#posted a day late but better late than never | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pers1st · 19 hours

Text

people help the people

pairing: lucy bronze (platonic) x reader

notes: mentions of suicide, not really ahappy ending, whole lotta angst, don't read if you're not in a good place.

i lost my best friend to suicide about a year ago and it's genuinely been the hardest thing of my life to go through, and even though i feel incredibly selfish for comparing my pain to hers, i just hope that everyone who's in a bad place will feel better soon. your death will hurt people, even if you don't believe it. my messages are always open !!

“Heartbreaking news have hit the football community earlier this morning as Arsenal have confirmed the death of young defender, Y/N Y/L/N. The club has stated that Y/L/N, who also played for the Lionesses, was found dead in her apartment late last night. Her death has been ruled as suicide. Other than that, both the club and the FA have asked for privacy as they deal with this tragic loss. The matches of this week will take place as usual, though the teams have agreed collectively to wear black armbands, along with having a minute of silence ahead of the match’s begin.”

The internet was a cruel place, Lucy realized a week after your death. There were countless articles, invasive messages, offensive comments about how and why your presence had been tragically ripped away from this world. She didn’t understand - how could she? Lucy liked to believe that the two of you had a real bond, with you only being nineteen years old and looking up to Lucy as if she was a Goddess, following her every step, studying her every move, clinging onto her every word as if she spoke a prayer. The admiration wasn’t one-sided, either. Lucy looked up to you. How could she not? You were so young, and faced with so much adversity - the fact that you were as professional as you were at such a young age, you impressed Lucy. You had. Until Keira had filled her in on the news ahead of a training session at Barcelona, shattering Lucy’s heart in the process. You had reached out to Lucy a lot, but never about anything this serious. You had told Lucy a lot of things, but nothing grave enough a reason to take your own life.

Admittedly, she knew the odd joke you had made - when you had slipped on the ball in front of the whole team, crashing down onto your stomach and banging your head enough to leave a glaringly obvious bump on your forehead, only to realize that the media staff had caught the moment and posted it to TikTok mere moments later. You had said, then, that you might as well have offed yourself. Lucy had laughed. Leah, who had been standing closeby, had laughed. You had laughed as you said it, but the words didn’t leave Lucy’s head anymore. You had said it. Right in front of her. How could she not have noticed?

It took minutes for Lucy’s face to be drenched in tears, hours until she would leave the medical room, which Keira had cleared and led her into, knowing very well that Lucy would not want anyone to see her raw emotions, days until Lucy returned to training, and months for anyone in the football community to address the situation. Mental health. Mental illness. Lights and shadows that came with being exposed to such brutal schedules, invasive comments, being shown off for everyone to see while no one ever required to know anything substantial. People wanted funny comments, smiles, laughter. No one ever cared about the weight dragging any players down, until it was too late - Lucy realized, as everyone and their mother seemed opposed to even speaking your name, only that energy into searching, very openly, both in comment sections or live on broadcasted TV, for the reason you had left life behind. Lucy searched for it too, though more secludedly.

She re-read your messages for hours, in the little light the moon provided as it fell through the cracks of her bedroom window, deciphering each and every letter, pronouncing the words out loud in different tones, scrolling through your social media to search for any clue. You had had your fair share of problems- you had told Lucy about them. You hadn’t been a big fan of the fans seemingly taking property of you. You hadn’t been ready for the pressure that you would be put under after another one of your defenders was injured and you were re-called from your loan to step into the position immediately. You hadn’t dealt well with the lack of your parents’ presence. Though you had still lived with them, they had rarely attended your matches, always able to come up with an excuse, one that you believed. You had defended them, shielding your family from Lucy's criticism when you had let her know, in another disappointed text message, that they hadn’t been able to make it. You hadn’t wanted to accept the fact that they simply weren’t interested in your career, and Lucy had accepted that.

