meeting that we need to attend?” You shift his weight so that he has his right arm slung around the back of your neck.

You're rubbing soothing circles up and down his spine and he shakes his head for a no. By now, the entire room is listening in on the conversation.

“A kaiju attack that our sensors haven't picked up? Infiltration of the base? What's the damage? C'mon, work with me here, Stupid."

"Even worse..."

Narumi finally lifts his head up to look at you, red eyes peaking through his black and silver bangs. Anticipation rises and someone in the room gulps loudly.

You hope that the General Commander has sent out a few platoons already to assess the problem.

Has a kaiju alarm been sent out already? Are the civilians going to be okay? Why is this dumbass not changing into his-

"This limited character in Jenshin is leaving in five minutes, I need you to do my pulls for me!"

Narumi pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoves it right in your face.

"...What?"

You smack his arm away so that you don't go cross-eyed and you can only stare at the screen in disbelief.

He flicks some of his hair back. "Y'see, thanks to my spectacular observation skills and analytic abilities..."

As per usual, you drown him out.

There is no way that this guy is being genuine right now.

There is no way he barged in here just to gamble, on company time, no less.

"...coincides with the times that you do my pulls..."

You look away from the screen to observe him.

Narumi is animatedly flapping his free arm around like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships, while the other keeps the phone steady.

"...not a coincidence, therefore you, my dearest..."

You look back at the phone.

The game character is staring at you, hauntingly.

He's being dead serious.

"...extremely lucky!"

Your eye twitches and you grit your teeth. 'This guy sure does love listening to the sound of his own voice...'

Next thing you know, his phone finds its way to the palms of your hands, and him ushering for you to start.

Still too flabbergasted, too appalled, too dismayed to even comprehend what you were doing, your finger mindlessly presses a button that says '10x Draws', and a golden glow flashbangs your vision.

Is this what your life has come to now?

Being used, being taken advantage of, all for your luck?

Narumi takes the phone back and sends you a triumphant look, as if he didn't just send all personnel in the room into a crippling mental spiral a few seconds ago, and is quick to gaze admiringly at the new character displayed on his screen, as if hyper focused.

"Thanks, Babe. You're a real life saver, y'know?"

It infuriates you how he sounds giddy, but you don't say that aloud, deciding to stew in your internal displeasure.

You mirror his smile and Narumi stays none the wiser to the flashing images behind your eyes of the numerous ways you can dispose of his body.

"See, this is why it's so great being married to someone as lucky as you. Pfft, and those old geezers say marriage is hard." At that moment, as if some higher being wanted to personally laugh in your face, Narumi readjusts his grip on his device and his wedding band shines from reflected light coming from the control monitors .

Your own ring burns at the realisation: you're legally stuck with that for the foreseeable future.

s n a p .

("I'm not the only one that heard that, right?" "Did that sound come from the Head?" "Nah, I definitely heard something too." "If Captain doesn't leave now, Head is gonna force us to help them erase the evidence...")

"Anyways, imma bounce. Gotta grind out the rest of their weapon mats." He carelessly throws up a peace sign without so much as a glance at anybody else, let alone you, and the operations room stays quiet when their Captain leaves with a newfound skip to his step, whistling in tune with the game's music.

Everyone watches on as you take a few deep breaths and walk back to your control panel, landing harshly into your swivel chair with your brows furrowed and a frown that could rival the General Commander's.

Those close enough can hear your muttered curses, "I'll show him. 'Japan's Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant', to hell with that! I'll show how hard marriage can really be. 'Another peaceful day in Japan', I should have kept my damn mouth shut."

Your fingers type against the keyboard with a new-found aggression, and soon enough, documents are displayed on the big screen of your monitor. They read 'Divorce Application and Proceedings', in bold font.

'Good luck, Captain Narumi,' the operators all think in unison.

[sinofwriting]

Wait - Ollie Bearman

Words: 4,936 Summary: Ollie Bearman doesn’t wear necklaces, it’s just not his thing. So why during the 2023 Mexico GP is he spotted wearing a necklace with a familiar ring hanging from the chain Note(s)/Warning(s): This is in fact the purity ring fic. It’s a bit NSFW. Reader is Max Verstappen’s little sister. I nearly included lestappen because the idea of both Verstappen siblings dating a Ferrari (or Ferrari adjacent) driver was funny to me, but I didn’t. Also, thank you to all the people who told me to write this. I’m going to go somewhere, but I’m glad I did!

Masterlist | Support Me!

A ring sits on her finger. The same finger that will one day have an engagement ring then a wedding band to join. The band is thin with two knots and between both knots are four tiny pearls, barely the size of a grain of rice and in the middle of those four pearls is a mix of her birthstone and Max’s. She had gotten it when she was eleven shortly after she had heard Max joking with some of his friends about sex and she went to their mom asking what exactly they meant and for the past six years it had sat there.

It was the first big purchase Max had made with his F1 paycheck. The seventeen year old had felt ashamed and horrified at his baby sister overhearing the things him and friends were joking about. And even worse when their mom had to give her the talk. It had been nothing however compared to what their father had thought when learning of it. Max had swore his ears were ringing as Jos had yelled at him for first having his friends around her and second talking about sex when he knew that she was in the house and liked to randomly join them.

The ring had been a nice way to ease the tension and though he had been a bit red as he explained what it was to her, she had nodded along with his explanation, looking serious before putting it on and then smiling at him and hugging him.

At eleven it hadn’t really been an issue, wearing a purity ring, promising that she’d wait to be married before having sex. It hadn’t been a problem when she was fifteen and her first spike of hormones hit and suddenly sex wasn’t something that felt so far away or like a weird foreign concept. It hadn’t been a problem at sixteen either when she got her first boyfriend, who Max had quickly run off.

It had started to be a problem after she turned seventeen and got together with Ollie.

Ollie who she was never supposed to meet. Was only supposed to know of because she followed F2 and F3. But then she joined Max for the remainder of the 2022 season in July. Done with school and unsure if she wanted to go to Uni, unsure really of what she wanted to do.

She had planned to stay home with her mom, putter about the house, maybe do some small writing for Redline and Verstappen.com that she’d email to Kris, who would send her the money that they got paid for them instead of submitting them herself where Max would be sure to give her a stupid amount of money for something that took maybe thirty minutes to write.

But then Max had heard about her plans and she was officially employed by her brother. Managing his website, instagram, and Redline’s social media, going with him to every race, which meant that she had far too much free time and meant that she found herself following around Jack Crawford as he finished up his F3 season which meant running into Ollie Bearman.

Ollie, who was so unexpectedly sweet and cute, who made all the blood rush to her face as her heart worked overtime, made butterflies appear in her stomach.

It had been the second time that they saw each other that he had asked her on a date and now a year later, the two are now both eighteen and head over heels in love, and the ring that rests on her left ring finger feels more like a nuisance.

She had never had sex, hadn’t even really touched or been touched until Ollie but as the F2 season had grown to a close it felt like that was all that was on her mind and Ollie’s.

The kisses they shared when alone quickly grew into heated make out sessions and when they had time, they found themselves in his hotel room under the covers, underwear still on but hands exploring each other's bodies.

She falls in love with the pattern of freckles on his back and the way he shivers when she traces them with her fingers. The spot above his heart that always makes his breath hitch when she kisses it. His strong calves that always tense right after his thighs when she settles on his lap. His hands and how much bigger than hers they are. And his fingers that he lets her play with, kiss and nibble at just to see and hear the stuttered breath he gives as his cheeks turn red.

He falls in love with the small tattoo that still only he knows she has, it’s small enough to just barely be hidden by even her more risqué bikinis. The scar she has on her knee that makes her shiver when his fingers or lips touch it. The soft skin of the underside of her breasts, because it feels nice to stroke when he gets the chance to dip his hands underneath her bra. The moan she gives when he settles in between her thighs and rests his weight on top of her as they kiss.

Ollie knows what the ring is, what it means, what she promised Max. It’s the one thing that always reminds him to stop, that pulls him back when he’s about to dip his fingers beneath her underwear to feel her wetness against his fingers or about to ask her to take her bra off, to let him see more of her. The feeling of her ring always draws him back. Makes him refocus on just kissing her and not getting ahead of himself before he makes another mess of himself.

He sees it every time he sees her, he kisses it every time he lifts her hand to his lips, first kissing the ring, a silent promise to himself that one day he’ll replace it with a ring of his own, before kissing her hand.

So Ollie doesn’t think anything when he comes home from simulator work to his flat in Maranello smelling like brownies. It had taken a bit to convince Max that she didn’t want to go home but rather wanted to go on a little trip with her friends. She just neglected to mention that there was no trip, and by friends she meant boyfriend, and really she meant during the week break they’d have she’d be going to Italy to stay with Ollie.

“That smells so good.” Ollie groans, kicking his shoes off before moving further into the flat. She beams at him, accepting the kiss he presses to her cheek. “I know you had dinner there so I made brownies. And not a whole pan.” She adds. “I know you can’t indulge too much.” “Thank you.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back into him.

He starts to sway them both as he stares at the small pan of brownies, the smell of them mouthwatering.

“Can I have one?” “They like just got out of the oven.” He pouts, bending his neck and pressing his face into her neck. “Please?” “You're going to burn your fingers and mouth.” She laughs. “Pretty please?” He tries. She makes a humming noise, one he feels more than hears. “Only if you give me a kiss first.” “Deal.”

She giggles as he quickly turns her in his arms. “Hi.” She greets as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Hi.” He parrots back and the thought of the brownies are gone from his mind as he looks at her.

She’s got a piece of his merch on, one of the sample sweatshirts, but also a pair of his boxer briefs. It’s like she’s drowning in him and he just wants to add to it.

Pressing their lips together, he grunts when her nails dig lightly into the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” She murmurs against his lips. He shakes his head, “it’s fine.”

They stand there for a while just kissing, but then his hands are moving underneath the top she’s wearing, grasping at her hips before fingers trail up her sides before back down and she’s pulling him to his bedroom.

They’ve done this so much that it takes barely any time for him to take his FDA polo off and then his jeans before joining her in bed, settling between her thighs. It doesn’t however stop him from rocking his hips into hers a couple of times before he can stop himself, hunger only growing when her hips hitch upwards and she’s wrapping a leg around him, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, darling.” He gasps, pressing kisses to her exposed throat. She moans, her hands resting on his bare back and it’s the feeling of her ring that makes him stop. Hips nearly thrusting again when she whines, but he tenses his whole body, not letting it loosen even when he kisses her again, swallowing the next whine she lets out.

His right hand makes his way underneath her top as they continue to kiss, his body relaxing into hers as he gets control of himself again.

As his fingers creep up her side, he wonders what they’ll feel. The spandex of her sports bra? The cotton or whatever it is of the one bra she likes to wear to media days? Maybe lace? His mind spins at the last option and he gulps.

She’s only worn lace once and it was on their year anniversary, their first approved sleepover. Though Max had made sure to get her from his hotel room at 11 am. But he considers they have the rest of the week just them together and he doesn’t have to go into the factory anymore. And she made him brownies, homemade. He knows because of the way she had been standing at the kitchen counter, carefully looking at them. So, maybe another treat for him was her wearing lace.

But as fingers reach where he’d normally feel the edge of something there is nothing. He goes to frown but before he can, her chest rises, his fingers graze the underside of her left breast and his hips are snapping into her again.

“Oh my god.” She moans at the feeling. “Fuck.” He curses and he feels out of breath as he feels more of her. “You’re not,” he mutters. “You’re not wearing anything.” She shakes her head, bucking her hips wanting more friction. “Please, Ollie. Want more, want it off.” He should be saying no, he can already feel his control hanging by thread at the knowledge that she’s not wearing a bra, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he sees her boobs for the first time, but he’s backing away, letting her sit up, and she’s flinging his sweatshirt off.

His jaw drops at the sight, eyes wide and his dick twitches. He sees the way she bites at her lips, arms starting to come up and he’s quick to react. Fingers touching the soft skin, thumbs rubbing at her nipples as he sort of holds them.

“Pretty.” He manages to get out and feels himself blush. “Can we kiss again?” Ollie nods, eager.

He carefully lays next to her, drawing her on top of him, the two both gasping at the feeling of her bare breasts resting on his bare chest.

His hands dance up and down her back, sometimes his pinky fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs that she’s wearing before moving back up again as they kiss, hips still moving together.

When she shifts a little on top of him, moaning, he grasps at her hips, stopping her from moving as he feels himself twitch and he just knows that he has to be leaking, creating a wet spot in his underwear.

“We have to stop.” “I’m close though.” His head falls back and he groans. “I am too.” “I,” She stops, thinking of the lingerie she had brought with her, the dinner reservation she had made for herself and Ollie tomorrow night, the necklace chain also in her suitcase. “I want more.” She says, before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “I want to have sex with you.” He’s looking at her wide eyes and she’d think that he didn’t want her back if she couldn’t feel how hard he was underneath her. “But,” his eyes dart to her left hand. “I thought we were waiting.” She feels blood rush to her cheeks at his whisper, at the promise he made for and to her.

She had been nervous when telling Ollie about her purity ring and about she would like to wait awhile, maybe even till marriage to have sex, especially after he shared that he had already had sex before. But he had been surprisingly okay with it after he had a few days to think and wrap his head around it, and not that she knew but to talk to his dad about it, before he came back said that he’d wait as long as she wanted.

“I mean, we did.” She whispers back. “I just, I think you’re the one, ya’know. And even if you aren’t, I can’t see myself ever regretting you.” There’s a stinging in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Okay.” He shifts her down a bit so he can sit up, pressing their lips together. “Okay.”

Her hands cup his cheeks as they kiss while his hands stay on her hips. Not moving or doing anything despite the fact that she’s given the all clear. It’s one of her hands dropping from his face to trail down his body, that makes his hands move, grabbing her ass, pressing her down and closer. It makes her gasp.

“Ollie.” He groans at the sound of her moaning his name. His eyes dart to his nightstand, where there should be some condoms in the drawer with lube as well and then he’s cursing, hands falling away from her. “We have to stop, darling. I’m sorry.” “But,” She shifts on top of him and he swears again when he looks down and sees a wet patch peeking out from where she’s sitting on top of him. “I know, but I don’t have any condoms.” He feels himself flush, “I threw them away after we got serious since I figured it wouldn’t happen for a few years.” “No.” She whines, heading dropping onto his shoulder as her whole body sags.

She hadn’t thought about buying condoms, mainly because despite the lingerie she packed and the dinner reservation, she hadn’t actually planned on them having sex. She just wanted more, even some dry humping or at the very least to feel fingers against her that weren’t her own.

“I could pull out.” The words are weak to his own ears. She lifts her head slightly to look at him. “Do you really think you could?” “I could run and get some condoms.” He really doesn’t feel like getting back in the car, doesn’t feel like leaving her, but he’d do it. "No,” she shakes her head. She didn’t like the idea of being alone, waiting for him to come back with condoms. Or him putting clothes back on, the idea makes her nose wrinkle. She then pauses as something comes to mind. “How’s your Italian?” His brows furrow at the question. “It’s decent. Basic and more strategy and car related. But I get by, why?” “I was thinking of Plan B.” “Plan B?” His brows furrow more before it clicks and his eyes widen, “oh, Plan B.” “Yeah, I’d still want it even if you do end up pulling out, but I don’t think that will happen.” He wants to protest, deny, argue that he absolutely could pull out, but it’d be a lie.

“Ollie.” She whines nearly an hour later as he tries to get her to separate her thighs. “You’re all sticky.” He tells her. “I need to clean you up before it dries.” And god was it a bitch to clean up dried cum. “I’ll be quick.” He promises. She pouts, but lets her thighs fall apart, wincing at the burning muscles. He swallows at the sight of their mixed release. He hadn’t managed to pull out the first time, but the second he had managed to, only to finish practically in her anyways. And it was worse because of her own two orgasms that added to the mess. Taking the damp cloth, he carefully cleans her up, apologizing when she whines when he presses a bit too much on her clit.

“Much better.” He grins, when he’s done. Throwing the cloth in the direction of his laundry hamper. “Cuddle?” She asks, making grabby hands at him and eagerly joins her again in bed, slipping the covers over both of them. “That’s better.” She mumbles, when they settle together and he laughs, pressing a kiss to her head.

It’s hard for him to leave when he wakes up in the morning. They’re still both naked and she’s sleeping peacefully beside him. But he’d rather go and get her the Plan B now, then put it off until later when she’ll be fully awake.

Rolling to his side, he presses a series of light kisses to her face. She mumbles a bit and he chuckles. “I’ve got to go, darling.” She mumbles again, turning to lay on her side as well. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be right back.” “Where are you going?” Her voice is low, thick with sleep. “I need to get some things real quickly. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, okay?” “Do you have to?” She pouts. “I’ll be quick.” He promises, bending to kiss her.

It takes him barely any time to get the Plan B and condoms, though he had stumbled his way through Italian to get the Plan B before just pulling up a picture of it.

“Darling?” He calls when he gets back. “Kitchen.” She calls back, a hint of sleep still in her voice. With the bag hanging from his finger, he walks to the kitchen. “I got you plan b and condoms for me, just in case.” “No, just in case. I’d like a repeat.” He grins at her, setting the bag on the counter. “Yeah?” She nods, bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah.” Bending, he captures her lips in a quick kiss, humming.

“Want to do brownies for breakfast?” His eyes widen and they dart to the counter. “I completely forgot you even made those!” “I’ll take that a yes?” “Please!”

Cutting him a piece and then one of herself, she puts them on a plate as Ollie gets them both something to drink before they both go to the living room and sit on the couch.

“These are so good.” He mumbles, catching a crumb before it can fall. “You say that everytime.” “Because it’s true! These are really good.” Her brownie was a good bit smaller than his so as soon as she finishes her, she’s standing up and retrieving something from her suitcase, ignoring him asking where she’s going.

Sitting back down, she places a box in his lap.

“What is this?” He asks, setting the plate on the coffee table, only a few crumbs on it. “I bought it for you a while ago and have been carrying it around since, just wasn’t sure when exactly I’d give it to you.” He looks at her intrigued, before looking back at the box and carefully opening it.

Ollie’s brows furrow at the thin chain that rests inside. It was nice, very nice, though not by a brand that he recognized. It was also a weird gift considering he didn’t wear necklaces, though if he was going to wear one, it would be this one.

“What’s it for?” He asks. “I, uh,” she stutters a bit over her words, playing her ring before carefully pulling it off, flexing her fingers at the odd sensation of it not being there. “It’s for this.” And she drops the ring she’s worn since she was eleven into his palm. “But this is yours.” “And I can’t wear it anymore.” She tells him. “I intended to wait longer to have sex, but I don’t regret last night and I won’t regret anything we do in the future. It’s yours now and I kind of liked the idea of you carrying it with you wherever you go.” He stares at the ring, tries to ignore the pulse of want and smugness, because he got to have her first and he was fairly certain he’d be her only and last.

Lifting the chain out of the box, he carefully unclasps it, threading the ring on, before clasping it around his neck, the ring resting just below the hollow of his neck, easily hidden behind any shirt he wears if he has it tucked in.

Turning his neck, the sensation of something there is odd and he says that. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I like it.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

It doesn’t take him long to get used to the necklace and he practically never takes it off, only in the shower or when doing certain training sessions and it hasn't happened yet but when he has to get into the F1 car and then his F2 car, he’ll be taking it off then as well.

No one really notices his new accessory, he’s not doing much on social media, his mum and dad had asked him about it and he had flushed but just said that it was something she had gotten for him and lucky they didn’t press for more. It gives a false sense of security that comes crashing down in Mexico.

He’s on a bit of a high for doing his first free practice and not placing dead last even though it’s only free practice and placing doesn’t really matter. He’s out of his race suit, having been able to not shower but wipe himself down with a damp towel before getting back into the Haas polo and jumping in to do more media. And as he does some interviews he doesn’t notice the way her ring that’s kept underneath his shirt is on full display.

But it does come to his attention when he finally gets his phone and sees so many mentions and a strange text full of exclamation marks that has him quickly hitting the call button.

“Is everything okay? I got a weird text from you.” “Ollie.” “What’s wrong?” He’s about to exit the Haas hospitality, he could be at Red Bull’s in about a minute at the strained sound of her voice. “My ring, everyone saw my ring.” His eyes widen and he’s cursing. “Oh no.” “Yeah.” “And they all know.” “Yeah.” She confirms again. “Because Max had to make it clear what the ring was.” She laughs, but it’s clear that she’s on the verge of tears, her voice tight. The sound has him wanting to wrap in his arms, shield her away, but it also has him confused. She never cared about what fans thought of her. She was very much like her brother in that matter. It was all water off a duck’s back. “What’s wrong, darling?” He asks, dropping his voice as someone looks at him weirdly. “I just, Max hadn’t noticed, no one has really. And I don’t regret it Ollie, but that was a promise I made to Max, to save myself.” The last three words come out as a whisper. “And now he’s going to find out because the whole of F1 twitter is talking about it. I should’ve told him.” “It’ll be okay.” He reassures her, but now the realization has hit that he’s going to have deal with Max and not just Max, but Daniel and Charles and fucking Arthur, which is a bit insulting because it’s Arthur of all people, but the Leclerc’s liked her a lot, Charles liked to argue with Max that she was actually their younger sister and not Max’s, which lead to a headache of bickering between the two drivers.

“Can I come to you?” He looks down at his watch even though he knows that he doesn’t have any more interviews, just needs to stay to watch the last session play out since he already did his debriefing as well. “Yeah, do you want me to walk you over?” “No, I’ll be there in a second.”

Meeting her at the doors of the hospitality, he quickly ushers her in before leading her to a back corner, the both of them sinking to the floor, somewhat hidden from view by a couch.

“You alright?” “Yeah.” She breathes, pressing close to him. “I just should’ve said something to Max. I just didn’t want to say anything y’know?” And he can feel her nose wrinkle at the idea and his does the same. Because yeah it was a bit gross to think about telling your sibling that you’ve had sex just so they won’t be blindsided by the media. “He’s gonna hate me again.” She doesn’t say anything and he groans, throwing his head back against the wall. “I just made some progress with him.” “I know, bear.” She murmurs, kissing his cheek. “I could put it back on? Say that I gave it to you as a good luck charm.”

It’s a good idea, a perfect solution for their problem, but it’s clear that she doesn’t like the idea and he doesn’t like the idea either. He’s grown used to the small weight of the ring resting below the hollow of his throat and he’s not fond of the idea of seeing a ring that’s not his on her ring finger again.

“Maybe I should propose.” She jerks away from him like she’s been burned. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly says. “I just I don’t want to give it back. I don't want to see you wearing it again and I just,” he waves his hands around. “My brain was running. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are focused on his and she slowly presses back into him, though she keeps her head pulled back so they can look at each other. “Is that something you really want in the future? To be married to me?” “One hundred percent.” She blinks at the quick response, a smile starting to bloom on her face. “Not now, just because I don’t want to rely on nothing but sponsors and my dad for money, but maybe once I got an F1 seat and then got a contract extension or new seat. I’d have money to help support us, to buy you a nice ring, house.” He hopes that she can’t tell how much he’s thought about this, how much he’s rambled to both Jak and Fred about this even though if either of them got the chance they’d happily rat him out for being such a preteen girl, and he just knows that Jak told Fred what that means. “I want that too.”

Ollie wonders if him intending on marrying her, on putting a ring on her finger will lessen the brunt of anger he’s sure to receive and it doesn’t.

“You defiled my sister!” The eighteen years old both make a face at the Dutch man’s words. “No one defiled anyone.” Max ignores her, glaring at the British driver. “You touched her.” Ollie nearly reaches out for her hand, but keeps his hands to himself, as he gives a tiny nod. “Max, it’s alright. I wanted it.” Max and Daniel both make a face at her words. “Ew. You shouldn’t even know what it is.” “Well, Max kind of ruined that for me when I was eleven.” She snarks and her brother flushes. “Which is why I gave you the ring! You were supposed to save yourself for marriage! Keep yourself away from boys like Ollie!” “What’s wrong with me?” He asks, offended. “You’re a teenager.” Daniel tells him with a shrug. “And you’ve got a dick. That’s all it really takes.”

“What happened to waiting?” Max asks, voice a little quieter as he looks at her. “Max,” she starts and then includes the Alpha Tauri driver who’s inched closer. “Daniel. I thought I was going to wait for marriage, or at least a few more years, but Ollie,” she pauses, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. “Ollie feels like the one.” She reaches out for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “And even if he isn’t, I won’t regret what we did.”

The two older men stare at her, at them. One who can remember holding her just hours after she was born, and the other who got to know her shortly after Max’s fuck up when she was eleven. Both her brothers, one just a bit longer than the other.

Max swallows harshly, the full realization hitting him that his baby sister isn’t a baby anymore. She’s an adult and he’s never really had the right to get mad at her for things she does but he really doesn’t now. He can feel Daniel standing behind him, and knows that the older man will go with him whatever way he chooses.

Stepping forward, he pulls her into a hug and wonders where the time has gone. “As long as you don’t regret it, yeah?” She hugs him back tighter, tension in her shoulders loosening at his acceptance. “Yeah. Love you, Maxy.” He laughs, a quiet thing. “Love you too.”

@arshiyuh @mangotaitai @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @benstormy

[munsonsmixtapes]

Paint Me

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!inexperienced!American!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) Benedict receives a handjob, suggestive language, reader has a complicated relationship with her family, reader has a nightmare and has a panic attack

word count: 6k

part one part three part four part five part six part seven

Tag list: @allyjoe755 @syraxnyra @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @pumkiinpasties @werewolf-witchboy

February 12, 1817

You never thought that living in a bigger house would actually have been worse than your small one. Your mother had gotten meaner and your sister had been named the diamond of the season so she was even more confident than usual because she was the center of attention. Because that was exactly what she needed. More attention. You had attended multiple balls over the past few weeks and Kate had stuck to you like glue, helping you through everything, giving you pointers and even having you meet men to dance with.

You reminded her so much of Edwina that she felt the need to help you realize your full potential. Telling you that even though you were supposed to be seeking a husband that you didn’t have to have one of that was not what you wished. It was frowned upon, but she felt the need to support you in whatever you wanted to do since none of your family seemed to do so.

You entered the ball with your mother, father, and sister and Kate made a beeline for you, curtsying to all of you and you couldn’t help but notice the tension between her and your mother. Unbeknownst to you, they had been butting heads as far as your potential husband had been concerned. Kate had insisted that you didn’t have to marry and your mother wouldn’t have it. She needed you to be married off so she never had to speak to you again.

To keep the peace, you pulled Kate along to get some lemonade. She handed you a cup and you sipped on the drink, eyeing her, wondering what was going on in her head. But she wouldn’t tell you. She already knew that you relationship with your mother had been rocky so she decided to keep what had been said to her behind closed doors a secret to prevent the tension from getting worse.

You looked around the room and spotted Benedict by the wall, scribbling in what looked like a small notebook. You were surprised to see him since he hadn’t been at any of the other balls since the one where you had danced together. You wondered if he would have danced with you again if you had asked. Or maybe he had been avoiding you. That would have made sense. It seemed that everyone always did that.

Benedict continued his sketch, waving off everyone who had tried to speak to him. He was obviously busy. The lighting was perfect where he was standing and he was able to get the details perfect. It was a rough sketch, but once he put it on canvas, it was going to easily be his best work.

“What are you working on, brother?” Benedict shut the book quickly as Anthony approached and he shoved the book in his pocket so it was out of sight. There was no way he was letting his brother see what he had been drawing. That was between him and God.

“Nothing,” the younger brother shrugged. “Just a little something to keep my mind occupied.”

“Right,” Anthony nodded. He knew his brother was private when it came to his unfinished work, but it almost seemed like Benedict didn’t want him to see the sketch at all. Something was very strange but he wasn’t going to press. “Are you going to be a wallflower all night or are you going to dance?”

“We both know the answer to that,” Benedict gave Anthony’s shoulder a pat.

Anthony stepped closer, resting a hand on Benedict’s shoulder as he brought his lips round his ear so no one else could hear.

“You are nothing but an embarrassment to this family,” he said, his words sounding like poison in Benedict’s ear. “This whole “rake” business needs to be put to rest. You are about to be thirty and haven’t even pursued a single woman or done anything with your life besides your artwork. You promised mother you would find a wife this season only to be running around with whores, completely abandoning your duties to this family.”

Benedict gulped as his brother spoke. Fear coursing through him. He was very well aware that Anthony was not opposed to a duel and could have easily put him in a hospital just from one punch. His threats were not empty and he was afraid of getting hit, his prized possession being ruined and he could no longer mess around like he had been.

“Stop with the silliness and find a wife or I swear everyone will know just how disgusting you are and you will be left with nothing. You will die alone and I will make sure that no one will show up to your funeral. Are we understood, brother?” With that, Anthony turned on his heel and went to look for his wife, feeling a weight life off him now that he had told Benedict what he had truly thought about him.

“Lady Danbury, this is y/n l/n,” Kate introduced you to the host of the evening to which you curtseyed gracefully.

“It is lovely to meet you, Miss l/n,” Lady Danbury nodded. “Viscountess Bridgerton has told me nothing but good things. She says you’re quite the artist.”

“Well-” you tried to deny it, but Kate cut you off.

“Oh, she is, Lady Danbury,” Kate told her. “She could easily make a living off of her work.” You didn’t think that was true in the slightest, but you were going to let her brag about you anyway.

“Are any of your pieces in the gallery tomorrow?” You had wanted to, but by the time you had heard about it, submissions were closed, which was really disappointing because you knew the exact one you were going to submit.

“I’m afraid not," you pursed your lips. "By the time I arrived, it was too late to submit.”

“That is too bad," Lady Danbury replied with a shake of her head. "I must host a gallery of my own to see your work.”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary, Lady Danbury," you let out a nervous laugh. "I’m afraid you’d be sorely disappointed.” You thought that to be true. you were always your harshest critic and always thought that compliments aimed towards you or your work were just people being nice, never quite believing the words no matter how true they were."

“I’m sure that’s not true. You must show me some time. I'd love to see it all." You knew you weren't going to win, so you decided to give in to appease the woman. You didn't want to upset the host, after all.

"Of course," you nodded and watched Lady Danbury's face light up as she caught sight over someone who was behind you. You turned around only to be met by a man you hadn't seen before. He had curly blonde hair and the prettiest hazel eyes that you had ever seen. What was a pretty man like him doing approaching you? He was the kind of man that Lilith would have ended up with.

"Nicholas Fitzwilliam," he introduced himself with a bow. "I saw you across the room and felt like I owed the prettiest woman in the room a dance."

"Oh-"

Your mouth went dry as his eyes looked into yours, a warm smile making its way upon his pretty, pink lips. You turned to Kate and Lady Danbury as if to ask for permission and they waved you off, encouraging you to dance with the stranger.

Nicholas offered his hand to you and you wordlessly took it, letting him lead you out onto the floor. The dance started not long after you got into your spots and you immediately recognized as the quadrille which you knew involved moving about the floor and joining hands with people who weren't your original partner.

As soon as Benedict saw you accept that dick's invitation to dance, he knew he had to find a partner and quick. He didn't know what he was doing, but what he did know was that he wasn't going to leave you out on the floor alone. He was just making sure that you were following the steps correctly, that was all.

He approached the first woman he could find and dragged her onto the dance floor as the music started. He watched you move about the room seeing that fucker making you laugh made him feel something he had never felt before when it came to other women: jealousy.

The man whispered something into your ear as the two of you spun around and seeing you throw your head back in a loud laugh was enough to make Benedict see red. He could hear his dance partner say something as the two of them spun around, but he couldn’t hear her. In fact, he didn’t give a single fuck. All of his focus was on you.

You were nervous to dance at first, but as Nicholas guided you through it, you realized just how much fun it was and he was even cracking jokes to make you feel better. If all of the men were guaranteed to be like him, maybe finding a husband wouldn’t have been so bad.

You slowly got to Benedict and the two of you joined hands as you made your spin and he wanted to know what your hands felt like without the gloves. If they were soft or rough. It didn't really matter, though. He just wanted them wrapped around his neck, choking him until he was gasping for air. He still wasn't able to shake his absolutely filthy thoughts about you. And now that you were right in front of him and that he could see the tops of your breasts, all he could think about was how much he wanted them in his mouth, licking and sucking on your nipples until your back arched in pleasure, screaming his name as your reached your orgasm.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts and he looked down at you, his signature smirk making it's way upon his pretty pink lips. You had never had a thought like it before, but you found yourself wanting to know what they felt like. If they were as soft as they looked.

"What do you mean?" Benedict knew exactly what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to hear you tell him that you missed him.

"You haven't been at the last three balls so I was surprised to see you here." He thought it was adorable that you had noticed that he wasn't there and

"Oh, so you noticed I was missing?" He put on a cocky smirk. He had you right where he wanted you.

"It was difficult not to when Anthony was complaining about it every time." You were mumbling your words, but Benedict was still able to hear you. The smirk faded and he didn't like the way his cock twitched at the fact that you didn't seem to notice that he hadn't been around until his brother mentioned it. You didn't seem to give a single fuck about him, but by the end of the season, he was going to make you care.

With that, you separated then joined your original partners and Benedict was still watching you, feeling jealousy rise as the man whispered in your ear again, making you giggle. He didn't know why he cared. He wasn't going to court nor marry you and clearly this man was a better fit for you. And maybe Anthony was right, all Benedict was was a rake and that's all he knew how to be. He wasn't fit to be a husband and he was just going to have to accept that.

He was going to give up all of his fantasies about you just so you could end up with a man who actually cared about you. That was what you deserved. Not someone who was only interested in having his way with you only to never want to see you again. He was perfectly fine with letting you slip through his fingers if it meant you were going end up with the right person.

The dance came to a close and Nicholas led you back over to Kate and Lady Danbury, his hand still holding yours as you stood there making conversation with the three of them. He then turned to you and bowed and for whatever reason, you didn't want to see him go. You had such a nice time with him and almost wanted to ask him to dance again, but you couldn't get yourself to. You didn't have the confidence. Lilith would have, though. She would have and Nicholas certainly would have said yes. But you weren't Lilith. You weren't your sister and you never would be and you just wished that people would realized that you were your own person.

"It was an absolute pleasure, Miss l/n," he said and you smiled in response, feeling your heart swell because someone was dancing with you because they wanted to, not because of your mother forcing them.

"The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Fitzwilliam," you curtsied, a small smile making its way upon your face. He took your hand and pressed lips to the fabric covering it, his eyes never leaving yours as he did so.

"No, really, the pleasure is all mine." He emphasized the last two words and your cheeks heated as he let your hand slipped out of yours before turning on his heel to cross the room.

As soon as he was gone, you turned back to Kate and Lady Danbury in a giggly mess. They both smiled at you, seeing you so lively and animated warming their hearts. In the few weeks Kate had known you and with all of the balls, she'd seen you at, she had never seen you so smitten after a dance and wondered if Nicholas could be the one. Maybe, just maybe there was an engagement in your future.

Nicholas crossed the floor and stood next to your mother, putting his hands behind his back as she leaned towards him to whisper to him. they were trying their best to be discreet, knowing that if you caught them, the whole operation would be over.

"Is it done?" Vivian asked, her eyes not leaving you as she spoke. If you weren’t going to find a husband, she was just going to have to do the job for you. She couldn’t risk you being a spinster and living with her and your father for the rest of her life.

"It is," Nicholas nodded, his eyes on you as well. He didn't feel good for lying to you, but the money was going to make it worth it. He was going to use it to buy a nice art piece that he had been eyeing for a while. It would look so lovely in his study, hanging among the other artwork he had purchased over the years. And he had you to thank for it. You were the perfect, unsuspecting target.

Benedict left as soon as Nicholas left you and had every intention of getting out his anger. Maybe not in the healthiest way, but he was going to be gone as soon as he was done with whatever woman on his list was available.

He knocked on the door and leaned himself against the doorframe, an attempt to make himself attractive, but something was off. His need suddenly went away and he was having flashbacks to the ball. Everything was swirling around his head and he felt an ache coming on.

Stop with the silliness and find a wife or I swear everyone will know just how disgusting you are and you will be left with nothing. You will die alone and I will make sure that no one will show up to your funeral.

Maybe Anthony was right. Maybe he should have stopped literally fucking around and started a family. Maybe he should have gone home. But not tonight. Tonight, he was going to be taken care of and not by his own hands.

The door opened and he was pulled inside, the woman that he couldn’t remember the name of grabbing hold of his coat. The door slammed behind him and she shoved him against it. Her lips went to his neck and she gave it a rough suck while her hands went to unbutton his breeches. She pulled them down only to be met with Benedict’s very limp cock. They both looked down at it and Benedict felt his cheeks blush in embarrassment as this was never something that had happened to him.

“Don’t worry, I can help with that.” The woman-Caroline, maybe?-spit into her hand and grabbed hold of his dick, giving it a few slow pumps. When that didn't work, she moved faster, pumping as hard as she possible could and Benedict was panicking because receiving a handjob always did the trick. And now that it wasn't working, he was worried.

"I don't know what's going on Benedict, but you need to leave now." They couldn't exactly sleep together if he couldn't get it up. And it was all thanks to his oldest brother. Benedict pulled up his breeches and let out a loud sigh before turning to the door. He gave her one last look then opened the door and slammed it shut before heading down the road. He couldn't go home. Not with his brother there. There was somewhere else he'd rather be anyway.

Benedict got to the studio, but not after having a few drinks. His night had gone to shit and if he couldn't remedy it with sex, alcohol was surely going to do the drink. Not only had his brother called him out on his bullshit, but then he watched the woman that he liked dance with someone else who was confirmed to be a terrible person, and now he couldn't even cope with it all the way he wanted to.

He stumbled into the studio where he usually spent his late nights, but no one was there. This was usually when everyone was so lively and now there wasn't a single soul. Something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. He approached the room he usually worked in to work on his piece, but when he entered it, the piece was uncovered and there was already someone in the room. He slowly opened the door all the way and the creaking of it made the stranger turn around so Benedict could see his face. No fucking way. Standing there in his studio, holding the sheet that covered his painting was Nicholas fucking Fitzwilliam.

The carriage rolled up to your house and you stepped onto the concrete, feeling lighter than ever. As your family was leaving, Nicholas had told you that he'd see you the next day and you were nothing but elated at that fact. You couldn't believe it. It had only been a few weeks and you already had a suitor. And he was nice and not to mention, very easy on the eyes. According to what he had told you at the ball, he didn't have much, but that was perfectly okay to you. He'd give you a great life and that was all you could ask for.

You went up the steps and for once, your mother's and sister's words couldn't get to you. Because they didn't matter. All your life, you had been second to Lilith and now you finally had something she hadn't and you could tell that she was furious. She stomped up the stairs behind you and you tried to fight back your smile at the sour look that had been in her face since you had told her the good news.

You went to your room and heard her stomp to her own before slamming the door. You got ready for bed with the widest smile on your face and got into your bed dreaming about nothing but rings and weddings and your possible children. The future was very bright and you had somehow beat the diamond of the season to getting a suitor. And maybe if you played your cards right, an engagement would follow soon after.

"What are you doing here?" Benedict asked, making such tight fists by his side that he could feel his nails digging into his skin, but that was the least of his worries. He really needed to get rid of the pest that was taking over his room.

"Oh, are you the artist?" Nicholas asked, reaching for the canvas, but Benedict was quick to stop, him, standing in between his body and the canvas. There was no way he was letting that little worm anywhere near his artwork.

"I am. And I'm going to ask again, what are you doing here?" There was a fire burning inside him and this time, he wasn't going to put out the flames.

"Well, I was going to ask you if I could buy this lovely piece from you." He'd get the painting from Benedict's cold, dead hands. No way he’d ever sell anything to that pig.

Benedict snatched the covering from Nicholas and draped it back over the painting before crossing his arms over his chest so he wouldn't do something he'd regret.