Now, though, she wondered whether you had silently accepted it, and been too ashamed to admit it. Lucy knew that it wasn’t your fault - you had been the biggest ray of sunshine, even through your difficulties. You had managed to put a smile on everyone’s face, even though you had always been a little shy. You had been sweet, and kind, and gentle. Had Lucy been your parent- she would’ve let everyone know, would’ve shown you off to the world with pride, would’ve been there for everyone of your big moments. She had managed to fly out for the Conti Cup final, together with Keira, to watch you win the second domestic trophy in your senior career, only this time it was as a key-player rather than a super-sub.

Lucy was never really able to figure out your exact reasoning - perhaps that was the deal with mental illness. It was an illness. Perhaps there was no reasoning, perhaps the whole point of being ill was the fact that a healthy person would never be able to grasp the darkness that clenched your soul and inevitably drove you to death. If Lucy had learned one thing, though, it was the fact that she was never going to let anyone feel like you must’ve, ever again.

She had seen your parents during the funeral, had witnessed what your death had done to the people, who, though she never really liked them, had raised an absolutely incredible girl. She had seen your room, per her parents request, had seen the blood stained tiles on your bathroom floor, had heard your mother’s mumbled apology for not being able to clean it all. She had seen where you had spent your very last minutes, and she had thought about what must’ve been going on through your head, and it had almost suffocated her. And that was how she found herself here - in a studio in London on her rare off day, with Sky Sports, in an interview room that felt uncomfortable, a seat that pressed into her back, and a microphone in her sweaty hands.

“I just think that mental health is so, so important. I don’t know what it’s like to feel like… to feel like there’s no way out anymore, but I do know what it feels like to lose a person to their illness. It’s brutal. It makes you think you’ve failed them, and it makes you want to wish you had done more. I don’t want anyone to experience that.”

Lucy swallowed thickly, glancing at the reporter next to her. The man was kind, he handled the interview with delicacy. Your death had shocked the world, and by now, people knew to be respectful. Enough time had passed. Everyone had gotten over the initial shock. Everyone was left behind with that same distaste in their mouth and a hole in their stomach. People were delicate, when they mentioned you. They were still wearing black armbands in the WSL, and Lucy still wore the bracelet she had been given by your parents, taping it up for every match, letting any of her lioness teammates kiss her wrist whenever they scored.

“Is that why it’s so important to talk about this, to you?”

“Yeah, it’s definitely part of it. But I think most of all, I think we need to speak about it for Y/N. I think if we’d had this kind of open conversation a few months ago, she would’ve maybe reached out, you know. If I had educated myself on the topic better, maybe I could’ve seen the signs. I think it’s more for the people who feel the way she felt. If we can make even a single person reach out for help when they initially wouldn’t, I think it’s paid off.”

The man nodded.

“It’s just… you know. There’s always another way. Even when you don’t feel like it. I don’t know what it’s like to go through suicidal tendencies, but I do know what it’s like to feel sort of, hopeless. And I know that whatever happens, the world is a better place with you in it. Suicide is such a cruel way to go. I’ve wondered a lot, you know, whether she’s happier now, but I don’t think she is. Y/N had so many ambitions, so many dreams. She had such a bright future and yeah, for a mental illness to rip that away from her, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with that.”

Lucy sniffed, the tears dwelling in her eyes by now. She had never spoken about your death publically. No one had, not exactly. Sure, there had been underlying comments, minutes of silence and the odd mention of your name, but people had been cautious to actually speak about the situation. She couldn’t blame them, because fuck- this hurt. She saw your face whenever she closed her eyes. She heard your voice whenever she couldn’t sleep, your laughter was engraved into her brain. There would not be a day in her life that she didn’t miss you. It hurt. A lot. The realization that you weren’t just a few countries away, that you wouldn’t call her back later, that you wouldn’t call her after an important match or visit her in Barcelona like you had said you would.

“You’ve been kind of hesitant to agree to this interview. Why do you think that is? I mean, no one has really spoken about Y/N’s death as openly as you have.”

“Yeah, I think it’s difficult. To admit this kind of pain. I mean- it shouldn’t be, you know? I think it’s important to speak about this kind of loss and all the hurt that comes with it. Not out of a place to put blame, I’d never blame her. But just to, yeah, make people realize how bad this kind of loss hurts. How much people miss her, because we all miss her, even though some people are hesitant to say it out loud.”