“It’s not finished and not for sale. And even if it was, I most certainly wouldn’t sell it to you.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why not?” Nicholas had no idea what was going on. He just wanted to get what he had had his eyes on for months when he had passed that very room seeing Benedict work on it.

“Because again, it's not finished and even if it was, I still wouldn't sell it to you." Clearly there was something he was missing and he wasn't sure what it was.

"Why?" Nicholas was starting to get angry and a smug smirk was making its way upon Benedict's face. What did he know and what was he going to do about it? He didn't think he was the type to get into a fight, but he really knew nothing about him so he was to tread lightly.

"I know your secret.” Nicholas felt his blood run cold at the words. He had many secrets but he knew exactly the one to which Benedict was referring and he had half a mind to make a run for it.

“Secret?” He supposed that the best way to get out of it was to feign innocence. He wouldn’t be caught if he didn’t admit to it.

“Your little deal with Vivian. I heard you on the way out of the ball tonight." Oh, this was the big secret. Maybe running was still on the table.

"What do you want?" There was only one thing Benedict wanted and Nicholas had it.

"I want you stay away from y/n." Benedict jabbed his finger into the man’s chest.

"Or what?" Nicholas pushed his hand away but Benedict only stepped closer.

"You don't want to know what." His threat was empty, but maybe it wouldn’t have been if Nicholas tried anything.

"Are you gonna tell her?" No. He thought it would have been even more painful for Nicholas to tell you himself.

"I might if you don't." He wouldn’t, but Nicholas was looking nervous so Benedict had him right where he wanted him.

“I see,” Nicholas let out a laugh. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not.” That was not an emotion that Benedict felt. He was never jealous and especially not because of you. He just felt like you deserved to know the truth, that’s all.

“You are,” Nicholas smirked. “I saw it in your face when you mentioned he. There was a fire there. Well guess what? You can have her. I don’t want her. I was just going to marry her, use her for her body and then leave.” Benedict didn’t need to hear anymore. He was seeing more red than he ever had before.

Without another thought, he punched Nicholas square in the nose, causing him to hunch over in pain but not before he got his own punch in. Benedict threw another punch and while Nicholas was hunched over once again, Benedict pushed him to the floor, loving to see the man’s pretty face look so bloody and broken.

“If you so much as lay a finger on her, I promise that things will be much worse than this.” With that, Benedict wiped the blood from his nose and fled the room, finally heading home to get some much needed rest and maybe some help from a doctor.

February 13, 1817

You woke up the next morning with the brightest smile on your face as your lady’s maid helped you get ready for the day. Nothing could ruin your mood. Not even your mother. Because someone had finally showed romantic interest in you and no one, not even your mother or Lilith could bring you down.

You descended the stairs and headed towards the dining room to have some breakfast when you heard voices coming from the study. You slowly opened the door that was cracked and saw Nicholas inside arguing with your mother. You gasped not only at the fact that he was there but also because of the dried blood coming from his nose.

What was he doing there and why was he arguing with your mother? Clearly there was something that you were missing and you didn’t like all of the possibilities that your mind was coming up with. It was always your own worst enemy.

Maybe it wasn’t what you thought it was. Maybe he was there to see you and was just waiting for you to finish breakfast first. Suitors did that all the time, right? There definitely wasn’t anything suspicious going on between him and your mother.

“What happened?” Your mother asked in a tone that you thought has only been reserved for you.

“I don’t know, Vivian,” Nicholas replied, looking like he was seconds away from pulling his hair out. He looked tired, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep and the blood around his nose made him look even worse. “All I know is that I was trying to buy a piece from him and then he punched me.”

“And that was before he threatened you?”

“Yes! He told me that if I so much as laid a finger on y/n that he’d kill me! I know I agreed to court your daughter, but no amount of money is worth this,” he referred to his nose and headed for the door where you were standing.

You pressed yourself against the opposite wall of where he was exiting and felt tears prick your eyes as your world came crashing down. So all of that the night before was all because of your mother? All for money? You supposed that it made sense as to why someone as beautiful as him would approach you.

As soon as Nicholas was out of sight, you made a beeline for the stairs, heading to your room so you could cry alone. You felt so stupid. Your own mother had betrayed you in a way that you hadn’t even thought she was capable of. And for whatever reason, you felt like your sister was also behind it.

You headed to your room and slammed the door before letting out a loud scream before throwing yourself into your bed to have a good cry. All of the years you had suppressed your emotions were all catching up to you and you began to sob into your pillows.

You really thought that your father would have come to your rescue, but just like always, he’d rather stand by your mother when she was participating in all of the wrongdoing. He seemed so distant from you lately that it was almost as if he wasn’t even there at all. And maybe it would have been better if he wasn’t. At least then, he would just be gone instead of sitting on the sidelines, doing absolutely nothing.

You cried yourself to sleep, trying to fight off your nightmare. There was a red filter over it and the audio was distorted. Your mother, father, sister, and Nicholas were all laughing at you, pointing fingers and telling you just what they thought about you, holding absolutely nothing back as they did so.

It all felt so real that you had to wake up and shake it all off. You sat up in your bed and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. Just then, your lady’s maid entered the room to get you ready for the gallery. Had you really slept all day? And no one had even thought to come and wake you up? You supposed that showed you just how little your family actually thought about you.

“Esther?” You asked the woman who had laid your dress for the night out onto your bed.

“Yes miss?” She asked, pausing her duty to give you her full attention.

“Would we be able to try something different?” You could see her eyes light up at your suggestion and she immediately pulled you to your vanity, pulling out all of your makeup to get to work.

“I know just the thing,” she smiled as she dipped into some eyeshadow and applied it to your eyes.

—

You told your mother that you weren’t feeling well enough to go to the gallery and to your surprise, she didn’t put up a fight and left the house without a word. As soon as your family was gone, you threw off the blanket to reveal your dress that was absolutely nothing like you. It was black and dark purple and you had a choker to match that had an amethyst gem in the very center of it.

Esther had done your makeup dark, but tastefully with diffused black eyeshadow and a bright pink blush on your cheeks. When you looked in the mirror, you had looked nothing like yourself just like you had wanted to. You thanked her and fled the house to the carriage that had been left behind.

You entered the gallery by yourself and as soon as eyes were laid on you, whispers were spread around just like you had wanted. You were not dressed appropriately for the occasion and for once, you couldn’t have cared less.

You fiddled with your necklace as what you were doing had set in. You had only put on the dress with the intention to anger your mother and clearly it had worked with the way she was eyeing you. But that wasn’t your focus at the moment. You were just interested in seeing all of the art pieces. Upsetting your mother was just a little bonus.

Benedict let out a gasp as he caught sight of you. You were one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen and now he was beginning to think that his fight with Nicholas was all worth it. He at least hoped that his threat has sent the man running.

After you made your grand entrance, you continued to fiddle with your necklace as the whispers got more intense. You had been so focused on upsetting your mother that you hadn’t thought about the fact that other people would probably be upset as well.

You felt yourself begin to panic as the whispers seemed to get louder and you could feel your heartbeat quickening and breathing was getting harder to you. You had had many panic attacks in your life to know that this was one and needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Just as you were about to leave, you were approached by Lady Danbury. If it has been anyone else, you would have politely declined, but she had a lot of influence and you felt like you could have used that to your advantage. So, you took a deep breath and put on your fakest smile as she got to you.

“Lady Danbury!” You greeted, smiling brightly and she smiled in return.

“Miss l/n. So lovely to see you again.” Out of all of the people there, why was she talking to you? There were so many others who were of higher status or at least had more to say than you did. And you really weren’t in the mood to be cordial at the moment. You had too much on your mind.

“And you as well, ma’am,” you curtsied. You wanted to impress the woman. She was good friends with The Queen, after all and knowing someone who had an in with her could have opened so many doors for you.

“Have you had a chance to look around the gallery?” You had too much on your mind to put your focus on something like that even though you had been so excited to

“No, not yet.”

“Perfect, you shall join me.” Join her? As in walk around the room with her?

“Lady Danbury-” You tried your best to get out of it, but she cut you off before you could make an excuse.

“That wasn’t a question. Now come along dear. I want to hear your thoughts.” She linked her arm around yours and let you lead her around the room, stopping at every individual piece, wanting to know your honest opinion. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that she just wanted to hear you talk badly about someone. To get the quiet girl out of her comfort zone.

But she wasn’t going to win this round. It turned out that every single piece so far was lovely. They were all so detailed and told the most beautiful stories. You were in awe of every single one and still wished you had the time to submit your own, wondering what people had thought about it.

You stopped once you got to the last piece and that one didn’t wow you like the others. Something was wrong, almost as if it had been incomplete. All of the colors melted together in a brown, muddy mess and you were having a hard time keeping your eyes on it.

“Well?” Lady Danbury asked and you were hesitant to tell her the truth, but you were becoming a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any second. Everything with your family and Nicholas was all piling on you and you couldn’t take a single second of it.

“The colors are too muddy,” you mumbled and the woman was having a hard time hearing you.

“I’m sorry, dear, could you repeat that?” She asked and that absolutely broke you. You were about to tear into whoever the artist was and for once, you didn’t have a single care.

“I said the colors are too muddy!” You replied, maybe a little too loud, but you hardly cared. You just needed her to know what you really thought. That was the kind of person you were now. Someone who said exactly how they felt, not caring whether it hurt their feelings or not. You didn’t have it in you to please anymore. What good had it done you, anyway?

“The artist obviously didn’t wait long enough between layers for the paint to dry. Oils are still wet after many hours. Before adding more layers you have to wait for them to fully dry. It’s an amateur mistake for some ‘professional’ artist to make.”

Lady Danbury had to admit that she was enjoying seeing that side of you and hoped you’d bring it out more often. As much as she liked how reserved you were, she believed that you were allowed a moment to break free of it every once in a while. It looked tiring having to behave like that all the time.

“That’s a very interesting, Miss, l/n,” she replied then turned to who you assumed was the artist of the piece you had just ripped to shreds with your words. “Mr Bridgerton why didn’t you wait long enough for each layer?”

Bridgerton? So that meant-no. Just your fucking luck. You turned around and sure enough, there Benedict was, looking as beautiful as ever. You noticed that he has a bruise around his eye and wondered what it was from and how you could have tended to it and made him feel better. It looked like it hurt and you almost wanted to ask if it did and if you could have kissed it better.

“If I’m being honest, Lady Danbury, I was nearly late submitting my piece for the gallery, so I needed to cut some corners. But you are correct, Miss (l/n), it is a very amateur mistake of me.” With that, Benedict turned on his heel and exited the gallery, leaving you with nothing but guilt as you watched him walk away.

Benedict had stared at that painting for hours after he had finished and hadn’t even noticed the imperfections you had pointed out until you had said the words. And he hadn’t even been upset about it either. It had been an amateur mistake to make and now he was wondering why he was even accepted into the gallery in the first place.

And now he was wondering where you got all that knowledge from because clearly you knew your stuff. Were you an artist as well? You must have been since you seemed to know so much.

And that was when it all clicked. The critique, Anthony saying that you were a family friend from the past. Of course! Now he remembered. He could clearly see the two of you drawing each other in the study of the Bridgerton home and him sneaking you into one of the studios he went to one night where the two of you laughed and painted for hours which had eventually turned into a paint fight that the two of you had gotten into a lot of trouble for.

So he wasn’t an ass, he just genuinely hadn’t remembered you. But why? Was his mind trying to protect him from something painful? It must have been considering how quick you had been to forget him after not having seen him for a few weeks. He had hoped that the memory would come to him soon so it would stop bugging him. Maybe he’d ask you why his memory of you was fuzzy. Maybe he’d just talk to you because he wanted to. With Nicholas out of the way, he certainly had the opportunity. And maybe he’d actually listen to his brother and finally find a wife.

[sitkainsnow]

Desperately need a fic from a police officer’s pov and they watch SuperBat interactions bc like all the cops either hate or love Bats, but are still kinda terrified of him, but ofc Supes is all sunshine and smiles and “He’s my best friend y’all!” And they KNOW bats probably totally has kryptonite and an attitude worse than the devil.

So they end up in a situation where they’re working together and Batman in taking with the police and Superman’s standing behind him waving and smiling at everyone while Batman is giving single-word or just huffs for answers. And then Superman freezes and cocks his head and to everyone’s surprise grabs Batman by the shoulder and whispers something in his ear and then what’s more surprising is Batman doesn’t even mind as he wraps his own arm around Supes and then they’re gone in a blur of blue and Black. All the cops are just left standing there like 🧍‍♂️shocked bc Bats didn’t mind Supes touching him.

Or another instance where it’s after this big battle in Gotham and it’s with whatever villain but Superman is there too and the villain had kryptonite. Anyways so after the battle Bats is talking to the police and handing over the villain and Superman comes over after talking to the civilians, picks Bats up by the scruff mid sentence politely nods to the officers he was talking too, and moves him a couple feet away and just starts yelling at Bats abt how stupid it is for him to run around jumping in the way of heavy blows EVEN if they have kryptonite and Bats just scoffs and turns his head away and all the police on the area watch as Superman and Batman argue about how stupid it is to risk your life to save the other (they both did it) completely oblivious to their audience and the police whose POV it’s in just thinks “god they sound like a married couple. Wouldn’t it be crazy if the two of the worlds greatest hero’s were actually a couple lmao. But that’s crazy they’re just really good friends”

Gordon watched all this trying not to blow his fuse bc yes, Batman does need to be yelled at, and yes, he does need to prioritize his safety more, but NO, you don’t need to be having your lovers quarrel in front of the whole damn GCPD.

Or in another instance Batman racks up a bunch of charges on him for whatever reason and the GCPD by luck manages to arrest him and so here comes Superman trying to bail his partner(in more ways than one) out of prison and the police are like “we’re really sorry Mr. Superman sir but we can’t legally do that” and Supes goes “what the hell did he even do” and so the officer goes “Property Damage, unlawful violence, arson, punched a cop in the face and broke his nose, caught carrying weed which is illegal in the state of New Jersey, multiple -and I mean multiple- unpaid speeding tickets. Oh, and the DMV wanted us to talk to him about his unregistered Batmobile and Batbike.”and Supes is about to cry as he quietly asks “Okay, so how much is bail” And the officer looks away and mumbled “sixteen grand” and Supes gasps and cries out “I don’t get paid enough for sixteen grand!!”

However thirty minutes later Supes is back at the GCPD station shakily counting out bills bc he can’t use a check or card (obvi) sweating heavily and looking extremely pained. The cops don’t even ask where he got all those bills so quickly and just watch him and another 30minutes later Bats is out and Supes is shaking him by his shoulder shouting “so who’s gonna lag me back!! Who’s gonna reimburse me for for 16k?? Whose gonna apologize for the heart palpitations you gave me?? Whose gonna apologize for all the gray hairs this is going to give me?? You’re giving me gray hairs all the time B!! I can’t do this!!” And Batman just sighs and pats Superman on the back as they walk out of the station and Superman is mumbling about bank credit and loans and how bad he looks with wrinkle lines and gray hair sounding like he’s about to cry.

Meanwhile the police try not to loose their minds throughout this whole interaction and Gordon’s just staring at the door blankly smoking a cigar and the police whose POV it’s in looks at the cigar a little bit closer and goes “That smells like weed” and Gordon looks at her and just says “I feel for Superman a bit more than I want to”

[fastlikealambo]

The third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.|| rhaenyra targaryen x black!fem reader

In the five years since Queen Rhaenyra The Conqueror, Bringer of New Valyria, triumphed over the usurper without losing a single dragon, the realm is at peace. Having no need of husbands and taking two other wives, Queen Alicent and Queen Mysaria, the dragon queen is in need of a third and final wife to rule the seven kingdoms at her side.

You were just a girl from nowhere, watching the sky fill with dragons at peace, destined to be a scullery maid in a vicious household and the future wife of a ratcatcher until fate and blood decide your future for you. 

History will remember Rhaenyra Targaryen as the great unifier, the second coming of Visenya Targaryen who brought another golden age of dragons out of war. But they will sing songs of you, the smallfolk who ascended to fire and blood as the queen’s favorite, the one they tried to kill so many times, the third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.

Some notes: Aegon, Aemond, and Daemon are dead but their dragons were saved, and Otto Hightower and Criston Cole spontaneously combusted, I don’t know what to tell yall. Luke lived, Jace lived, Helaena lived, Jaehaerys lived, Baela and Rhaena are happy goddammit.  During the short war, Rhaenyra married Mysaria and one year after the dance of dragons ended, she also married Alicent.

Some other notes: This is dark and I drew some inspiration from Cinderella and Hurrem Sultan (the fictional representation of her from the show's magnificent century but nobody I know watches that show). Rhaenyra is in her thirties and reader is in her twenties. 

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

This chapter contains smut, MINORS DNI

Chapter Four: Hunger.

 Your mother held you so tight you felt like you were going to break in two.

       “I thought they were taking me to your body, not the keep itself. You left on foot this morning and before nightfall here comes a carriage picking me up, a carriage! What have you been up to, my girl? I’ll have the truth out of you and nothing else, queen or not.”

Confessing to murder is best done sitting between your mother’s legs as she oils your scalp and pulls your braids back into a bun. She doesn’t even falter once you get to the murder, just kisses the top of your head.

   “I’ve known you before you knew you which means I know you don’t go around hurting anyone. If it wasn’t you it would have been someone else, that fancy lady has half of the flea bottom girls working for her until she avoids them or worse when she can’t pay them, you’re just the first to do something about it.”

  “Why are you so calm?” You asked. Your mother sighed and took a seat on the floor next to you, an arm around your shoulder.

  “The idea of me going without had you stand before the dragon queen and win a place at her side. In a matter of hours, you’ve taken your life back from that monster and now you’re to be the wife of Queen Rhaenyra. The Gods have had a hand in these proceedings my love, but you have shaped them.”

   “What happens now?”

   “Now, we live. Not survive, live.”

In the chambers of The Small Council, the dragon queen’s grip tightened on Dark Sister, her patience tested by the two remaining men at her table. 

       “The Great Houses expected you to take one of their daughters, Your Grace.  They will not take lightly to being slighted and raising up a common girl.”

      “And what, exactly, is wrong about being common?” Mysaria asked with a rueful smile in Rhaenyra’s direction.  Rhaenyra reached under the table and rubbed Mysaria’s thigh, giving the men fifteen seconds too many.

       “The smallfolk are still recovering from the war. We are at peace but they are still in need of the crown’s help. We shall give it by feeding them, giving them shelter, and by raising up one of their own. Should the other houses take issue, they need only be reminded of the knee they bent and whom they serve. In fact, as your last acts on my council, you will go to them and refresh their memory on why they do not rest on a bed of ashes.” Rhaenyra said.

   “Your Grace if I may-

   “ You may not, Ser Alfred and as your last act, you will join him. You are both dismissed.”

The chambers emptied after that and Rhaenyra took Mysaria onto her lap, kissing the back of her neck, kneading her breast with one hand and the other..busy.

     “Shall I report on what I have found on your bride or would you like to continue, Your Grace?” Mysaria asked.

Rhaenyra removed the ringed fingers from within her mistress of whispers, sucking on them one by one.

    “And what has my star found?”

Mysaria shifted on Rhaenyra’s lap, wrapping her legs around the dragon queen.

  “She worked at a cabbage stall as a child till she learned to sew. Got kicked out her first household at seven for sneaking and listening to the daughter’s lessons so she could learn to read and write so her overtired mother wouldn’t have to worry about teaching her. She’s taken any work she can find since then to keep her mother safe and fed. Her last employer, a destitute Lannister lady was found dead but none of it leads to her.”

     “And what do you think of her?” Rhaenyra asked, kissing up and down Mysaria’s neck.

  “I think she is untested and tenderhearted but will do anything to keep her mother alive. She can be molded, motivated, and a far better seat on the council than Ser Alfred. Most importantly, she has known hunger. That sort of pain never leaves your eyes, and she’ll do anything to never know it again.”

 “And do you think she can be trusted?”

  “Do you trust her?” Mysaria posed the question right back at her wife, leaning back to look Rhaenyra in the eye.

  “I believe that I can and would rather see her at our side than someone whose house would use them to try and usurp me. She will be raised up and those that disagree will be met with fire and blood.”

Mysaria kissed her queen softly and slowly, sucking on her top lip.

  “Then we shall crown her for all to see.”

Dinner would be served soon yet Rhaenyra found herself outside your door, about to knock when she heard you swearing on the old gods and the new.  Swinging open the door, Rhaenyra found you contorting yourself in an attempt to do the laces on the back of the extravagant gown you had been gifted.

 The blood red sparkled against your dark skin and Rhaenyra could not look away.

“Oh no, am I late, Your Grace? I’m so sorry-“

“You will be a queen in two days time, apologies at every turn will be beneath you. Come, let me help you.” Rhaenyra said, holding out her hand towards you. You took it, standing in front of the mirror as she adjusted your smallclothes better to fit beneath the ornate gown.

 “May I ask you a question, Rhaenyra?”

 “You can ask me anything you like.”

“Why do they call you The Bringer of New Valyria?”

Rhaenyra did not falter from her work doing up the tiny laces of the gown, tightening them slowly.

  “Since I sat the throne I’ve started to rebuild King’s Landing to better fit its people using the gold seized during the blockade to restore the keep and homes in King’s Landing. Those who do not particularly like what I’m doing have called King’s Landing ‘New Valyria’ as if to doom it before it begins in full to scorn me, but I welcome it.” Rhaenyra explained, deft fingers moving along your back.

Once finished, you turned around to face her with a smile.

“How do I look?” You asked and couldn’t stop yourself from giving a small spin that brought a laugh to her lips.

 “Every inch a queen.” Rhaenyra said and you watched as the smile shifted from content to ravenous.

The dragon queen was beneath the gown she had taken the time to put on in seconds, tongue to your clit, lapping you up like fresh milk.

 “My queen, we’ll be late for dinner.” You managed to choke out but Rhaenyra simply kissed you.

“I’m the protector of the realm, we shall dine when I wish to dine, sweet one.” 

 You let yourself go, kissing the queen back roughly, ripping at her bodice and the laces of her own gown, gracing her skin with kisses from nose to navel. She leveraged her weight against you and you both fell onto your new bed.

  To make love to Rhaenyra Targaryen was a holy act, therefore you would sit upon her face and pray. The dragonrider welcomed your weight without complaint, mouth to your pussy with honor and such precision you held onto the headboard like reins.

With her hands on your thighs, you came quick and hard, letting the queen up for air, crawling down her body till your head was between her legs, alternating between tongue and fingers, pumping in and out till Rhaenyra’s back arched.

You never did make it to dinner.

Nor did you break your fast the following morning with the queen in your bed again, again, and again.

But bliss ended quickly for on the following day, the day you were to wed Rhaenyra, it began to rain. 

Hope you liked this chapter! Please comment or reblog so I know if I should continue :)

@asvterias

@nxcxllxsevens

@newcaptainofsquad9

@awolfcsworld

@wannabwanted

@evattude

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

Chapter 1

Dion x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Argece makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Argece.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the window.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t answer him, because it would only lead to a one-sided argument. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decided to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Argece was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argece family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

[a-b-riddle]

tw: bondage. Body hair removal. A bit of torture? (imo it would be) teasing. This is just… idk. Weird. Just a blurb about ingrown hair and how Price would handle it.

Price told you when you first got together how he liked his women groomed. He didn’t shy away from it. The man knew what he liked 🤷🏼‍♀️

And that was some hair down there. Be it a bit of scruff or a full bush, he liked his women to have hair.

“Need something to keep that pussy warm while I’m away.” He once joked.

But you had thought it was just that.

A joke.

At least it was until you had shaved everything — and I do mean everything— to be a bit spontaneous and boy were you regretting it now.

John had refused to eat your pussy. At first you thought he was being a right prick refusing you until you felt the scratch of his beard against your very sensitive cunt. You practically pulled him up by his ears while he met you with a cocky “I told you so” look on his face.

You didn’t even like being bare down there, but his smug ass smirk had riled you up. You had insisted on keeping yourself shaved, making John’s eyebrow raise in a challenge. He had warned you what would happen if he wasn’t able to get his mouth on you.

Shame you didn’t listen.

Ingrown hairs and obvious irritation made you feel absolutely disgusting. It was perfectly normal, but the constant scratching like you were trying to relieve an itch from a veenirial infection wasn’t exactly… sexy.

You had passed through it. Making a vow to never do it again….

Until you did.

And John had warned you.

Which was why on the second day after shaving, he had tied you to the bed. You had prepared yourself for a proper fucking only to feel that tickle begin to spread the moment he secured the final cuff.

You didn’t know what a devious fucked you had married. Only John Price would refrain from eating your pussy (his favorite past time) in order to prove a point.

You were nearly in tears after thirty minutes of having the irritation flare up and nothing you could do to relieve it. To make matters worse, John was barely a few inches from your soaked cunt.

“Would love to get my mouth on you, but I don’t wanna hurt you like last time.”

“You won’t,” you promised. Pulling at the restraints. Angling your hips upwards to get closer to him.

“Warned you what would happen if you bothered your pussy again. No need to shave it down. I can see her juuuuust fine.” He teased.

“John, please.” Tears had began to spill from your eyes at this point. Not sure whether from the sexual frustration or the torment of not being able to relief the other ache from between your thighs.

“Promise me you won’t take a bloody razor to this pretty little cunt.” He practically growled, his breath hot against you. In that moment you would have never picked up a razor to shave any part of you if he had asked.

When he was finally satisfied with your pleading, he released you. Telling you when she’s a bit more covered and could handle it, he’ll have you sitting on his face. But for now there was a brand new exfoliation glove in the bathroom that he read would help.

You practically bolted out of the bed. No longer caring about coming six ways to Sunday. You had an itch that you definitely didn’t want John to scratch.

[francesderwent]

been thinking about the whole “women in their thirties are refusing to get married and have kids because they’re selfish and ungodly and that’s what’s wrong with today’s society” shtick and what I think is this.

sometimes, women are single on purpose through their own choice. I’m one of them. I wasn’t in a relationship from the ages of twenty-two to thirty. I went on a very few first dates and even fewer second dates, and in every single one of those cases I was the one who said "thanks but I don't think we should pursue this any further", which isn't even to say anything about all the dates I turned down right off the bat and all the casual overtures I rebuffed. and those men weren't vicious monsters, they were all more or less basically decent. I could have married any one of them - even the ones I wouldn't go on first dates with. if I wanted to be married, I could have been. I chose not to be.

and it does have something to do with the fact that I was used to being single, but not in the sense of not having any room in my life for somebody else, not wanting to put in the work, not wanting to live for someone else. because anybody who's been single for a long time will tell you the only saving grace is filling your life with meaningful friendships and family relationships you can sacrifice for and be vulnerable in. a single life isn't necessarily a life where you're accountable to no one. sometimes it's a life where you're accountable to a whole lot of people, all at once, pulled in a lot of directions, trying to balance a lot of plates.

and the kicker is, when you have a life that's full like that, and you're used to it - when that's the firm status quo and you're not caught up in the rollercoaster of dating a lot and comparing new partners to old partners - then, when you do let a new person into your life, you can tell very quickly whether they make your life better or not. some people, you can comfortably date them and they're not going to make your life worse, but they don't add anything besides an excuse to get out to coffeeshops and restaurants and the movies. and some people, as soon as you start getting to know them, their influence starts creeping into the whole of your life because they make you want to be better all the time. I like to think the second kind of person would shine no matter when you met them, no matter what else was going on at the time. but in certain circumstances the first kind of person can shine, when they’re surrounded by a muddle of people who have made your life worse. so taking a step back from the muddle and being very careful who you let into your life in a big way isn't selfishness, or disrespect for marriage and family. it’s actually a kind of prudence.

I could've married any of those men who asked me out in my twenties. I chose not to, because they were just okay. and eventually, I met my current boyfriend, who makes me want to be a better daughter and sister, who encouraged me to stop bottling everything up and suffering in silence so that I could actually be emotionally vulnerable, not just with him but with my friends and family!, who has deepened my faith by showing me what agapic love looks like.

and I wasn't guaranteed any of that. when I was turning down dates and ending fledgling relationships, I had no way of knowing that this was even possible. but I think I made the right decision - and if he'd never turned up, I still think I would've made the right decision. Lizzie didn’t know that she would marry Mr Darcy, a man she loved and truly respected and admired, when she turned down Mr Collins. but she was right to turn down Mr Collins.

[skzhua]

a price i'm willing to pay | part 20 - doughnuts.

MASTERLIST

pairing: ceo!bang chan x entrepreneur!reader

genre: social media!au, arranged marriage, fake relationship, fluff, angst.

warnings: swearing, might have suggestive bits.

summary: following a scandal threatening the survival of your business, you have no choice but to associate yourself with a competitive company.

What happened last night? The events could be told in a short summary or in a thirty pages story.

It started after you had texted Chan to come and when you had just arrived at Wonhee's apartment. You still weren't sure why you asked him in such a desperate way for him to come but something in you wanted him around. Maybe it was because of the way he managed to get your mind off things in those silly dates every week. A part of it might also be how calm you had become to each other with time. As much as you hated to admit it, you were quite grateful to have him in your life. Especially considering the circumstances.

To no surprise, you were the first one to be greeted by the messy living room that had clothes and junk scattered around. Your sister was never one to clean a lot. As long as she found what she needed, it was not a necessity. That always came in contrast with Minho's tidiness of things.

"Long day?" you asked when she yawned loudly.

"Tell me about it... I like my job but my boss is always giving me these documents to send off when he can do it himself. I'm not his assistant, I shouldn't be doing this technically."

The job was temporary supposedly. Nonetheless, she was starting her fourth year as an assistant manager in a quaint clothing store.

"I've been telling you to work for me instead."

"I love you, sweetie, but you can barely provide for yourself if you don't marry Chris Bang."

"Alright, I'll take that," you laughed out.

Nearly twenty minutes passed until Jeongin and Minho arrived. Wonhee being Wonhee, she had already passed out on the couch in the comfort of her warm blankets. You let the men get settled and stayed by your sister's side for a while before Jeongin extended a white plastic bag to you. The two men had brought snacks of all sort to eat for the night. There were ramen bowls, candies, chips, soda bottles, even fruits that Minho had kindly cut beforehand. As you and him began to clear the coffee table to make space for the food, Jeongin looked around the room with a puzzled face.

"Do you really think Changbin went to his childhood home?" he questioned, obviously doubting what his friend said about his whereabouts.

The room became silent as you stared at one another. This was the fourth time Changbin didn't come to one of your hangouts. As much as you didn't want to doubt him, he had been behaving oddly since you announced you were marrying Chan. You knew this had nothing to do with jealousy as there was no way you were remotely interested in him. However, the more time passed, the more you began to believe it.

"His loss," Minho shrugged and then continued with placing the food items in front of him.

"Did he tell you anything, Y/N?"

You shook your head much to his disappointment. Before the ambiance could get any sadder than this, you began to look for a film to put on the screen. A historical drama was Jeongin's choice and he settled comfortably as he opened a bag of pretzel chips. Quite frankly, you paid little to no attention to what was going on between the two characters in the film. Instead, you kept looking at your cellphone every passing second. You swore Chan confirmed he would be there already. Thoughts began to flood your mind and you spiraled into thinking the absolute worse. While Minho was too immersed in the proximity he was sharing with Wonhee, Jeongin noticed immediately your shaking figure.

"Are you cold or something?"

You stared at him, uncertain if you should answer truthfully. You were about to speak when the buzzing sound of the doorbell interrupted you. You put the blanket that laid on your legs aside and were quick to answer.

"Yes?" you spoke in the speaker.

"Y/N?" Chan said.

You didn't need any more information and you pushed the button to let him in. As much as it felt like an action you did on the regular basis, it resulted to a frantic Jeongin rushing to your sides.

"Don't tell me you invited Bang here?"

"What?" Minho whispered to not wake Wonhee up. "Why would you do that? Voluntarily?"

"Yes," you answered sheepishly.

"Since when?" Jeongin asked, his voice much louder to which Minho answered with a glare.

"I don't know, we get along now. Is it that much of a surprise?"

Minho smirked. "No. He's welcomed here anytime."

"Who are you to say this? You don't live here."

"I might soon if Wonhee finally lets me be your brother-in-law."

Just when Jeongin was starting to run to Minho with an annoyed grunt, a soft knock was heard throughout the whole flat. Your two friends looked at you with encouraging smiles while you stood there, frozen. The knock came again. Finally, you opened the door slowly, only peeking your head out at first. When you saw Chan in sweats and a hoodie that was clearly too large for him, you felt your face heat up the slightest. He has never looked so casual in front of you and you honestly loved it.

"Am I late to the party?" his voice broke you away from your staring.

"Not at all, the film only began."

When you let him inside, a frown appeared on his face. "Your sister is sleeping already?"

"Don't question it," Minho said as he rubbed her arm. "She had a long day."

Chan chuckled — which somehow sounded like the most beautiful thing you had heard in your entire life — and went on to put what he brought on the counter. "I didn't think you'd have so many snacks already but I have pastries."

"What kind?"

"Mochi doughnuts."

You quirked an eyebrow. "What the hell is that?'

His eyes widened. "I knew you had no cultural knowledge but to that extent?"

"Alright, I'm sorry I don't know my doughnuts," you huffed.

"You have to give it a go."

"Maybe later. Come, join us."

Jeongin gladly scooched over the edge of the sofa to leave you two enough space. As much as he tried, it was still not enough to let you have room for yourself without having half of your body on top of Chan's. Upon noticing your poor attempt at finding a comfortable position, he sighed heavily in discouragement.

"Just come here," he motioned to himself, opening his arms out as to invite you to cuddle up.

"In your dreams," you scoffed.

"I swear I'm comfortable."

You glanced over at Jeongin and he was no help when he answered with a shrug. He was visibly more focused on the gummy bears he was consuming. With a shy nod, you allowed yourself to fall onto his body as you got wrapped around by his strong but somewhat soft arms. You moved around for a while to find the right way to sit but he sighed again.

"You're stiff, just relax."

"I am relaxed."

"Y/N."

His hands moved from the side of your arm to your cheek. Gently, he made you look at him and you swore you felt your stomach flip upside down. In an instant, your limbs relaxed and you fell perfectly into Chan's embrace. He detached his hand from your face — much to both your relief and your dismay — and laid the blanket on both of your bodies.

"What did I miss?" he asked to Jeongin as if nothing.

You were baffled at how at ease he was conversing with your friend while you couldn't help but wonder if he could feel your heart pound like crazy.

Almost two hours later, you were still as flustered and still in Chan's arms. You didn't dare to move, afraid the slightest movement would bother him. The two other men were deep asleep and, at that point, neither of you were interested in the movie.

"Doughnuts?" he suddenly said as he paused the film.

The credits stayed still on the television but you kept your eyes on it. His face was dangerously close to yours, you were well aware of it. Before you could make a wrong move, you got off him carefully to not bother your sleepy friends. As for him, he stared at you expectedly for an answer. You finally nodded and he cracked a smile before walking up to the white box laying still on the counter. Your gaze followed his actions and accidentally moved down to his forearms and he had just rolled his sleeves up. Again, you had to snap yourself out of it and focus back on the pastries he was now taking out of their package.

"Macha?" he offered and you gladly took the doughnut from him.

"What's yours?" you asked, pointing to the blue-coloured one he had in hands.

"Blueberry."

You said nothing. But your eyes remained on the food. A little too intensely. And Chan saw it.

"We can switch, here."

You grinned successfully and lost no time in biting into the soft baked good. It was sweet and soft, melting perfectly into your mouth. You barely could restrain yourself from letting out a surprised gasp from the taste.

"I really can't believe you never ate one of these," Chan commented while chewing.

"Well, you've created a monster now — this is delicious!"

He chuckled lightly at the sight of you taking more bites, messily wiping the corner of your mouth in the process. The remainder of the box was eaten in silence other than a few more gasps from your part. You offered yourself to get rid of the trash as part of the "thank you" you indirectly wanted to tell him. In the meantime, he pulled more boxes from the plastic bag he had brought originally which made you widen your eyes.

"More doughnuts?"

"Sadly, no," he responded in a disappointed tone. "Do you want bagels, though? I have this sudden craving."

Because of having been over at Wonhee's place so often, it was easy for you to locate the toaster while Chan cut the bagels in two. It was strange how cozy this was. It was almost like it was just one of those days where you'd stay late at night with your partner, doing silly things to get yourselves to sleep. As much as it made you grin, there was an inevitable voice in your mind telling you to not fall for this. Your relationship is based on business. Your upcoming marriage is based on business. There would be a day where Chris would come up to you with the news he has found someone to share his life with.

These thoughts were dangerous.

"How many do you want?"

You hadn't realized you had been spacing out while standing in front of the toaster, looking at nothing in particular. Chan still looked at you expectedly for an answer after a few seconds passed with your body staying still.

"One, I guess," you managed to speak.

Chan nodded lightly but a doubtful frown made its way on his face. He set the bagels in place, turned the toaster on, and then grabbed you gently by the arms.

"There's something bugging you."

Duh, you wanted to say. "No," was what you answered instead.

He exhaled as he gave you a look telling you he wasn't believing you. "I know we are not so close to each other in terms of talking about our problems and all but, believe me, you can trust me."

You scoffed. "I hated you for nearly 10 years."

"Fair point," he hummed. "I am a good listener if you need one, though."

You bit the inside of your cheek. Until then, you still hadn't looked at him in the eye. When your gaze met his, the was a glint in his pupils — one so comforting that it told you he was being sincere. You had missed on noticing how kind his eyes were when he smiled. You had also never quite checked how much taller than you he stood besides the fact you had been close to his body on many instances. And it was the first time you felt somehow aware of your looks in front of him.

"You don't have to say a thing, obviously," he reiterated in fear you might have interpreted it as too insistent.

He let go of your arms but you quickly grabbed his yourself to keep him near you. "Our marriage."

This took him by surprise and he opened his mouth slightly, unsure on what to say at first. He hadn't even thought you would open up to him, even less about whatever you had going in your mind towards your marriage.

"Yes?" he encouraged you to continue.

"Don't sleep around while we're married."

You wouldn't be able to explain why you felt this way or why you had the need to request this from him. It was a miracle you even gathered the strength to let it out — though not a lot of strength was required as it had mostly slipped out of your mouth.

"I wasn't planning on it either," he assured with a small chuckle. "It would be stupid to put ourselves in a situation where cheating allegations can-"

"Not for that," you stopped him which confused him. "I just don't want you to."

His breath hitched. "I won't."

Your body moved on its own and you pulled him closer. His eyes stayed on your lips for a few seconds before he gulped. Both of your breaths suddenly quickened from how close your faces were to one another.

"Can I request the same?" he said lowly.

"Yes."

"If you're my wife, you should know it means you are mine, no?" he almost said in a growl.

Your brain short-circuited for a moment. In all of the things he could have said, this was not on the list. It was almost offending you how he said it, but it also made him all the more attractive. Especially when he spoke with like this.

"You want me to be yours?" you whispered.

"Do you really think I've actually hated you all these years?"

What he insinuated with this was painfully obvious. So much, you denied to believe it. In no existing world was Christopher Bang Chan ever interested in you. If he didn't hate you, it was no liking for sure.

And you were right, he did dislike you as much as you. Maybe not hate, but there was no interest of getting along with you. What changed was the hours on end you spent with each other either working or on fake dates. Hours of watching you in your natural element being the most authentic person he knew. And how you began to let your guards down and let him catch a glimpse of your actual person — not the one who hated his guts — made you seem so much more attractive. For that, he did hate you.

He hated how accustomed he grew of your presence. He hated how your smile became the thing he looked forward to see every Tuesdays. He absolutely despised how jealous of Changbin he was for getting to take care of you as if you were the purest soul on Earth. He hated it so much, he had to call the fake relationship off. And without thinking, the moment he knew he could come to your rescue, he lost no time in doing so. Hence the marriage. Hence why it was taking everything in him to not attack your lips with his.