“How do you feel about people being so hesitant?”

“I don’t think you can blame them, you know. Grief looks different for anyone. And I guess I’m a fixer kind of person. I want to fix things, and even though I’ll never be able to, you know, fix this, I do hope that by speaking up about this, I can potentially save someone from doing the same thing. Let people know that mental health should never be a taboo, encourage people to speak up before it’s too late. Because the world will miss you, even if you don’t think it will. The world is a different place without you in it”, she concluded, though she was mostly speaking to you.

It was true. The world was different, now that you were gone. Your friends- mostly the younger girls in the Arsenal squad, seemed to be less talkative. Arsenal was a different place- Leah had told Lucy during your funeral. Everyone was a little less talkative, the loss hanging heavy over the team. Kim worried a lot, about the younger ones, whereas the older, more experienced players, dealt with the same kind of guilt Lucy felt.

Barcelona was different too, though you had never played there. Alexia and Patri seemed to be checking on everyone a little more frequently, holding the team together, making sure everyone was okay. Lucy wasn’t, of course, though her team tried their best to help her move forward.

She did, eventually. England camps became less heavy, and when England won the Euros in 2025 again, during Lucy’s last match, she held up your shirt proudly, keeping the medal that had your name engraved in it, without shedding a single tear. When Arsenal won the Super League that year, they did the same thing. Lucy still felt a pinch in her chest everytime one of your teams reached another milestone, because she had wanted you to experience those kind of things. You deserved to experience your first league title, your second Euros, but more than anything-

She envisioned the life you could’ve lived, away from football. You deserved to fall in love, to visit Barcelona and every other place in the world you would’ve wanted to. You deserved to move out of your parents home into your first ever flat, you deserved to get a kitten and name it something ridiculous, the way you had always planned. You deserved to feel the rays of sun on your skin on the odd day it didn’t rain in London, you deserved to go on another trip to Ibiza and terrorize the rest of the girls in the club for another night. You deserved to be a bridesmaid at a wedding, the way you had always wanted to. You deserved a lot more than dying at nineteen. Everyone did. And Lucy would spend the rest of her career, potentially the rest of her life, making sure that people who felt the same way you had would feel a little less alone, a little more hopeful, would live a little longer. Anything in her power. She would do it all.

#woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc

188 notes · View notes

yanderemommabean · 4 hours

Text

Yandere Choso X Reader fic

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

------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#yandere choso #yandere jjk #yandere male #yandere smut #yandere dubcon #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere x reader #yandere lemons #Mommabean #yandere lemon

76 notes · View notes

annwrites · 1 day

Text

you need a hand with that, baby?

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: hurt from billy's constant hot & cold behavior toward you, you begin to pull away from him. refusing to lose you, he offers to open up to you, but only on his terms. he then wakes in the middle of the night to an unexpected sight beside him.

— tags: billy actually opening up and discussing his past and feelings toward you, at least a bit. angst.

— tw: drinking, childhood trauma, masturbation, fingering, handjob

— word count: 7,132

— a/n: oh yeah, it's all coming together. pun maybe intended.

find my other posts concerning billy here

When you enter the motel room—your hands full of a selection of things the motel was serving for breakfast—it’s to Billy falling over himself, trying to quickly pull on a pair of jeans, quietly cursing to himself.

And then he barely glances up to you as he finally yanks the zipper up. “There you are. Where the hell have you been?” He looks at you. “Do you have any idea how wor-”

A smile slowly forms on his lips, cutting short the lecture he was about to bestow upon you about never leaving his eyesight ever again unless you wanted to see him pissed...also again.

He settles his hands on his hips—still shirtless—giving you a long look-over before stepping closer and reaching up, twirling a teased curl around his finger.

“Thought you stopped doing your hair like this weeks ago, doll?”

You shrug, setting the food down on the table, sitting. “I just wanted to try it out again.”

He sits, not bothering with a shirt for the moment being, and watches as you take a bite of a pastry, your eyes flitting to his chest for only a moment, before looking down to the buffet of food before you, cheeks warming.