"Chan," was all you could find to say.

"Believe whatever, I don't care, but I really want to kiss you right now."

The need in his voice was desperate. You found yourself enchanted by the way he had smoothly moved his hands to your hips — suddenly aware of his touch — and mesmerized by how pretty he was besides the fact it was almost pitch black in the apartment. Without answering his request, you grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into what was intended to be a gentle kiss. However, this was not enough on his part and he hungrily kissed back, so roughly that you could barely keep up with his pace.

His lips were moving so naturally, you could tell he had experience. It made the whole thing more thrilling which made you yearn for him a lot more. Your grasp around the back of his neck grew firmer while his hands were roaming all over your body. They moved down from your hips to your ass and began to massage them in a way that both hurt and made you gasp. Naturally, you jumped to wrap your legs around him and he held onto your thighs for support. He carefully put you on top of the counter where you heights met.

"I still hate you," you said breathlessly between kisses. "So fucking much."

You bit his lips when you felt the grin form on his mouth. He gasped in his turn and clutched onto your waist so hard, you squirm under his touch.

You would have done something as a payback if it wasn't for the horrid smell of burnt reaching your nostrils. All of the sudden, you remembered of putting bagels in the toaster for far too long.

"Shit," you mumbled, pushing Chan aside to get to the black burnt pieces of food.

You rushed to get one of your sister's perfumed candles and lit it up for them to get rid of the scent. You were lucky it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"Y/N," Chan finally said once you were done with taking care of the problem.

The realization hit you hard upon noticing the red-ish marks you had left on his neck. The swell on his lips was another proof of the makeout session that occurred only minutes ago. Who knows what would have happened if the bagels didn't burn...

"It's getting late, you can take the last spot on the couch."

Visibly disappointed by your dismissal of the situation, he still nodded in agreement. "Where will you sleep?"

"Wonhee has a guest room."

You stayed in the kitchen for a couple more minutes, not saying a word. Chan was the first to leave while muttering a short "good night".

But you did not have a good night.

taglist: @lenilla15 | @muddy-waters | @nanaspalette | @nattisbored | @popcatx0 | @vanblack95 | @aestheticsluut | @thanxxskz | @minhoino | @taetertotsv | @7 | @lethallyprotected | @foxinnie8 | @jisuperboard | @jihanlovic | @soobin-chois | @jinxwhore28 | @purplelandsworld | @yeojoongiee | @smugrogerina | @jaehyunicecream | @urmomlikeslinotoo | @syprosight | @thesassy-mia | @chaotic-world-of-the-j | @heartsforlevi | @miyakoa | @seungincore | @skzsilentcryy | @owotalks | @hanjsquokka | @evermourning | @bangchansbae | @qweebarse | @linosllvr | @kpopsstuffs | @tinyelfperson | @jabmastersupriseee | @imsiriuslyreal | @chrizzztopherbang | @ilovejeongin_007 | @lixie-phoria | @syds-dead | @yukichan67 | @farfromsugafanfic | @realrintaro | @boldy-49 | @5starluvr | @nujeskz | @greyyeti | @blackhairandbangs | @raehawthorne | @charmer-c | @cookiemonstermusic258 | @vitaniangel-blog | @blessedblog02

Copyright © 2024 skzhua. All rights reserved.

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) l ch. VI

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6,192

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), kook gets pissed, jk mother is asdhjf!, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, manipulative parent, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc, mild sexting, sexual content

Sexual warnings: bl*wj*b, jk c*mes on her t*tt*es, d*rty talk

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: um so this got over 6k which i know isn't amazing but for me its big deal okay?! haha! Anyway Part VI here we go! No flashbacks in this chapter because of ch.V buuut, I have a little gift for you and me. Hope you enjoy!! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind 😙

<< ch. V ༓ ch. VII >> | series masterlist

Living in the country for over thirty years, the Jeons were known to be excruciatingly slow and cautious drivers. The town was tiny, roads were narrow, and no one was ever in a rush to get anywhere apart from maybe the farmers market.

Once when Jungkook first got his license he took one hand off the steering wheel and his mother almost had a heart attack, saying it was “reckless of him to put them in danger”. It was from that moment forward that Jungkook always made sure to drive at 10 and 2 or 9 and 3 when his mother was in the car. His father on the other hand didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t go above 30 mph.

Jungkook was counting his lucky stars when he finally got his own car and the chance to move to the city where he could drive how he damn well pleased–responsibly of course. He had recently finished his Master’s studies and was offered a job as an economist in a major medical corporation. The only catch was that he’d have to relocate to Seoul which ended up being more than fine with him.

His parents moaned and groaned that he wasn’t sticking around but his mind was made up. He moved out of his parent’s tiny town one late June and headed to the city where life moved to a whole new beat.

Ten years later, Jungkook finds himself gripping the steering wheel with two sweaty hands again. Kudos to his parents who have been telling him which way to turn and how fast or slow to go for the past fifteen minutes. He honestly should have picked a brunch spot closer to home to avoid all the madness. Walking would have done them good.

“I’ll never get used to how you drive down here,” Mrs. Jeon grumbles from the back seat. “All these sharp turns and six lanes of traffic going 50-plus miles an hour. It’s a wonder you haven’t all gotten in an accident yet. It’s like I always say, the slower the better. You city folks just don’t get it.”

Jungkook peers in his rearview mirror before signaling to switch lanes. “We can’t afford to go too slow out here Mom. This is a highway and dropping down in speed will cause a safety hazard just as bad, if not worse. Environments are different out here than in the woods.”

As Jungkook merges to the right, Mr. Jeon watches the surrounding cars from the back seat window. “Ah son, son, son!” He hollers and reaches for the ceiling handle.

“What? What happened?” Jungkook asks with panic. He flickers his eyes to the mirror again to spot his father's distress.

Mr. Jeon slowly releases the handle and lets out a lengthy sigh. “It's okay now, we’re good. You did good son. You moved over with so little space I thought you were going to hit the car now behind us."

"I told you it's a mad house out here!" Mrs. Jeon adds, tone thick. Jungkook puts his eyes back on the road in front of him and does his best to ignore the irritation bubbling within him.

"I know what I'm doing," he says. "I've lived here for ten years so can you guys please trust me? And stop with the driving advice and yelling every time I do something."

"We're just trying to help Kookie."

"Well, you're not alright?" The snap in his voice has Jungkook's parents sulking back in their seats in silence. "I want us to get to the restaurant safely and I can't do that when you're both shouting at me! So please just let me do the driving. Thank you."

God, if one more person calls him Kookie in that condescending tone he's going to lose it! Kookie was his childhood nickname but for some reason, it stuck to him like glue until he was friggin' 22 years old. He absolutely hates it and the only person remotely allowed to call him by it is his wife because she makes anything sound like honey to his ears.

The next five minutes are nothing but awkward silence and the sound of tires running on hard cement. Jungkook checks his phone—there's still a good ten minutes left according to the GPS. He moves to turn the radio on to break the eeriness of the drive when an incoming call pops on his car screen.

"Who's that? Who's calling?" Mr. Jeon pipes up.

"It's __." Jungkook hits the answer button. "Hey honey! You're on speaker." He smiles a big, wide grin that says nothing less than he misses you.

"Hi! I'm on my lunch break and thought I'd give you guys a call. I'm stopping at the grocery store tonight, after work. Anything you need?"

“Some booze would be nice!” Mr. Jeon echos and looks at his wife who merely shakes her head. He hasn’t had a drink in twenty years due to his high blood pressure, yet he’s still making the same damn jokes. “Got any Soju? Or maybe Bokbunja?” He chuckles at Mrs. Jeon’s sour face.

Jungkook pays his dad no mind and replies to you. “Uhm….we're low on milk again. I drank the last one yesterday.”

"You went through all those gallon jugs in a week?!" You'd think you'd be used to the amount of dairy your husband packs away but every time, it shocks you as much as the first. You married a milk-lovin’ machine.

Jungkook chuckles. "I'm sorry. I can get them for you if you want. We're on our way to get brunch, then hitting the bookstore for Dad, and after we'll swoop back home. I can pick it up along the way.”

“No need, I’m already going out later so I’ll get it. Anything else?”

“There’s nothing else I can think of. How’s work going?” He’s hoping it’s not hectic given the fact that last week was an absolute sandstorm. He distinctively remembers you coming home with nothing more than tired feet and dark circles under your eyes. He drew you a bath that night.

“Eh, so-so. I have a meeting with my boss later but besides that, it’s the usual. I wish I could have come to brunch with you guys. I feel bad I’m missing it.” Well, you do and you don’t. If Jungkook was planning on talking to his mom about the happenings of last night you wanted to be around for support but it was also a matter that should be between a mother and her son.

“Us too, but we’ll see you ton–shit!” Jungkook slams on the break when he sees he’s about to crash into a black SUV. Everyone’s seatbelts lock at the sudden jerk. “Sorry, sorry!” He checks the mirror to find his parents clinging to their seatbelts.

“Are you guys okay?! Jungkook?!”

He scans all around him to find rows and rows of cars all trying to merge into each other’s lanes. Some are coming from the exit nearby whereas others are trying to squeeze through people in hopes to get ahead.

Dammit, Jungook cruses to himself.

“Yeah, we’re good honey. Everything’s okay but we’ve hit a traffic jam. I’m not sure why since it’s literally 11:40 a.m on a Wednesday but looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a bit.”

“We’d never have this problem at home.” Jungkook hears his mother mumbling under her breath to which his father replies with a nodding of his head. “If it weren’t for all this nonsense we’d be there by now.”

“Absolutely. We’d be there fifteen minutes ago,” his father adds with his hands in the air. “Isn’t there some kind of way you can get around this son, like a shortcut?”

Ah yes, shortcuts on the highway. Why didn’t he think of that? Let him just push the button that says flight mode and–no! Having enough, Jungkook holds his foot on the break and twists his body around to face his parents.

“Alright listen to me right now. This is not Tiny Town where there are a million dirt roads that pop from anywhere and all seem to lead to one other. Everyone drives at least seventy out here and that’s just the way it is because this..." He gestures outside the windshield. "This is what happens! We all get stuck in this congested funnel! But if you two can think of a way to get out of here that doesn’t involve attempting to bulldoze other cars, I’m all ears. Until then we’re going to sit here and talk about the weather because there's nothing else we can do!"

Jungkook looks back and forth between his parents. Mrs. Jeon simply stares outside her window while his dad gives a slow nod in understanding.

"Is it really that bad?"

Jungkook relaxes his body back to face the front when he hears your voice. "Yeah, it's pretty bad __." He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a very long day.

"Nice out today. Mind if I roll down the window?" The traffic hasn't got any better and it was starting to get stuffy in the car. Mr. Jeon desperately needed some fresh air in his face.

"Mhm yeah, go ahead."

"How about some music? Find out what's on the radio will you." He sticks his arm out the window, letting the gentle breeze hit his skin. When the first song blares through the speakers, Jungkook's mother breaks her deafening silence.

"Dear god! What music is this?"

Mr. Jeon immediately perks up. "It's PSY! Turn it up! Turn it up, boy!" Jungkook appeases his father's wishes and turns the knob a few more notches. "Oppa Gangnam Style! Eae eae eae e, sexy lady!"

Hearing his dad singing at the top of his lungs has Jungkook rubbing the side of his head. It's not that he sounded bad but he was singing so loud that everyone around them started pointing, laughing, or rolling up their own windows. "Dad, people are going to get annoyed. Take it down a little."

Deeply immersed in the song, Mr. Jeon continues singing regardless of his son's request. "Op, op, op, op, oppa Gangnam Style!" He starts rocking in his seat which causes a few middle schoolers in the car next to them to pop out their phones.

"Dad!" Jungkook hollers when he notices the kids taking pictures. If doesn't put an end to this now, his father's face is going to be trending all over the internet with god knows what filter.

"Op, op, op, op, on on on on!"

"Dad stop!" He tries again, this time turning the music down. Mrs. Jeon attempts to calm her husband down too, placing a hand on one of his arms but it doesn't take much for it to be ripped out of her grasp. Mr. Jeon ends up nearly whacking his wife in the face due to all his energetic dancing.

"Erotic sexy lady! Oppa Gangnam Sty–hey! Song wasn't done yet!" Jungkook's dad never looked so offended in his life. If he had adjusted his gaze just a few inches to the left he'd see the group of kids, the ones taking photos earlier, giggling to one another. But he was too pissed at his son for crashing his party that it went to the wayside.

"Honey, you were causing a disturbance," Mrs. Jeon says.

"A disturbance? In this traffic jam, I'm the disturbance?" He refuses to believe he's the annoyance when they've been in the middle of a highway, moving at 5 mph for the last hour. PSY has recently become his favorite singer and not enjoying himself would have been an absolute tragedy in his opinion. "It's all of you who should be thanking me for offering some shred of entertainment at times like these."

"The entire population of South Korea is going to be thanking you then." Jungkook creeps forward as soon as the car in front of him moves up a ways. Finally moving again, he hums.

"Hey!" An abrupt voice calls from a slight distance. Two teenage boys pull up in a Jaguar, greasy grins on their faces. "Great singing Grandpa! Really know how to move!" The one in the passenger seat flashes his phone playing a video of Jungkook's dad online.

"Wha–how–What?! You delete that right now!" Mr. Jeon is stunned, tripping over his words at the shock of himself actually being the center of the internet. The video is unexpectedly clear.

"Just ignore them, Dad." Jungkook rolls up all the windows in the car and inches up the best he can to get the teenagers out of direct sight.

"But-but how did they do that so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!"

"It only takes seconds, honey," Mrs. Jeon sighs, realizing her husband has become famous over a re-rendition of a PSY song. Of all things, it had to be that.

"I'm starving."

"Me too."

Jungkook glances at the time–2:40p.m. It's now been three hours of sitting in traffic and they've only moved about ten miles. What on earth is congesting the highway this much?

"Maybe we should take one of these exits." His dad scrolls through the map on his phone. "Says there are a few restaurants down exit 6A."

Jungkook considers the idea. He wants to get off the highway, yes, but so does everyone else. The exit his dad is talking about is off the far right lane which means he's going to need to shove in front of everyone's way.

"You sure it's a good place? Wherever it is you're looking?" The reason why he asks is that his dad is notorious for leading them into the most ruin down places. The last time he was in charge of directions, they ended up in front of an abandoned pizza shop.

Mrs. Jeon takes the phone from her husband's hand and swipes through the photos of a quaint restaurant. "It's not bad," she concludes. "And if it means we can get out of this mess, then I'm with your father on this one."

Two against one. Jungkook turns his signal on and waits for someone to let him over. He earns a few honks when he manages to squeeze his nose over but does his best to give an apologetic wave.

After a few more lane changes he gets in the exit lane. He isn't the only one planning to take exit 6B though, being that there are at least twenty other cars waiting in line.

"Maybe we were better off back where we were. All these people want to get off the same place. If we keep going there's bound to be another exit with far less traffic."

Really? Jungkook feels himself ticking again. After all that shoving to get over here and this is what he gets? No, he's not moving back over. They're going to wait in this stupid lane until it gets them to where they originally agreed.

"We just got here and we're not moving back anywhere. This lane should clear up in less time than it would take to go back on the main highway," Jungkook says. "Also, I probably don't need to clarify this but, we're not going to make it to that bookstore you wanted, Dad."

"It's fine, son. We'll go another day."

Which means tomorrow, Jungkook half grumbles to himself. His parents are here for another day after all and he knows his father well enough to know that "another day" really means the closest day possible.

Despite its size, the restaurant his parents choose is charming with its floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and giant, bay windows. The odd hanging plant is spread throughout the open dining space as well, perfectly setting the mood of serenity.

The restaurant only seems to hold about a dozen people inside, however. So thinking it is best to avoid sitting in an overly crowded space, Jungkook asks for one of the tables outside.

“Oh now this is lovely,” his mother praises, pulling her chair up to the table. Jungkook can’t describe how relieved he is to finally hear something positive after hours of nonstop grumbling.

Mr. Jeon takes a seat next to his wife and across from his son. “I just saw someone get Samgyeopsal and it was huge! Let’s get that to share.”

His enthusiasm is short-lived when the scrunched-up face from his wife says she's not a fan. “That's too much food! We still have to be hungry for dinner so we can eat with __."

"Mom's right," Jungkook agrees reluctantly. "__'s stopping at the grocery store after work so we can prep for dinner tonight. I know traffic slowed us down so we're eating at a weird time but it's better we go with something light."

"Oh well, we can always take some to go! Surely __ will enjoy some beautifully grilled pork!" Jungkook's father is adamant. He wants nothing more than a heavy meal after being stuck in the car all morning.

"__ doesn't like pork Dad. And we all know as soon as we get a whiff of it cooking there's not going to be any leftovers."

"Alright, alright," his dad concedes. "I guess I'll try their bibimbap. What are you having hon?"

Jungkook checks his phone messages while his parents make small talk over the menu. You texted him earlier to see how traffic was holding up and he only able to get back to you minutes ago.

Wifey ❤️ : So I'm guessing you haven't talked to your mom yet?

Jungkook: No, haven't brought it up. She seems fine though with the way she's been acting. It doesn't take much for her to go back to her usual self

Wifey ❤️: Her usual self being...?

Jungkook: You know, really particular.

Wifey ❤️: So she's complaining again. I'm sorry 😞

Jungkook: When I was talking with her on the phone before we left, she was much more careful about what she was saying. I expected it to still be that way now. Must have been a mood.

Wifey ❤️: Sounds like she wasn't sure how you'd be reacting after what happened last night. Maybe she's just reverting to back what she's used to because she's unsure what else to do or say. I'd still try finding a way to talk to her. Does it seem tense?

Jungkook: Yeah, you have a point. But Mom's also had a good way of sweeping things under the rug. It's not tense but it's just uncomfortably normal?

Wifey ❤️: Hmm, strange. And your dad's fine?

Jungkook: Honey...have you been on any social media in the last half hour?

Wifey ❤️: No, why?

Jungkook: Might wanna check. We had a little incident while in traffic. I'm still in shock honestly 😅

Jungkook waits for you to find the video of his dad. He already had the guys blowing up his phone from it so he's surprised none of them at least forwarded it to you.

Wifey ❤️: oh my god! Jungkook what happened?! 😂 I hope you're prepared for your students to be all over this

Jungkook: oh shit, that didn't even cross my mind 😩 also it's not funny honey! Listening to my dad singing eae e sexy lady was traumatizing enough. Now I have to see and hear it every time I pop open my phone or some teen punks show it to me!

Wifey ❤️: Aw Kookie, they're just being kids...try not to overthink. And you know those videos come and go. Your dad will be at the bottom of the chain by next week. Until then keep him away from PSY 😅 But I'm sorry you're having a day, I love you 🥺

Jungkook: I MISS YOU SO MUCH 😭

Wifey ❤️: [sent an image]

Fuck! Jungkook chokes on his spit when he sees a blurry close up of your cleavage. Thankfully his parents are still too occupied by the menu that they didn't notice.

Jungkook: sexy af but this isn't the time to be sexting me baby!

He nearly saves the photo if it weren't for the fact that he already had an album dedicated to very sensual *ahem erotic* photos of you. You had let him take them himself —best motherfuckin' birthday ever.

Wifey ❤️: oh adhjjhj, sorry!! That was an accident. I'm such a klutz. This is what I meant... [sent an image]

"What's going on over there?" Jungkook merely glimpses at the new image before whipping his head up, hearing his mother's, sharp tone.

"It's just __. She's asking about groceries again."

With slightly narrowed eyes, Mrs. Jeon continues. "We're about to order if you're ready."

Dammit. He'll have to reply to you later. Jungkook swiftly pockets the phone. "Okay yeah I'm good to go."

"This is delicious," Mr. Jeon says, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Best bibimbap I've had in a long time."

"That's great Dad." Jungkook stirs his noodles.

"Ah, where's the restroom around here?" He asks the waitress as she walks by. She tells him it's in the restaurant, all the way to the back. Mr. Jeon pushes his chair from the table and excuses himself. "All that broth has me needing to go."