He leans back, biting into an apple. “Really going to sit there and pretend like it has nothing to do with trying to impress me, honey?”

You glance up to him with furrowed brows, pouring a small bottle of milk into a paper bowl full of cereal. “Why would I want to do that?”

Each day he’s spent with you has made him more bold in his advances, even minimally, and today is no different. He finally just throws it out there. “I see the way you look at me. Especially when I’m like this. Half-dressed, or less. Or working on the Camaro. If you want to keep playing hard-to-get, sweetheart, we still have plenty days of driving before us, so we can play that game. Just know you won’t win.” He leans toward you, eyes boring into your own. “I will get what I’ve been waiting patiently for weeks for.”

You stop chewing, suddenly swallowing. You don’t want to admit you’d spent the better part of an hour teasing your hair and using so much Aquanet you’d nearly finished off the entire can until it was perfect just to see his reaction. But he could see right through you.

You were tiring of this game to an extent—you pretending like you felt nothing toward him than annoyance, and him making sexual advances toward you every day.

It all amounted to nothing.

Maybe sometimes it did feel a bit exciting to be desired by another, but it wasn’t about you with him. It was about what you were: a collection of body parts for him to play with. He’d all but thrown as much in your face two nights ago. What was it he had said about you being just another pair of lips?

You suddenly regret doing your hair.

Maybe you have been leading him on a bit lately. You hadn’t intended to. You’d done your utmost to ignore him in Hawkins—he was the one who refused to leave you alone. And being on the road together…it’d simply been about getting from point a to point b. Now…you tell yourself that’s still all it is. Both of you leaving behind nightmares to find new dreams out West.

Once you reach California, you’ll both go separate ways and never see one another ever again. Because that’s what people do: they leave.

You look back down to your food, stirring your now-soggy cereal, mood dampened. And Billy notices your sudden shift in mood, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You stand, throwing your food away. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you state, picking up your chair and going to sit by the window.

He rolls his eyes. Women and their damn mood swings. “You on your rag or somethin’?”

Your head jerks back toward him. “What?”

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

You don’t bother arguing as you turn back to the window. “No.”

He takes a few more bites of his apple, watching you. He chooses to change the subject. “So, what’re we drinking tonight?”

You’d forgotten about that… You look back to him. “Can you even buy alcohol?”

He smirks. “I have a fake, honey.”

You raise a brow, not entirely surprised. “You do?”

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slipping the card out and tossing it to you.

You pick it up off the floor and look it over. ‘Billy Squier’, really? You look at him and he has a smirk on his face.

“What, don’t tell me you don’t get the name?”

You walk it back over to him, extending the plastic card toward him. “You must’ve thought it was terribly clever, since you both share the same first name.”

He considers you for a moment, grabbing the card, tossing it onto the table, then yanking on your hand, pulling you into his lap.

You immediately try to stand up, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him.

“Let go!”

He holds a piece of bacon up to your face. “Not until you’ve eaten something.”

You snub your nose at the offered food, so he just holds it closer. “I have no problem hand-feeding you, princess.”

You sigh dramatically and he uses that opportunity to shove the food into your mouth.

Once you’ve finished chewing do you try getting up again.

“You can get up just as soon as you tell me what the fuck that was a minute ago.”

You roll your eyes. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” he says casually, taking a bite of the pastry you hadn’t finished.

Feeling your temper growing shorter, you let him have it as you turn the least bit more back toward him so you can look at him. “Stop pretending like you give a damn about me. We both know what this is. That as soon as we get to California, we’re both going our separate ways. Nothing you do is going to change the fact that I refuse to fuck you before then.”

His jaw feathers. He knows you’re not trying to make him angry. You’re just hurt yourself from his vulgar behavior—his being hot and cold toward you. He decides he does not like the taste of his own medicine. You’d tried to connect with him more than once now, had tried to get him to open up like you had with him, but he’d shut it down at every turn.

You were clearly beginning to grow tired of it. He doesn’t entirely blame you. When was the last time you’d had someone show the least bit of concern for you? Even his step-mom, at times, had tried to show him some kindness.