"Yes yes, just go." Why his father needed to explain himself every time he needed to use the restroom is beyond him. Jungkook peers at his mother, taking her time eating her own bowl of noodles–they ended up ordering the same thing. "How is it?" he asks.

"It's good."

"Not too spicy?"

"No, it's mild."

Jungkook gathers more noodles on his chopstick. He freezes halfway when he sees his mother eyeing him intensely. "Everything okay?"

Mrs. Jeon folds her hands in her lap. "It's occurred to me that we still have an elephant in the room. I was hoping we'd be able to talk about it while your father browsed the bookstore. But plans changed."

And here he thought his mother had been playing down last night when really she was biding her time. "You know Dad's gonna be back in like ten minutes right?"

Mrs. Jeon nods. "I know it's not the most convenient of times or places, but I'm afraid if we delay it won't get discussed."

"Okay." Jungkook sets his chopsticks down. "Well...where do you want to start?"

"An apology would be nice." Her voice is mellow but the words are a clear demand rather than an offer. Of course, he wants to apologize to her for all the things he accused her of last night. But he wasn't expecting her to be this forward with it, especially since she was guilty of plenty herself. "I'm waiting Kookie," she coos, taking a sip of water.

Jungkook knits his eyebrows in response, unsure of what he's hearing. His mother looks far too relaxed about this whole thing. He decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You're right," he starts. "I'm sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn't have spoken that way and I'm sorry for making you leave. I think you and Dad showing up all a sudden threw me off and I reacted poorly."

Mrs. Jeon cracks a tight smile and reaches for her son's hand. "Thank you, Jungkook. I accept your apology." She gives his hand a squeeze before moving to pick up her chopsticks. "Now that we got that settled let's talk about the reunion. I'm thinking about talking to–"

What....the fuck? His mom did not just glide over this whole issue. She did not just put everything on him. And she did not just bring up that damn reunion again, which he's made very clear he wants nothing a part of. "Is that all you wanted? For me to make my amends with you?"

"What else would there be Kookie?" She scoffs, eyes wide.

"Goddamn it." He struggles to maintain a hushed voice. "Can you please stop calling me that? And what the hell do you mean 'what else would there be'? I'm not trying to put the blame on you but there's a good amount you should be saying to me too."

"What things are you referring to? Don't tell me this is about the reunion again. Look, whatever it is that I said was because I just want to see you more. And no more swearing. You know I don't like that kind of language."

"How can you be like this?" Jungkook can't stop himself. He figured his mom and he would have a better, heart-to-heart than this. It makes his skin crawl that his mother continues to play the victim. "It's genuinely shocking me how....do you even love me?"

Mrs. Jeon pauses at that. "Of course, I love you Jungkook. Why–why would you ask that?" She blinks back the slightest hint of tears forming along the edge of her eyes. Never in a million years did she think her son would doubt something this crucial.

"I feel like–"

"Feel what? What is it?"

"I feel like you care more about what I can do for you than you do me, as your son." Jungkook sniffs. This is a lot harder for him to say than he imagined. "There's been so many times that you've–"

"Don't say this honey! I care about you very much!" She reaches for his hand again but he yanks it away. "What are you trying to tell me?" His mother waits for him to form the rest of the sentence.

Jungkook hesitates to look at her straight on because behind what appears to be concerned eyes is disbelief. She isn't taking any of this seriously. It's written all over her face, tone, and all the way down to the way she's focusing on an answer rather than his inability to comfortably talk to her.

"What have I done so many times?"

"Honestly at this point, what haven't you done?" With an icy glare, Jungkook can't hold himself back anymore. The pot that's been brewing, deep in the darkest parts of him is finally overflowing and it's not going to be pretty to behold. "Do you realize how many times you chose your job, your status, and even your friends over me? And you make Dad go along with literally anything! Is it so horrible for someone to say no to you?!"

The couple next to them shoot uncomfortable looks his way, whispering to each other. Jungkook ignores it and starts counting with his fingers.

"Never once have you ever taken responsibility for showing up uninvited, nagging me about this that, and the other thing, making backhanded comments about my life choice, and most of all pretending our relationship is peachy fine. Well, I'm sorry mom, I'm thirty-four years old and I don't need to live by your rules! Our relationship is barely hanging by a thread and being quite real, it's __ and Dad who are the ones clinging to that thread, making sure it doesn't completely snap."

Mrs. Jeon opens her mouth to interject but Jungkook doesn't allow it to happen. It's not exactly intentional that he's pouring out so much in the middle of people's lunch. Still, he's been shoved over a steep cliff, head first.

"I'm sorry mom, I don't know how many times I need to say it. I don't enjoy any bit of this. It's just been a long stretch of–"

"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more." Mrs. Jeon immediately grabs her purse and twists her neck every which way. "Where's your father? I want to leave."

"Mom I'm trying to talk to you! Why won't you let me talk?"

His mother doesn't reply. She doesn't look at him. It's the silent treatment, Jungkook concludes–it's fucking irritating. "I'm not trying to be hurtful," he says, forcing himself to calm down. "Mom look at me."

She doesn't move.

It only takes seconds for their waitress to near her way up to the table with anxious steps. "I'm sorry to be doing this but unfortunately, we've received a few complaints of a disturbance out here." The young girl clasps her hands. "To ensure all our guests are comfortable we're going to need to ask you to take your conversation elsewhere. I'm really sorry."

Fuck. How embarrassing. Jungkook clears his throat and stands up from his seat. "We understand and are genuinely sorry for the commotion. We'll pay at the front and be on our way. Thank you for waiting our table."

The young girl gives a nervous smile and retreats inside the restaurant. Jungkook makes a note to give her a generous tip.

"Hey, what's going on out here?" Mr. Jeon rushes over, hair blowing over due to the breeze. "I heard there was some inconsiderate party out here airing out their dirty laundry for all to see. I tell you, people these days don't know what privacy means anymore!" He shakes his head and takes a seat.

"Get up Dad we're leaving."

"But I'm not done my–––oh shit." Mr. Jeon clenches his teeth. "You two?"

Mrs. Jeon gets up from her chair, still wordless, and walks towards the parking lot. "I'll get this Dad." Jungkook stops his father from pulling out his wallet. "It is best if you go try to ease Mom. I don't think she'll be talking to me for a while."

Mr. Jeon puts a hand on his son's shoulder. It's his way of offering comfort. "You're mother has made things difficult for you, Jungkook. I'll try getting through to her. In the meantime don't let this eat you up. It's been a long time coming."

Jungkook doesn't get home until quarter past six. The drive home was better than the drive to the restaurant, but hitting the notorious five o'clock traffic slowed them down once more. He also had to drop his parents at their hotel which was no easy task. His mother barely gave him a glance before hopping out of the car. The amount of guilt settling in his gut isn't going away any time soon.

"Hey." Jungkook finds you searching through the kitchen cupboard. "I hope you're okay with spice tonight! I got this really awesome–oh baby what's wrong?" You stop what you're doing when you see your husband come up behind you with sunken eyes. He wraps his larger arms around you, desperately needing your scent.

"I blew it," he croaks. "She's so mad at me."

"I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm sorry I couldn't be there." You turn in his arms to pull him into a full embrace. His nose tickles the side of your neck but you don't laugh. "You wanna tell me?"

Jungkook takes your hand and sits you both on the couch in the living room. "The morning started out rough with three hours of traffic and the two of them in the back seat, telling me where and how I should drive. Then my dad got unexpectedly famous off a PSY song. We finally got to some restaurant about half an hour west of here before 3pm. Everything was going okay until dad went to the bathroom."

"Okay," you say, scooting closer beside him. You rub small circles on his upper back as he leans forward on his spread-apart knees. "What happened?"

"Mom suggested we talk about last night so I said sure." You watch as Jungkook fiddles with his hands. "But she didn't actually care about a conversation or what I had to say. All she wanted, all she expected, was for me to apologize to her so we'd be okay again. It all came out after that and I feel so horrible about it. We ended up getting kicked out of the restaurant too."

"Jungkook..."

"I tried __. I wanted to be patient and to be a good son but she can't even look at me right now." He falls back on the couch, staring at the blank wall in front. "Dad's convinced it was bound to happen."

"You are a good son, Jungkook." You comb a few strands of his soft, ebony hair. He closes his eyes as you do. "You're mom's the one who needs to readjust her view."

"I never thought I'd yell at my mom about all that stuff. And certainly not in public where everyone is trying to have a pleasant lunch. I'm a grown-ass adult and I should have had better control of myself."

You settle into his inner shoulder, laying a hand on his chest. "Even grown adults have limits and your mom's far surpassed those limits. Don't blame yourself for this."

"Dad said the same thing."

"Well, that's two against one."

Jungkook smiles. Two against one, that's where he got that from. Not that you're the first person to use the phrase but he never used it as regularly until you moved in together.

"I missed you so much today. I don't deserve you."

You cock your head up as quick as the words fly from his mouth. "Don't you dare say things like that! You're a good man despite how awful your mother treats you." You lean your face near his, eyes wandering deep into his dark brown ones. "If you're not otherwise too tired, I'm going to show you how much I love you."

Jungkook opens his lids at that–apparently not too tired. You smirk and get off the couch.

"Here?" His classic doe-eyes peer down at your kneeled position. Seeing you settle this perfectly between his muscular thighs triggers an intense blood rush that goes straight to his dick. Jungkook didn't think he was going to get horny tonight but here he was with his half-harden length in your hands in the middle of the living room.

"Mhm." You position yourself just enough for him to have a clear view of your tits. You had taken both your shirt and bra off before starting. You know how your husband likes it. "That okay with you?"

Jungkook groans when you grip his cock harder, gliding it from the base to the tip in repeated motions. "Fuck yeah. It's more than okay." You giggle at how quickly your husband gets in the mood. He thinks you're the bitch in the bedroom? You quicken your movements.

"Oh shit this feels so good." He grips the couch cushion, keeping his focus on you. "Need that gorgeous mouth wrapped around me baby, please. Shit–"

You honor your husband's requests and trace your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip. Once there, you suck lightly before taking him in whole.

"That's it. Take my cock, fuck." Jungkook goes on to praise you as you bottom out. You gag a little at first being that you haven't done this in what....weeks? Damn. Whatever happened to the days when you'd literally go down on each other every day?

"We need to get you reacquainted with my cock honey," he teases, bucking his hips forward to push himself further into your mouth. "All these weeks without my cock in your mouth has you gagging all over me. Been it's been too long hasn't it?"

"Mm," is the only thing you reply with, the weight of his thick length dragging back and forth on your tongue. By now your pussy is pulsating like crazy and you're tempted to just get up and fuck yourself on him. But tonight was about your husband–you're going to make sure of it. And Jungkook loves nothing more than getting head with your bare tits in full view, obviously.

A few sucks later and Jungkook starts fucking himself into your mouth. They began as soft, needy bucks of his hips but now they're rough, full-force thrusts. His length shoves to the back of your throat and you moan desperately around him. "Did you miss my cock baby? I bet you did. My sexy wife....you're mine and you're gonna make me come, aren't you? Fuck yeah, you are."

Your eyes water as you continue to take him, hallowing your cheeks the best you can. Jungkook has his eyes screwed shut and sweat dripping from his forehead. Your panties are so fucking soaked right now and your nipples are defiantly hard from sheer arsousal.

"God I'm so close baby. You're mouth is---fuck I don't even have the words. It's fucking magic! And your tits are so hot from this angle. Kinda reminds me of what you sent to me earlier. Can I come on them? I'm so close." Jungkook takes your broken moans as a yes and starts ramming into you two more times before pullout and covering your breasts with warm liquid. "Fuck fuck fuck," he grunts, spilling himself on you.

What a mess. You look down at yourself. What a motherfuckin' mess and you love it. Jungkook pulls you into a passionate kiss, tongue rolling with yours in heavenly harmony. "Thank you for this," he says between kisses. "I'll help you wash up, I promise."

"Mm Jungkook," you pant. "I think I need you inside me."

Hey, he got his dick sucked and he creamed your tits–it's mama's turn now, or excuse you–wifey.

A/N: this got nasty whoops. not sorry. Anyway LMK what you think, thanks for reading! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind

Masterlist

Taglist:

@frieschan @oldermenluverrr @tatamicc @kookswifesblog @llallaaa @sunnybyeol @namtaeh @exactlygreatcoffee @whipwhoops @yoongisducky @ktnj91 @junecat18 @thvlover7 @yoongiworshiper @ellesalazar @monbebe234-blog @parkinglot-nights @borahaexoxo @hobiswhore @kimseokjinbangtan @jjk97091 @mk-id @blueberry711 @givemethemaknaes16 @iammartian07 @jjkluver7 @itsdingdong @jiminshi20 @sweet-sourhotcoco @lubtou @lovingkoalaface @starsinsky1999 @rockstarrgyu @chaconnelatte @kaithezaftig @skzthinkr @babystarcandykookie @glossyyyymin @siudema @justanotherkpopstanlol @sh1nedreamsm1le7

P.S. I'm sorry but I'm not sure if I'm able to tag all of you!

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirty-Three

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 33

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five][Part Twenty-Six][Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight][Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] Part Thirty-Three [Part Thirty-Four] [Part Thirty-Five]

Violins played a lively tune as your and your new husband danced for the first time as a married couple.

Your focus had been intense for the first round of dancing as you were by yourselves in front of the entire wedding luncheon, but luckily by the second other couples were invited to join. Marigold and her husband were the first to come onto the floor, with plenty of others on their heels. You finally felt as if you had the chance to stop watching yourself so closely and perhaps truly look at Dale.

He looked splendid in his navy suit, the gold trimming that would look heavy-handed on others merely looked elegant with how easily he wore it. Despite the dancing—you felt your carefully styled curls, the ones framing your face, starting to lose their sleek definition and could see the evidence of movement whenever they flew in your vision—Dale’s hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Was it silly to hope the cause was something inhuman so that you could feel better about your own inability to maintain such perfect composure?

His black hair was neatly contained by its low tie, a golden ribbon that complimented his suit. His breath was controlled too—deep but not panting as yours was. His hands weren’t sweaty where they held onto you, at your waist and your own hand as the dance instructed. It was leaving you feel rather self-conscious about your appearance.

If he was nervous about the crowd as you were, he’d not shown it. Although perhaps you’d been distracting yourself with anxiety over the crowd so none could build at the way his eyes hadn’t left you, his gaze more intense and focused than usual. You couldn’t afford the liability getting lost in his blue eyes would incur, at least you couldn’t when you were alone with him on the dance floor.

The first couple fast paced dances gave way to slower waltzes and you found your focus drawing tighter and tighter onto Dale and Dale alone. His confident steps, his large hands on you, his strength supporting you. His unwavering gaze—the affection and warm regard you still didn’t quite expect to see on Dale’s face, let alone directed at yourself. 

The dance slowed further with no more twists or jumps, no more parting only to come back together for brief seconds. You were pressed against him, your skirts no match for Dale’s competent steps and hold. He wasn’t as warm as he should be, but even that was welcome and spoke to how wonderfully unwavering he felt at the moment. As if nothing could stand against him and win—and you at his side.

He pulled you closer still and you could feel the soft velvet of his jacket brush your cheek before you remember your audience,  only enough not to give in to that final indulgence of resting your head on his shoulder, no matter how tempting it seemed.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sana?” Dale murmured, inclining his head closer to be heard over the music.

“Yes,” you replied, not seeing any reason to keep the easy answer to yourself. “I am.” You allowed him to steer the primary dramatic turn this dance has, spinning out and back to be caught in his arms in a move that heightened the intimacy of being held so close by contrasting it with the seconds you were apart. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, re-securing his grip on you. “I’m glad we don’t have to worry so much about managing other dance partners today. I’d prefer to only dance with you.”

“There are more talented dancers out there,” you couldn’t help but point out. You were always worried he had to slow himself down to keep up with you, who got winded so much faster than he did. “Even in here. Why—”

Dale shook his head. “But they aren’t you. You suit me best and I’m enjoying having you all to myself.”

Heat rose in your cheeks as you resisted the urge to hide your face against his chest. It was hard not to follow that line of thinking, let alone rebuff it or tease him back. Not on when he’s your husband. Not when you get him all to yourself tonight. His dancing skills easily morph into what other talents he might have, physically and in how he complements and anticipates you. 

You heard your name on his lips, questioning, but teasing. Trying to draw your eyes back to his instead of at his shoulder.

The next murmur of your name is accompanied by a jolt that’s out of place with the dance. Slowly, you realize that Dale isn’t in front of you, but to your side and that you’re sitting down. Sitting down in a carriage.

You blearily blink your eyes open, adjusting easily to the low afternoon light. You are comfortable and warm and so almost immediately close your eyes once more. The cushions of the carriage are plush and Dale is a solid comfort at your side, supporting your head so your neck isn’t even sore—the usual consequence that befell you if you sleep sitting upright. Instead you’re so relaxed you don’t want to move from your spot.

“We’re only a quarter of an hour from our destination,” Dale says, his voice low and quiet. “I thought you might want to be awoken before we arrived.”

“Thank you,” you reply, your hand coming up to your mouth to cover a yawn because he is correct. You’ve no desire to be jolted awake and out of the carriage in a hurry. 

While you get your bearings, you see Dale pop the last bit of a pasty into his mouth. Your own mouth floods with saliva, not only because you realize you’re hungry. You get distracted from the thought of sustenance by the sight of Dale licking his fingers clean. You wonder if the privacy the two of you are currently enjoying is why the red of his tongue seems more vibrant and its length seems longer than you remember.

Dale must notice your preoccupation because he gives you a sheepish smile, hiding his teeth and tongue behind soft lips to say, “Help yourself to what remains. I’m afraid that I ate the majority of the offerings.” He reaches forward, careful, you realize, not to jostle his right arm which you’re still clutching to your chest as he picks up the basket. He offers it to you. “I left you the mushroom pasty.”

You reluctantly let go of his hand to accept the offered pasty. You smile at his thoughtfulness: meat would have been far more likely to upset your stomach, especially in a pasty. “Thank you.” You keep your other arm still entwined with his, holding it to your side. It’s nice that it's been warmed from how you’ve been holding it. 

Dale makes no effort to reclaim his arm from your possession. Instead he fills the silence with easy conversation as he had been when you must have drifted off. He tells you about the part of the journey you slept through—where there was trouble, which road he noticed should be next on your list for improvements, and how often they stopped to water the horses. 

From all this, you gather you’ve made pretty good time. The sun’s only just beginning to set. Dale doesn’t press you to wake up faster or try to get you to contribute more to the conversation. It makes you think of what a morning might be like with Dale, him talking about your plans for the day while you can wake up at your own pace. 

Of course you don’t even know if you’ll be sharing chambers or have separate ones—you’d not had the nerve to ask and no one else brought it up. It varied quite a lot among couples to your understanding—noble ones that is. 

Sometimes it came down to space if it was possible—certain city houses with their limited space chose to prioritize rooms for entertaining or children over separate master and mistress chambers. Other times it was about practical comfort. Some sleep in the same bed but also maintain separate chambers for dressing and other personal matters.

Callalily swears if she had to sleep in the same room as her husband every night she’d murder him due to the snoring alone. But Asher and his wife never sleep apart. Marigold says it depends on what else is going on, their moods—how hot it is. 

You just added this to the list of matters you’ve never had the privacy to discuss with Dale. At least this would be decided to some degree tonight since you would be going to sleep somewhere. Although your nap had refreshed you. And tomorrow, and ideally the rest of the week, you’d be able to sequester yourself away with Dale and talk through everything else while you settle into your new marriage. After everything that happened, you aren’t going to let any more time go by without doing so. It’s tonight that’s still in question.

You take the time while listening and thinking to check your hair and clothes, getting them back in order from being rumbled by your nap. Even these little worries are starting to feel less daunting and more exciting, as you remember your dances, as you sit pressed against Dale in comfort, as you now know you and he are on the same page.

The carriage jolts to a stop, propelling you out of your thoughts and into the present. Dale reluctantly pulls out of your grip and you fight the urge not to let him. To hold on tight instead. No matter how ridiculous it would make leaving the carriage. You are a newly wed couple, surely some amount of foolishness is expected.