He reaches up and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m nothing if not a man of my word, baby. I told you that you were stuck with me. I meant that. So I’ll wait for however long you want to keep holding out for. You take that to mean whatever you want it to.”

Your brows furrow and your hands come to rest atop his arm. “I… You…” You have no idea what you even want to say.

He holds another pastry up to you. “Muffin?”

Once breakfast was through—Billy refusing to let you off of his lap for the next hour; he’d taken his time eating and hadn’t tried to fight against the erection your constant squirming had caused, even if you’d ceased the moment you’d felt it—the two of you had gotten into his car and driven around town aimlessly, just sight-seeing, even if there wasn’t much to see here in the first place.

Some small Oklahoma town had to be one of the worst places to be stranded. He’d mused to himself that there was a reason it was known as a fly-over state.

You’d stayed mostly silent, even as he’d obnoxiously blared his rock music, trying to get your attention.

He could feel your interest—attentions—toward him beginning to wane, and it was an unsettling feeling. So, he’d, at every red light and stop and yield sign, reached over and touched you. You thought it’d been just to get under your skin. For him, it was just a reminder that you were still there beside him.

Once lunch time hit, he’d pulled into a family-owned diner, and even bothered holding your hand as the two of you went inside. You’d tried to tug away, but he’d held firm, twining his fingers between yours.

Once the two of you were eating—you refusing to even look in his direction, but instead watching the view outside the window at your side—he’d tapped your foot under the table and you’d rolled your eyes, pulling your leg back toward you.

He’d sighed then. “Your hair looks nice, since I never told you. I was right: it makes you look hot.”

“Thanks.”

He’d frowned. “Fine. Since it’s clearly what you’re after—five questions. That’s all you get. So, ask whatever you want and I’ll answer.”

You’d looked to him in surprise. Shocked he was offering such a thing. You were sure he’d never bother to open up. Or, if he did, it would be only when he was ready and deigned to divulge bits and pieces of himself and his life to you here and there. But putting you in control of what he was to share? You weren’t sure what to make of that.

You sit back, idly stabbing at your garden salad. You look up to him then, expression serious. “Why did you pick on me so much back in Hawkins?”

He raises a brow, forearms resting atop the table. “Why do you think?” He gestures as if the answer should be obvious.

You look back down and shift, and you suddenly seem uncomfortable to him.

“I… I thought that… Maybe…” You look out the window and a pained look seeps into your eyes. He reaches over, having no idea why the fuck he’s doing it, and takes one of your hands in his.

You look at him again. You let out a shaky breath, your hand trembling slightly in his firm grip. “Maybe something was wrong with me. I mean…my dad and the way he treated me. And then you show up and…” You swallow thickly.

That’s what you’d thought the last two months? That he’d been giving getting on your last nerve his every effort because what? You just attracted that kind of treatment—cruelty? Especially from men?

You’re now staring intently down at the table, lost in thought, like you’re somewhere else.

“Angel, look at me.”

You do, hesitantly. “You think I acted that way because I didn’t like you?”

You nod, hand shaking harder.

He leans in toward you. “It’s the very opposite. You should know that by now, honey.”

You blink at him. “You don’t actually like me, though.”

He raises a brow again. “Reading my thoughts now?”

“It’s…” You stop yourself short, pulling your hand back, settling it in your lap. You didn’t want to say this. Didn’t want to let on that you, at the very least, thought you felt something more toward him. Not when you knew how he thought of you. You never meant more toward anyone—they just did for you. Because you were always stupid enough to get attached.

“Go on.”

You clasp your shaking hands together. Opening up…you’d never been able to do that before. Had wanted to. With someone—anyone. But even just crying in front of your dad… That was an excellent way to get hit.

Your heart-rate quickens. You can’t do this. He’ll get angry, too. Just like the other night when he put his fist through a wall.

No man was a safe place for you.

“I don’t remember now.”

He stands then, sitting beside you, pressing his body against yours, arm behind you. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he says lowly, cupping your cheek in his other hand.

You shake your head, your body trembling in fear.

He leans down toward you. “Please.”

You look at him, blinking back tears and his heart fucking breaks.