Still, it’s clear Dale’s intent on playing up his role as lord and husband, alighting from the carriage to offer his hand to help you down while a footman holds the doors open. Carefully you get to your feet, legs stiff after having been seated for such a long journey.

A small number of servants are lined up awaiting your arrival, including those you know and the ones who must be local to this lodge. You still feel rather sleepy and tired from all the socializing. It’s as if your mouth and mind know no more is officially required of them and so they’ve given up. You let Dale take the lead and had reclaim your hold on his arm as soon as you are able to. 

He looks startled but indulgent, which you are more than willing to accept.

You listen and do greet the housekeeper, but otherwise you allow yourself to be taken for the tour without much input or effort. It’s a lovely house, secluded and far smaller than a typical estate, obviously meant for only a few main guests or to be a wayhouse on longer journeys. It’s older, but well maintained. The traditional style is why the servants are housed separately. 

You feel as though the first floor tour goes by fast, but you start to feel some alertness, some anticipation, start to edge out the sleepy contentment that’d been lapping at your veins, when you go upstairs. It has well furnished studies, including a detailed map of the grounds the housekeeper goes over with you, in case you wish to ride or hunt. She doesn’t spend too long on it though, a twinkle in her eyes that makes you more self-conscious of your newly married status even more than some of the jokes made at the wedding luncheon.

The fact that she goes next to the bedrooms does not help you regain hold of your composure. She opens a door down the hall and allows you and Dale to enter first. “Here is the mistress’s room,” the housekeeper informs you. “Given the size of the house, the traditional dressing and sleeping rooms are combined.”

“They’re very nice,” you say for lack of anything better coming to mind. Your heart sank when she opened the door. You’d been hoping for a combined suite as it would take care of some of the awkwardness. Although perhaps it is only you who feels that way. Dale certainly is showing nothing of the sort. He’s only spoken with the housekeeper during the entire tour, though he’s glanced at you at times. 

Now he just nods, allowing you to take the lead as she shows you the various accommodations and where certain trunks of yours had been placed. Dale’s focus is entirely on you and you can nearly feel his scrutiny like a tangible thing. It’s enough to let you know not to meet his eyes or you’ll become ensnared by his gaze, as you always do when he gets like this. 

As it is, you manage to make all the appropriate affirmative noises and agreements, answering the housekeeper’s minimal questions. Before you know it she’s shown you the entire room. Just as you’re wondering what will happen next—will you stay here or follow her and Dale to his chambers—when she puts a hand on a door you realize she’s not opened.

“Your shared sitting room is through here,” she explains, opening said door and leading the way through to a very nice, spacious sitting room. You listen with one ear to her talk of the furnishings and history but your focus is on the door opposite the one you came through.

The housekeep doesn’t spend too much time here before she’s saying. “… and finally, the master’s chamber.”

She gave a similar tour of his rooms while you try not to overthink your grip on his arm nor stare at the bed, with its fresh and luxurious looking bed linens. The sheets are white but the covers are blue. You don’t know why you’re fixated on such inconsequential details. Maybe they’re just the most innocent aspects of the bed you can distract yourself with.

The housekeeper is briefer with her explanation for this room as it’s a mirror of the mistress’ chambers. Soon enough she guides you both back to the sitting room to wrap up. “Would you like anything, my lord, my lady? Vitals to keep up your health, preparing the beds, your body servants?”

You look up at Dale, who, as he sometimes does, seems taller than he had even back in the carriage. Since you just had some food in the carriage, you are satisfied. He’s the one with the big appetite.

He smiles down at you before looking back at the housekeeper. “We ate before arrival and on our journey. Tomorrow morning will be sufficient.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It has been such a long day,” Dale continues. “I believe we’ll retire for the evening. Tell Mr. Murray I will send for him in the morning, if need be.”

“Please do send Miss Adir to me,” you ask, knowing your dress is harder to get out of than Dale’s attire. Perhaps on a more ordinary day you’d be able to manage on your own, but for tonight with such a fancy gown, you need the help. If you were sharing a room, perhaps you might have asked Dale, but as it stands now, you haven’t the courage to ask–especially not in front of the housekeeper.

“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper leaves to fetch your maid while you and Dale stay behind in the sitting room.

“It’s a charming house,” you say, feeling the need to fill the silence in a manner you haven’t since you’ve woken up.

“Indeed. How are you feeling?” Dale asks, a little more nervous and a little more sincere now that you’re alone together. “Still tired from the journey?”

You shake your head. “No, I feel rather rejuvenated from my nap.” You shift where you stand as you resist the urge to fuss with your dress—it had dug in in certain places while you slept and is far past beginning to feel uncomfortable. The lace in particular at your neck is becoming itchy.

“But you wish to change,” Dale guesses.

“Yes.”

“Of course, I agree,” Dale says and shifts his shoulders in his jacket. “Would you like to join me in my room when you’ve refreshed?”

“Yes,” you reply, eyes on the door where Miss Adir is entering. “I shall rejoin you shortly.”

Dale nods, his expression polite, but his eyes stormy. Not that you can ever truly tell what his eyes are telling you–all the signs to read are off for him. You’ll need time to study him better. Which you now have because he’s your husband. You’ve no notion of his experience, but perhaps he’s nervous about everything as well. Or maybe there are additional considerations for tonight given his nature you can’t even fathom. 

You turn and head for your rooms, not enjoying how performative everything is starting to feel, especially with another person present.

Miss Adir quietly chatters about her trip. She points out where certain of your items were put away and what is still packed while she helps you out of your overgown and skirts.

You make affirmative noises and give quiet answers to her questions about your own trip. Soon enough, you’re left in your shift alone. “Thank you, Miss Adir. That will be all for tonight.”

“Of course.” Miss Adir looks as if she would like to say something further but instead she just curtsies. “Good night, my lady.”

You finger the wine colored silk ribbon that is woven into the lace trim on your chemise while you listen for the door to shut, occupying yourself with brushing your hands along the skirt to ensure it falls correctly. Even after you’re alone, you waste more time, fussing with your hair and clothes until you can delay no longer.

Once it’s making you more tense to stay here, delaying, you leave your chambers, cross the sitting room, and walk through Dale’s open door.

You shut it quietly behind you, eyes searching for Dale. You frown at the sight of him, only his jacket removed and his waistcoat unbuttoned, sitting on the corner of his bed. He looks still remarkably dressed, as you might find him in his private study. Not how you’d expect to see him in his bed chambers on the night of your wedding. “Dale?”

Dale looks up and stares at you like he’s never seen you before despite the fact that he also looks as if he’s waiting for you. He blinks and gets to his feet. Your eyes dart to the lamp on the wall—it's not really dark enough to need one, but the shadows guttered with his movement in a manner that betrayed his nerves. When your eyes go back to his, he looks chagrined and the shadows still. “Apologies.”

You’re not sure what to say since you feel so throw off your own expectations. He’s acting as if there are still more secrets to spill and it’s got your nerves twanging. “It’s fine. Is everything alright?” Dale doesn’t look nervous as a person might on their wedding night. He looks nervous like a man on trial would.

“Yes, of course,” he replies. “Would you like to take a seat?”

“I…sure.” You hesitantly walk over to where he’s gesturing and seat yourself on the corner of the bed. “Yes.”

He paces in front of you and just as you’re about to ask again about what might have happened since you left him less than half an hour ago, he says, “So… I suppose you want to talk.”

He puts a lot of emphasis on “talk” that you don’t completely understand. You blink and repeat slowly, “Talk?”

“Yes, since you know I haven’t always been Dale and that I am a demon,” Dale elaborates. You still feel some surprise at him finally speaking plainly after so long of talking around the subject even after this morning. “I expect you have a lot of questions.”

“Oh!” You’d expected to ask such things tomorrow, not tonight. Not on your wedding night. It's obvious now that Dale’s given no thought to traditional wedding night activities. He’s obviously as focused on reassuring you as he had been back in his study. And you want to know more. You want to know everything, of course you do. You’d only thought…but no. He’s right. “I mean, I do.” Best to resolve all this now so he can start to trust in your acceptance. Best to get it all out in the open, in your new privacy, before something else got in the way. “Yes.”

“Well, we finally have some privacy,” Dale says, echoing your own thoughts so closely you almost smile, “and I don’t want you to be nervous or unsure about me.”

“I am sure of you,” you feel the need to say. You stand up because while you’d had other ideas for tonight, reassuring your husband you trust him certainly seems more important. “However, honest conversation is never bad and is overdue. I’ll brew some tea.”

Still, it’s harder than you think to swallow your disappointment. You take advantage of the distraction and familiarity preparing tea provides–the way it allows you to look away from and ensure your face isn’t giving away your chagrin. 

Of course Dale would value a conversation about his nature and his experiences and clarifying with you over something so, so human. He’d said something about a mate, but who knew what that truly meant to him. You had no real idea if demons even had sex. He must know what humans did on their wedding nights, but it's clearly not on his mind now. 

He pauses every now and then in his circuit of the room to hover a bit over you and the tea table, before backing off in a manner that makes it clear he’s not sure of his welcome still. 

But what about that kiss? You mind wonders with some frustration. Was that just something he thought humans did? Did he think it was expected and complied, but hadn’t truly want to? Or maybe he simply didn’t care about this sort of physical affection? You begin to feel rather shallow and base in your preoccupation.

As you finally pour the tea into a cup for each of you, you tell yourself that you can only manage one thing at a time. For now, your focus has to be on understanding Dale and what he wants. You can figure the rest out later. He’s your husband now. You’ve got plenty of time.

You sit back down on the bed, cup clutched in your hand, while Dale takes his gratefully. To your mounting disappointment, he sits at the vanity instead of next to you.

“So,” he says, after a sip of tea, “where would you like to begin?”

[Part Thirty-Four]

[the-ace-with-spades]

I'll never write it because it hits a bit too close home for me to write it without mental strain (I'd read it okay tho...) but I have a very specific scenario in my head so—

Bradley gets the same type of cancer his mom died from.

I imagine it's lung or pancreas cancer because I've seen those and they can be quite aggressive or progressive depending on type. In my head, Carole was in her late thirties/early forties at the latest when she got sick and I imagine it was unexpected and quick, as it often is with young cancer.

The thing is, people deal with cancer diagnosis differently in so many ways — some are in complete denial, some try to stay optimistic for their family, and some just... give up.

Bradley's seen enough cancer and death that he can't deny it but he also can't ever believe he has any luck left in life.

He's in his late 20s. He's just been proposed as his squad's candidate for Top Gun. The DADT just got removed. He has a long-term, serious partner (Jake) who he might not be completely open about everything yet but whom he loves and plans to marry and who loves him back. They're planning on buying a house, Jake talks about having kids. Bradley met Jake's family and his life didn't blow up and they even liked him. The years after he stopped talking to Mav were tough, but he's feeling as settled and as happy with his life as he can be at the time.

He goes to his routine physical as normal, maybe his spirometry comes up short or maybe his bloods are a bit off, or maybe he's just feeling more tired than normal and the doc has a feeling.

Doc informs him about the suspicions, he gets the tests done and it turns from suspicion to reality. At no point Bradley mentions it to Jake. He's taken off flying schedule, sure, but he doesn't tell anyone why, just making something up about his eyesight getting worse or maybe about a recurring ear or sinus infection.

Even if the diagnosis wasn't that bad and the oncologist was optimistic prognosis-wise, Bradley, who has already heard the exact same words about his mom's diagnosis, wouldn't believe it at all. Maybe he wouldn't believe it at all to the point that he'd refuse treatment and just let life run its course.

He'd start planning.

Get everything sorted out while he can. Make it as painless for everyone as much as he can.

And it starts small and escalates quickly. He updates his will, he has a med leave meeting with his superiors, advocates for a transfer to an office role.

He breaks up with Jake, still not telling him a thing. Just so he doesn't have to go through it with Bradley as well — because he knows he'd. And you bet he does the break up in a way that pisses Jake off to the point he doesn't realize how suspicious everything is — the timing, the medical leave, Bradley changing from 'let's buy a house together and have kids' to 'i don't think we can really work out together' on the span of weeks. He's brash in the worst way, and obviously, it also makes their friend group wary and isolates him — which was exactly his plan.

There's one person who he knows will be forever guilty if they don't talk. So, you know, he takes a trip down to China Lake and he and Mav talk. He says all the right things he knows Mav wants to hear — that he forgives him, that he's not mad anymore, that he understands, that he still considers Mav his sort of dad and that he was pissed but he's ready to move on. Maybe Mav does the unexpected and explains to Bradley why he pulled the papers and maybe Bradley actually forgives him.

So, you know, with that Bradley is all ready to take on everything alone, never have anyone find out and just start, well, dying on his own, medical partial leave, all of his stuff sold or written into the will, potential transfer to a paper-pushing position in Point Mugu, far away from everyone who could ever care about him, any people who could ever be affected at all by his illness in the blind.

He was not counting on one thing, though — that Mav, forgiven and missing over ten years of Bradley's life, will try to be part of his life again. Calls, visits — Bradley can't really keep it hidden that he's just rolled over his life in the span of weeks, even if he doesn't not why. Bradley was young when his mom got sick but not that young — he remembers how Mav took it, he's not going to retraumatize him.

But it's really hard not to let Mav know too much when he's asking about everything, and he mentions Jake once and Mav runs wild with the information. First starts to prod Bradley, then tries to do his own investigation and finds out that Jake was stationed at the same base and that they had been together before they broke up abruptly not long ago.

He thinks he's connected the dots — Bradley's weird behavior has to be due to heartbreak, y'know — and tries to play a bit of a wingman by approaching Hangman on his own.

The two people Bradley is trying to keep in the blind meet and realize something is fishy. Jake not only gets hit with the face with Bradley's estranged dad existing but also not being estranged anymore and with that Bradley is acting freaking weird. Mav gets hit in the face because it was Bradley who did the breaking up in the nastiest way possible (and he raised him better than that and also can still see he's got the sad lovesick puppy face whenever Mav tries to bring Jake up) but also with the realization that whatever Bradley is doing, he's got them fooled.

In the end, I think it'd be Ice who figures it out (whether or not he and Mav are together in this scenario). Hears all about it from Mav and Jake and has this moment when it all kind of spins in his head, his own experiences and feelings making a callback, and just tells them, it sounds like he's preparing for a goodbye.

Needless to say, Jake is pissed, Mav is pissed. They stage an intervention and you know that Bradley coughs up (probably in some dramatic way as well... like getting sick to the point they call an ambulance for him...). They definitely freak out when they find out he's been refusing treatment this whole time.

(I don't want to go into actual details of treatment but you can bet Mav and Jake are fucking glued to him from then on and they watch him like hawks. It's not all roses and I don't believe it'd be a quick treatment, probably running long, having better and worse days. Maybe he won't even be able to fly afterwards, once he's in remission. Maybe he never goes into remission. I don't know, I don't like thinking that far...)

[its-time-to-write]

This is NOT Jamie Tartt slander. This is two sleep-deprived people making dumb choices because they’re tired. Also, this is so. Freakin. Long. Apologies in advance. Warnings include swearing, fighting, pregnancy? Is that a warning? Basically reader is pregnant and it goes through the first pregnancy test to like when the baby is a month old. Anyway. I never know how to write these intros.

you’re losing me

You and Jamie are young. You are not old. Sure, you’re married after only dating for a year and being engaged for another half a year, but it’s not like much changed from how it was. That band on your left hands gives you both a sense of security, and it’s fun to be the hot young married couple around Richmond. It’s nice to be able to walk around openly and to be called “Mrs. Tarrt,” and to know that this himbo dumbass is going to be making you laugh till you’re old and gray. (Said himbo dumbass told you that’s his favorite nickname). You both excel in your various workplaces and because of that, when you moved into Jamie’s house you were able to keep your flat. It turned out to be a blessing when your younger sister moved to England from another country, so she can be close by without actually being in the same house as you.

All that to say, you were not ready for the little pink stick you were holding at 4pm on a Wednesday.

“Babe?” Jamie calls from the front door, “I’m home! You here?”

Your eyes are glued to those two little lines. “In the bathroom!” you shout. You hear Jamie’s footsteps coming up the stairs into your room.

“Oi listen, Ted told this joke today that went over me head, so I remembered it to ask you and…” he trails off. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

You turn to look at him, the same shock from five minutes ago still on your face. In an instant, Jamie is kneeling on the floor next to you cupping your face. “Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital? Do I need to call someone? Did something happen at work?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine, I just- look.” You halfheartedly lift the pregnancy test. Jamie looks down and his face shifts from concern to one of shock then back to concern.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly.

Wordlessly, you point to the sink where there are five pregnancy tests of different brands. All positive.

“Shit,” he whispers. Then: “Wait. Why aren’t you happy bout this? I thought you wanted kids?”

“I do!” you reply a little miserably, “I do, it’s just, we talked about it and I know you really don’t at least not till you’re in your mid-thirties, and I know I told you that I wanted to have them young that one time, but that was before we were dating and I didn’t want to pressure you and I don’t want you to think I did this on purpose because I didn’t but I’m actually really scared about what you’re going to think because I’m so excited, especially because I didn’t even think this was possible.”

You’re not looking at him anymore, but hugging your knees to your chest. You are excited for this baby. You didn’t think you were going to be able to have kids, based on personal issues and family medical history. Or at least, that it would take a lot of time and a lot of doctor’s appointments. The fact that you have a total of six positive pregnancy tests is a miracle in and of itself, but it’s not what you and Jamie planned. And sure, you’re married, but does that really mean you won’t split up? This is pretty big.

All these thoughts are swirling around in your head until-

“Hey.”

Jamie softly tilts your chin up. “Look at me.”

Against your will, tears have started to leak out of your eyes.

“Darling, I ain’t mad. I think mostly I’m just glad you ain’t dyin. This is amazing! We’re going to have a little baby Tartt, and I couldn’t be happier. As long as you’re alright, I’m happy.”

You grab his bicep. “Are you absolutely sure, Jamie?” You need to know. 

He laughs. “Babe, yes. Yes I am. For better or for worse, yeah? Though this really is for better.”

You crack a smile. “Ok. Ok. Yeah, ok.”

Jamie twirls a strand of your hair. “We’ll be ok, yeah? Now let’s get off this floor and go get ice cream. Heard that’s a pregnancy staple. And, on the way, can you explain this joke Ted said? Everyone laughed except me and Will, so I was thinking it’s gotta be...” his voice trails down the hall as you head out the door.

— 

Jamie is funny. Once he decides to do something, he’s all in. He wanted to start telling people the moment you stepped out the door for ice cream. You had to physically put your hand over his mouth to stop him from telling Mae, whom you bumped into on your way. To be honest, you’re sure she knows anyway because Jamie got out a few words and she gave you a knowing look, but she’ll keep it to herself. She’s a good one.

It was only a matter of time before Jamie insisted you start telling the team. He’d say, mid-breakfast, “Babe. You know who would be a great babysitter? Sam. Sam’s one of me best mates. Haven’t kept a secret from him in forever,” with a puppy dog face. 

Or during MarioKart, “What do you think about having Isaac and Colin help with the baby’s room? Isaac’s good at all that construction shit and both you and Colin like to paint. You probably shouldn’t be painting anyway, what with all the fumes.”

Or your personal favorite, during a shower, “Babe. What about Roy and Keeley?”

You: “What about Roy and Keeley?”

Jamie: “They should know. We should tell them. Keeley would flip her shit and I want to see if Roy will cry.”

You: “That’s what you’re thinking about? Here? Now? Good lord, man, I thought you were debating which conditioner to use.”

To be entirely fair, it was about the time to start telling people. You had started stealing Jamie’s shirts claiming that they were more comfortable. They were baggier on you, so they hid the beginnings of your baby bump, and you explained away any questions by reminding people that you wore a lot of layers because you were perpetually cold. However, you were at the point where you were going to have to start telling people, which is how Roy and Keeley ended up at your house for your bi-weekly dinner that you had been delaying for two months.

You had taken approximately two bites of food before Jamie clattered down his fork and said, “We have something to tell you.”