“What if you get mad at me?” You ask, voice breaking on the last word.

“I won’t.”

You open your mouth to speak, until the waitress interrupts the both of you with the check.

Billy lets out a low swear, snatching it from her.

When he looks back to you, the moment is gone. You having withdrawn further away from him.

It seems he’s not the only one with difficulties sharing parts of himself.

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you whimper. He pulls back, and you still don’t look at him.

After lunch, Billy pulls into a gas station. Getting you drunk probably isn’t the best idea right now, but it’s the only way he’s going to get you to talk—get himself to, even.

So he heads inside, purchases a bottle of Crown Royal, and then comes back out, handing it to you.

You look it over for a moment, then look at him. “This is a stupid idea.”

He shrugs. “We made a deal, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”

You look back down at the bottle. “I only do stupid stuff when I’m with you.”

He smirks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Once the two of you are locked in your motel room, you sit on the bed—him leaned back against the headboard, and you at the foot of it facing him.

“So…what do we do now?” You ask nervously.

“Could always play a drinking game. Or just start chugging until one of us is shit-faced. Or…” He grows quiet for a moment, then unscrews the lid, taking a long swig. “There’s a reason they call this shit liquid courage. Drink enough and you don’t feel afraid anymore. You want to talk, then we’ll talk. But I need to get my blood-alcohol level up first,” he says, taking another long drink.

He holds the bottle out toward you and you take it from him gingerly, taking a small sip. Your face screws and he laughs.

“That’s disgusting.”

He shrugs. “It’s one of my favorites. But when it comes to booze, you don’t always drink it for the taste.”

You take another sip and it still tastes just as bad as the first time. You then feel heat pool between your legs and you flush. You look up to him and see he’s just waiting on you to make your next move. You briefly wonder if this is what alcohol does for everyone—cause this kind of reaction. And if so, if he’d really meant the ‘taking advantage of you’ comment from last night.

You take another drink, then hand it back to him.

“So, you want to continue what you were saying at the diner?” He asks, taking a sip.

You’d had so many thoughts racing through your mind afterward that you honestly couldn’t remember now.

You’d asked him about his treatment toward you. He’d insinuated that he’d done it because he liked you and…you were going to imply you felt something for him, but were worried he saw you as just a sex toy.

You have half-a-mind to feign ignorance; that you’d forgotten, but you reach for the bottle again and take a long drink, swallowing multiple times, head beginning to feel light when you lower it down to your lap.

You smile to yourself and Billy only feels mild surprise that the liquor is working so quickly on you. With him having a good bit more body weight—not to mention tolerance—it would take him a few more drinks yet.

You look up to him, caressing the glass bottle. “I think you were right.”

He raises a brow, making a beckoning motion with his finger for the bottle and you hand it to him. “Oh, yeah? What about?”

“Me being attracted to you.” Your words already sound a bit slurred.

He’s not taken aback in the slightest by your admittance. He was aware of your physical attraction awhile ago. Knew you were too, even if you didn’t want to admit it—or, rather, wanted to try and bury it.

He drinks. “Read you like a book weeks ago on that, honey.”

You balk. “Weeks?” You’d not liked him back in Hawkins. Not in the least. Not his leather jacket or stupid car or dumb smirk. Not his deep voice or pretty eyes or swagger.

“Mhm.”

“Don’t humor yourself.”

He drinks again. "No?"

You stare at him for a moment and he smirks, thinking. He has an idea, but chooses to hold off for the moment being. He won't make this just another opportunity for him to try at getting in your pants. He's done enough damage to whatever was tentatively starting to grow between the two of you. He fears he's nearly killed it altogether.

This is him trying to dial it back.

You don't respond, instead reaching out for the bottle and he gives it to you. You drink, and then giggle lightly, and his lip twitches at the sound.

"So, the hell happened this morning when you started acting like a sour-puss all of a sudden?"

You look down at the bottle, tracing your finger along the comforter beneath you. You suddenly realize he's right about the whole liquid courage thing when you look up at him and suddenly don't feel so afraid anymore. "You make me feel safe sometimes. You've...done a lot for me. Even if you almost put a hole in my head..."