Roy and Keeley looked at you expectantly. You reach under your chair for two bags and place them in front of their plates.

Roy’s face is saying what the fuck as he and Keeley remove the tissue paper and hold up two onesies. A black one that says, newest addition to uncle’s day and a light pink one that says, if you think I’m cute, you should see my aunt. 

They look from the onesies in their hands and then back to you and Jamie. “Surprise!” you say in unison. There is a beat of silence and then Roy says, “That’s fucking great!” at the same time Keeley squeals, “Ohmygod, congratulations!” and then you’re all on your feet hugging. 

“I fucking knew it,” says Keeley. She nudges Roy, “Didn’t I tell you Roy-o? I fucking called it weeks ago! You owe me ten quid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roy grumbles as he reaches into his pocket, but that’s as close to a smile he’ll get. “Can’t believe you’re having a kid with this prick,” he says to you, but it’s prick (affectionate) as opposed to prick (derogatory). 

You smile. “You’re the first people we’ve told, other than Jamie’s mum and Simon. You’re the closest thing we have to family here.”

Keeley goes, “Aw, babe,” and Roy just squints at you and lets out a grunt.

“She’s gonna have the coolest family,” Jamie says.

“She?” Keeley asks, “Are you having a girl?”

You roll your eyes. “We don’t know. We’re going to find out tomorrow, and Jamie has been insisting that it’s a girl. He says it’s his ‘dad sense,’ or something like that. I’ve given up telling him that’s not a real thing.”

Jamie shrugs, “I know what I know. Don’t get why we have to go to some bloke with that slimy gel to be told something I’ve been saying for weeks.”

“That bloke with slimy gel is my doctor and an ultrasound, you absolute himbo!” you laugh.

Roy finally cracks a smile, and you spend a comfortable evening together, thinking about how much things are going to change.

— 

A week later, you’re at the Richmond pitch. You walked over from Mae’s, because you were thinking about her chips all afternoon. You ate at least three baskets and she made a sly comment about eating for two. She pinched your cheek as she walked away and then smacked Baz, who was trying to eavesdrop.

You walk into the locker room, coat still on and reach up to kiss Jamie. He’s still a sweaty from practice because none of them have gone to the showers yet, but you don’t mind. 

“You ready?” he asks.

You give your arms a shake. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You walk into Ted and Beard’s office, where you asked Rebecca and Higgins to meet. Trent is in there as well, and he looks up in surprise as you walk in.

“Good to see, Mrs. Tartt,” Ted says as he gets up to hug you.

“Hey Ted,” you smile back, going over to hug Rebecca. “How are you all doing?” “Oh you know, biting our nails for whatever it is you guys have to tell us,” Ted replies.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Rebecca interjects. “I simply cannot handle any more change around here.”

You shake my head. “No, no we’re not leaving. But this is about a change.”

Back in the locker room, the Richmond boys hear a big “WHAT,” from Ted and look over to see you and Jamie getting swarmed by him, Beard, Rebecca, Higgins, and Trent. Isaac looks at Sam and shrugs, bemused. You and Jamie open the door and walk out right under where the “Believe” sign used to be.

You smile and take off your coat, revealing a shirt that says “Tartt in the oven,” and an obvious baby bump.

There is silence as jaws drop and then Isaac says-

“I’m going to be an uncle?”

The locker room erupts in pandemonium with the boys slapping each other on the back firing rapid-fire questions at you and Jamie.

“How long have you been keeping this a secret?”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Are you going to name it after me?”

“Can I be the favorite uncle?”

“Can we help decorate its room?”

Jamie is smiling as big as you’ve ever seen him.

“OI!” Isaac roars. “QUIET. Are we men or are we beasts? One at a time!”

Isaac looks at you two. “Boy or girl?”

Jamie’s eyes glow. “Girl!”

The room erupts once again as Jamie kisses you on the top of your head and pulls you close to him.

—

Labor was… not fun. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great. There weren’t really complications except for the fact that Jamie was almost not there. See, it’s because your water broke when you were in the shower right before leaving to watch one of Jamie’s games. You looked down at the shower drain and felt your mind race through a million scenarios. Do you text Jamie and make him miss the game? Do you push through as long as you can? Do you have Keeley and Rebecca take you to the hospital? Do you go by yourself?

As you’re considering, you think of laying in bed the night before. The baby was kicking and Jamie was tracing patterns on your stomach whispering, “Baby Tartt doo doo doo-doo doo-doo.”

He would hate to miss this.

You make a choice and call Keeley.

Thirty minutes later you’re in Rebecca’s box waiting for the game to start. You have contractions, sure, but you’ve been having them for a while. The doctor said it was nothing to worry about, so you didn’t worry. 

That means that Keeley and Rebecca don’t worry as you grip the arm of your seat and blow out a long breath.

Keeley absentmindedly pats your arm and Rebecca slings hers around your shoulders.

“Don’t go having this baby now,” she jokes, “Wait till after we’ve won.”

You force out a laugh. If only she knew.

You have to get up and walk after the first half because the contractions are starting to get closer together. Rebecca notices and gets up to come inside and see you.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

You look at her without saying anything and her eyes widen. 

“Shit,” she says. “How long has this been happening?”

“Since right before I left,” you gasp out, “My water broke in the shower and I didn’t want- shit.” You bend over from a contraction before continuing, “I didn’t want to miss Jamie’s game and it’s fine, right? It’s not until they’re three minutes apart that it really matters.”

“And how long are yours?” Rebecca asks.

You don’t want to look at her. “Six,” you whisper.

“SIX?” she yells. “Darling, you need to go. I’ll call Ted, he’ll pull Jamie, and then you’ll go.”

Keeley has come in by this point and fully assessed the situation. “Babes, you can’t stick around till the game ends. You have to go.”

You hold up a hand. “I’m fine. Richmond needs Jamie. It can wait.”

Rebecca clicks her tongue. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re up by two and also it’s just a football game. It doesn’t matter. You are about to have a child so let me get your husband for you.” 

“Ok,” you say meekly. “Can I come with you?”

Rebecca calls Ted and you wait by the entrance to the pitch. Ted has barely put out the call to switch out number nine when Jamie is sprinting across the field to you. You’re at the hospital in record time, and that’s how Beatrice Georgie Tartt is born.

—

You and Jamie had a lot of conversations about what it’s like to be parents. You had the standard “What if I turn out like my dad,” chat (easily dispelled by the fact that he takes after his mum) and the “Baby comes before football,” chat which you needed to hear but definitely did not retain. That one was difficult for both of you, because you didn’t mind pausing your career for motherhood. You knew it would be waiting for you when you were ready to go back, but that isn’t really the case for Jamie. He’s in his prime right now, and it takes a lot of work. You had worked things out on paper, but life is never that easy. Newborns require a lot of attention, and  neither of you were sleeping well. Jamie had taken two weeks off training but was back by the third. The only problem was, he was back to his regular 4am training. It’s easy to get enough sleep when you can pick when you go to bed, but not so much when your daughter needs to be fed, changed, burped, whatever every single hour. 

In other words, you both were tired and snippy.

Bea was four and a half weeks old when the last straw came.

It was 2:30 am, and you was so, so tired. She needed a diaper change and you felt like you physically couldn’t get out of bed so you poked Jamie.

“Babe,” you say.

“Hm,” he groans, voice gravelly.

“Can you please change her? I can’t move,”

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed babe, but I have training with Roy in an hour. I can’t get up every time she needs something. That’s your job.”

Instantly, you are wide awake.

You’ve never heard Jamie take that tone of voice with you before. Never heard it be that intentionally cutting. 

You sit up. “Excuse me?”

He rolls over to face you. “You heard me. I don’t have time for this right now. It’s your job, you take care of it. This is not what I signed up for and anyway, you’re the one who wanted a baby, not me. You go deal with it.” He rolls back over to go to sleep and you just stare at him. You're too tired to fight but then Bea cries again and you say, “Jamie what the fuck.” 

“Look, babe, I can always go stay in a hotel and get some sleep. You’re the one who wants me to be here with you,” he replies, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Don’t ‘look, babe’ me, Jamie Tartt,” you say, voice icy. “I’m not sure if you recall, but you were the one who told me that Bea would always come before football and you are the one who decided you wanted to get married and you were the one who made all those speeches convincing me that you’d be with me for better or for worse. Well I’ve got news for you: it’s worse.” You get out of bed. “I’m going to change our daughter, and I hope next time I see you, you’ve had an attitude adjustment.”

That must get to him because he sits up and goes, “Babe-” but you’re already out the door.

You end up sitting with Bea on her rocker until 5am, which means you hear Jamie get up to leave with Roy. It also means you notice that he doesn’t come in to say goodbye, just leaves. You stare down at Bea in your arms. She has his eyes and the beginnings of your nose. By 6am you’ve made another choice, and you call your sister to ask her to help move some of your things into your old flat.

—

You leave a note on the counter that says: Jamie. Bea and I are giving you space, and you’re gone by 1. You spend all evening looking at your phone, waiting for a text from Jamie, or a call, or something. Nothing. Your sister doesn’t need much of an explanation and it’s your flat anyway, so she was alright with you and Bea moving in. She made dinner and held Bea, then forcibly made you go to sleep. Her work is flexible, so she said she’d take care of Bea until she had to leave on a trip in two days. 

Yet, although you finally had the chance to sleep, you couldn’t. You tossed and turned all night, periodically checking your phone for a text that never came.

—

A week and a half has gone by. Your sister is gone still, so it’s just you and Bea. She’s been crying so much recently, and the thought comes to you unbidden of every time Jamie has held her. She quiets down the moment she’s in his arms like clockwork. You’re running on no sleep and you need to go get groceries so that morning you pack up a diaper bag, put Bea in the car, and force yourself not to care that you look like absolute shit. 

You’re almost done shopping when you hear a voice call your name. You turn, and there’s Sam.

“I thought that was you,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to check up on you so I went by your house yesterday, but Jamie said you and Bea were out and he didn’t know when you’d be back. How are you?”

You let out a snort. “Oh he did, did he? That’s rich.”

Sam’s face shifts to concern. “Is everything alright? I don’t mean to pry, but part of the reason I wanted to see how you are is that Jamie has been terrible. He’s been an absolute prick for almost two weeks now and we all just assumed it was lack of sleep.”

You smile, because right now your options are that or cry.

“I’m living in my flat right now. My sister’s on vacation, so it’s just me and Bea. It’s kind of a lot, which is why I look like garbage. I don’t have time to clean or anything either, otherwise I’d invite you around. Anyway. Thanks for asking. Good to see you, Sam.” 

You walk away before you either overshare more or start crying, and in your haste you don’t see Sam watching you leave, concern written all over his face.

—

It’s the late afternoon when you hear a knock on your door. It’s Jamie your heart says, but when you open it, Sam, Dani, and Richard are standing on the step laden down with grocery bags, huge smiles on their face.

Before you can say anything, Sam says, “I hope this is not overstepping, but I noticed you had frozen meals in your cart this morning. I was thinking that we could cook you some meals to keep in the freezer, that way you do not have to worry about it.” You open your mouth to protest when Dani interjects. “Besides, we’re a family. Bea is my favorite niece and you are my second favorite sister. We should have seen if you needed help earlier.”

They look so sincere that you smile for the first time in a while and move to let them in. Richard goes to work clearing space in the kitchen while Sam and Dani organize their groceries. It looks like they’ve all gotten ingredients from their native countries, and Dani holds up a bag of chiles and says, “I brought these to make your favorite!” 

You’re not sure how he knows of your love for chile rellenos, but he does and as you go to sit on the couch to feed Bea, you feel something close to relief.

Bea is done eating and the kitchen is filled with light conversation and music when there is another knock on your door.

You open it to see Isaac, Colin, Zoreaux, Bumbercatch, and Jan Maas all decked out in cleaning gear and rubber gloves, holding various cleaning sprays, brooms, and mops.

To say you are speechless is an understatement.

“Sam texted us,” Isaac says. “Said something about needing a cleaning service and a babysitter.”

You let them in without a word.

The flat is filled with chatter as they stand around the living room. 

“Alright!” Isaac calls. “We’re going to divide and conquer! Colin, you’re on laundry. Zoreaux, you’re sweeping and mopping. Bumbercatch and Jan Maas, you’re on bathroom duty. Alright lads, let’s go!”

“Isaac,” Colin says, “what’s your job?”

Isaac looks at him. “I’m the captain, mate. I’m watching Bea.”

Groans go up from the boys and a chorus of “We want to hold her, why do you get to, I’m her favorite!” when Isaac silences them with an “Oi!”

“When you’ve finished your job and Bea and I have thoroughly inspected them, then maybe you can hold her after you’ve disinfected your hands and arms. Now get to it!”

“Isaac,” you say, pulling on his arm, “you don’t have to do this. Especially not the laundry or the bathrooms.”

He looks down at you, serious look on his face. “Is that for privacy reasons, or are you trying not to impose?”

You hesitate and debate lying. In the end, you tell the truth: “I don’t care about like privacy or whatever, it’s just gross. I don’t want you guys to have to do that.”

Isaac doesn’t respond, just says, “Can I wear the wrap?” so you go to get it and watch as he expertly puts it on and slides Bea in. She lets out a sigh and falls asleep on his chest.

“Right then. Now for your job,” he says to you.

You let out a singular laugh. “What do you have for me, captain?”

“I want you to go to your room, clear off the bed, close the door, and go to sleep. I’ll send Sam or Colin up to wake you if we need you. If you end up sleeping through then night, a few of us will stick around to make sure Bea’s alright. You still have Netflix, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. You start to head down the hall then turn and say, “Isaac?”

“Hm?” he replies.

“Thanks. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Isaac waves that away then points to your bedroom door.

You walk in and shut the door, then are lulled to sleep by the white noise of having half of the Richmond team in your house cleaning, cooking, and reminding you that you are not alone.

— 

You’re woken up by Sam shaking your shoulder. It’s golden hour, so soft light streams through the room. The first thing you notice is how quiet it is. You sit up.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sam says, but he’s not smiling. “We just need you downstairs for a minute.”

You follow him to the living room where the boys are standing behind a couch, arms crossed and backs to you, staring down something on the opposite couch.

Sam clears his throat and they turn to look at you. Bea is still passed out on Isaac in her wrap. They part slightly and you see what they’re looking at.

Jamie Tartt gives you a halfhearted wave from where he sits on your couch.

“Got a minute?” he asks.

Shit.

You sit across from him and just look.

He has the grace to look sheepish. “Look, d’you mind if we talk- like just you and me? Without-” he gestures to the boys.

“No,” Dani, Colin, and Jan Maas chorus, arms crossed, and Jamie nods once in a that’s fair type of way.

Jamie takes a deep breath. “Look, I- I was out with Roy today and we were training, and he called me a prick and he meant it, and maybe I was being a prick, but I shoved him and then he knocked me down and was all ‘what the fuck is wrong with you,’ and I said ‘none of your fucking business,’ and then he said something about a text from Sam and made me tell him what was going on. So I told him that you left and he said,” here Jamie does his best Roy Kent impression, “‘Did she leave or did you fucking kick her out because you were acting like a little bitch prima donna who can’t handle being a grown fucking man?’”

Jamie pauses for a moment. “So I thought about it, and I did fuckin kick you out like I was a little bitch prima donna. And the reason I didn’t text ya or call ya is because I thought you’d come back when you were ready, or maybe you left for good and I fucked something else up. And I didn’t want to be like me dad who was always showing up when my mum didn’t want him to, so I just stayed away. And I said that to Roy and he told me I needed to man the fuck up because I was acting like a whiny brat.” Jamie scratches the back of his neck. “I brought you flowers and came to apologize and tell you that I’m done acting like a kid.”

You squint at him and say, “Apologize for what, exactly?” because you want to know that he knows what he did.

Without hesitation Jamie says, “For telling you that Bea was your job and not mine, and for saying that I didn’t sign up for any of this and making it seem like I didn’t care and saying that I was going to sleep in a hotel by meself.”

Oh. So he does know.

There’s a ripple of whispered oh fucks and you realize that the lads don’t actually know what happened between you and Jamie, and this is the first time they’re hearing about it.

Before you can say anything, Jan Maas says, “How do we know you’ve changed?” followed by a chorus of “Yeah, that’s right,” from the boys.

“Eh, well,” Jamie begins before he is interrupted by a piercing cry from Bea. Isaac tries to hush her, but she just keeps going.

“There’s no way she’s hungry,” he says, “She just had a bottle fifteen minutes ago and I changed her five minutes after that.”

Jamie looks questioningly at you. “Can I-”

The whole team turns to look at you. You nod, and Isaac removes a still crying Bea and gently hands her to Jamie. She’s barely settled into his arms when she has gone completely silent, lets out a sigh, and falls asleep.

“I suppose that is that,” says Richard, and the rest of AFC Richmond shrugs.

“Jamie Tartt,” you say. Everyone looks at you again. “If you ever, and I mean ever pull shit like this again, I will fucking sic this entire room on you and I will call Roy and I will not care how long you end up in the hospital. I can’t raise Bea on my own, but it turns out that I don’t need you.”

Jamie looks like he’s about to cry a little and you soften.

“I don’t need you, but I want you. And- I do miss you.”

Jamie smiles at that and you get up to sit next to him. 

The boys murmur amongst themselves, and Isaac salutes you as he herds them out. You mouth thank you to him, and he waves it away yet again, leaving the three of you on the couch in comfortable silence for the first time in weeks.

—

Marriage is not easy, neither is raising a kid. Things didn’t automatically go back to how they were, but you and Jamie did get better. You got better at talking about your struggles, decided 2:30am is not a good time to fight, and began working out a healthy football-life balance. He trains with Roy three times a week instead of six, and Isaac and Colin babysit Bea once a month so you can go out. They’re the only ones besides Rebecca who are allowed to be with her unsupervised. (Not because the others are untrustworthy, but because they don’t know what to do with a baby) so by the time Theodore Dani Tartt comes around, you’ve got this thing nailed.

[suzukiblu]

alone, please, whimper

General Kara Zor-El's baby cousin went to a planet named Earth on a diplomatic outreach mission, found out Kryptonians have borderline unmatchable superpowers under the right environmental conditions, and got involuntarily cloned by some narcissistic asshole with a god complex.

Twice.

Also he got married to something called a "reporter" and didn't even invite any of the family to the wedding, the little brat. Uncle Jor and Aunt Lara were beside themselves. Of course Kal decided to wait until his thirties to have his rebellious phase.

And of course now General Kara Zor-El has two "teenage" boys that look exactly like Kal-El on her doorstep, and both of them look very unhappy to be here.

To be fair, if Kara had spent her entire incredibly short and incredibly unsafe life with very impressive superpowers and then gotten dumped on a planet where she didn't have access to most of them anymore, she'd also be less than thrilled. Apparently they're still a little telekinetic, but nowhere near as telekinetic as they'd be under a yellow sun.

The first one is Experiment Thirteen; the second one is Subject Match. Thirteen is a worse brat than Kal ever was and Match is somehow an even worse brat than that, which is quite a feat for a kid who explicitly thinks of himself as a weapon without free will. Thirteen, meanwhile, has too much free will and is determined to make it everyone else's problem.

And Kal, inexplicably, has decided to make them both Kara's problem while he argues with the Council about why they should be granted asylum and citizenship on Krypton. Apparently, the Earthlings who made them are not particularly fit guardians, and when hasn't Kal seen an injustice and thrown himself on it?

Which, speaking of injustices . . .

"Please tell me you two have actual names besides 'Thirteen' and 'Match'," she says with a sigh, eyeing the pair of them and the concerningly small bags they're both carrying. Kal had damn well better have shipped their actual luggage separate, if that's all they've got on them.

"No," Thirteen mutters stiffly, his jaw visibly tightening.

"We have project designations," Match informs her like he's delivering a mission report. "Names are unnecessary."

Kara wonders what superpowers she'd get if she went to this "Earth" to punch a few of the local Thinkers. Just as a mental exercise, that's all.

"Rao's sake," she says. "Kal didn't even give you any?"

Match looks irritated, and Thirteen's jaw goes very, very tight.

Dammit.