His jaw feathers. "I wouldn't have done it. Should've never raised a hand to you in the first place." He's quiet for a few seconds, then, "So I make you feel safe, huh?"

That was a first for him. The only person he ever had any responsibility in looking out for previously was Max, and he knew he scared the shit out of her. Not that he didn't do so on purpose at least half the time. They couldn't stand each other. He never pretended otherwise.

You pull the bottle into your lap and he licks his lips as you make a fist around the neck of it. "Mm, yeah."

"How's that?" He asks, unbuttoning his shirt halfway.

Your cheeks grow warm and you lower the bottle between your legs where a pulse is beginning to form. "I don't know. It's just the whole package, I guess."

Unable to help himself, he smirks before giving his reply. "You like my package, sweetheart?"

You groan, rolling your eyes, flopping back on the mattress, feet still planted atop it, knees bent.

He glances between your spread legs, growing hard.

You stare up at the ceiling. You're not drunk yet. And so you choose to revert back to more serious topics while you're still able to think straight.

"You said at the diner I could ask you questions. I still had four to go."

His eyes trail over your pert breasts. "How about we make things a bit more interesting?"

You lull your head to the side, looking at him, his shirt now fully undone. "How?"

His lip twitches, eyes growing dark. "I answer, but once I have, you have to remove a piece of clothing."

You roll your eyes back to the ceiling, sighing dramatically.

He laughs.

"Only if I get to choose what item."

His eyes widen. "Wait, really? You'll do it?"

You shrug. "If it's the only way."

"What's your first question, doll?"

You consider what you want to know the most about him. What best to start with. "Tell me about your mom."

He considers whether seeing you undressed is really all that important to him now. "Take another drink."

Maybe if he can get you plastered, you won't remember any of this conversation come morning.

Not understanding why he wants you to, you sit up a bit, swallowing another sip, then lie back down.

He reaches forward, taking the bottle from you and taking multiple pulls before leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "She..." His brow twitches as he imagines her on that beach, watching him in the water, a loving look in her eyes. "She tried with him. But I guess, like you, there was only so much she could take." He's unsure whether he's referring to the situation with your dad, or the other night on the interstate. "He was always fighting with her—accusing her of cheating and shit, not that I'd blame her—hitting her, pushing her around. I guess one day she'd had enough and hit the road. Maybe she just forgot me. Or didn't want me anymore. Maybe she only saw him when she looked at me. Who the fuck knows? She got out, I didn't. Until now. End of story."

You look at him and see that he's now staring up at the ceiling, his eyes a bit bloodshot, nose red. You want to reach out and touch him—give him a comforting gesture, but fear it will only make him feel worse. So you instead extend one of your legs, lying it atop his own.

He looks at you then, smirking, and he slides one of his hands along your calf. "So, what piece is comin' off first?"

You wiggle your foot that's currently resting atop his thigh. He shakes his head. "Of course it's something boring."

He slips your sock off, tossing it on the floor, then pauses, looking at you and a wide smile breaks out on his face as he grabs your ankle in one hand and starts tickling your foot with his other.

You squirm, letting out panicked laughs. "S-stop. N-noooo, please, aha!"

He lets up after a minute, hand sliding along your smooth leg again, chuckling to himself. "Three left to go, sweetheart."

For your next question, you tread as lightly as you possibly can. You make your voice light, soft. "You hate your dad for what he's done to you and your mom. For what he is—who. I guess I understand why you're so angry all the time. But why act similarly? Picking on me at school by pulling my hair...and what happened the other night... Is it just because that's the only example you've ever had set of how a man acts?"

He stays quiet, thinking. He begins to massage your foot with both his thumbs. Then, "I haven't been this open—vulnerable—with someone since before my mom left." He glances up to you. "I was ten then."

He looks back down. "I'm a man now. Not some kid. And a man doesn't cry or broadcast his shit to the world. He gets angry and fights back."

"Is that really what you think? That's how your dad—mine—are. Do you think they're real men?"

He stares at you then, hands stilling.

You wonder if he'd ever thought about it like that before. You continue. "You know what they say: you catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

He smirks. "Oh, I intend to get myself some honey eventually."

"Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it," he says, taking the bottle and drinking again. "That your way of asking me to be sweet on you, baby?"

You reach for the bottle again, taking a drink yourself, wiggling your other foot.

He pulls your sock off, tossing it next to the other one. He doesn't tickle you this time. "Two more."

You're both thankful and not that he'd only offered you five. Had he done more, you'd be naked before you were done. And you were sure at that point he'd cut the questioning short, neither of you able to concentrate then. But you have so many things to ask—him still a bit of an enigma to you, or, rather, how he works.

You want to ask about his past with surfing, want to know how many girls he's been with—but know that question is far too juvenile and will make your feelings too obvious. You want to ask about his fascination with cars, what his favorite subject in school was, what about rock music appeals to him so much, maybe even ask about his step-sister. Instead, you ask about yourself.

"Why me?"

He begins rubbing your other foot. "Why you what, beautiful?"

That was a new one. And 'princess' earlier.

"You said it yourself the other night: you could've had any girl you wanted at Hawkins. I mean, I saw the way they all looked at you. So why me?"

He shrugs. "Like you said earlier, I guess it's just 'the whole package'."

You shake your head. "Try again, James Dean."

He laughs then, resting his head back, fighting the smirk on his lips. The last thing he needs is you thinking you're funny and it going to your head.

He looks down at you, the expression on his face now soft. "I only had eyes for you since day one, baby. There was just somethin' about you, I guess. Honestly, I think it was the fact you never tried to get my attention." He smirks. "Every man likes a chase. And I'll be damned if you haven't given me one. A few times."

He thinks about chasing you down on the interstate the other night.

"What about Angie?"

He raises a brow. "Were you jealous?"

You don't respond, just continue looking at him.

He shrugs. "It was what it was. I just did it to piss you off. Try to, at least. But once I had her in the backseat and we got down to business, there was only one girl on my mind, and it sure as hell wasn't her."

You blame your sudden sense of dizziness on the alcohol. "Oh."

"That surprise you?"

"Yes." You reach for the bottle and he hands it to you, your fingers brushing against one another as you take a few gulps. Your head really starts to spin then.

He leans forward, running his hand up your thigh. "Time to take something else off, darlin'."

You hand him the bottle, and with nervous hands, reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off, balling it up and tossing it at him.

"Now we're talkin'," he says, throwing your shirt across the room.

You shrug. "You already saw me in a bathing suit."

He smirks. "Context, doll."

His eyes glance down to your shorts. "Last one."

You're silent, for a long while, Billy taking a few sips from the bottle.

And then you speak.

"When we get to California...what happens?"

"I've been thinking about getting back into surfing again. I used to be really good at it. But that was almost a decade ago now. Might take a bit of practice to get back to where I was on the board." He shrugs. "Maybe I start competing and do odd jobs on the side until I maybe make it into something full-time."

You stay quiet.

"But that's not really what you're asking, is it?" He says.

You look at him.

"You're asking what happens to us when we get there."

You look at the wall. "No, I wasn't."

He clicks his tongue. "Thought we were being honest tonight."

You don't say anything, nor do you look at him.

His lip twitches. "You could always be my own personal cheerleader."

You look at him. "Would you even want that?"

He shrugs. "Someone's gotta do it."

A small smile comes onto your lips. "What's my rate-of-pay?"

His brow raises. "How about I just pay you in sexual favors? Your uniform will be covered."

Your face heats, remembering that comment. Stupid girl.

"Yeah, I still haven't forgotten about that, by the way."

"You wouldn't, would you?"

"No way in hell." He states matter-of-factly.

He then leans over you and reaches down, unbuttoning your jean shorts, slowly easing down the zipper and when you feel your body's reaction to it—rather, the reaction it's been having to him for awhile now—you desperately don't want him to pull them down. But a deal is a deal. And you know he won't be letting you out of this one either.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and begins tugging them down your hips, sliding them off of your legs and he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tosses them to the side.

And then he looks down and your face feels like it's boiling when his eyes grow wide at the sight before him.

He looks up to you then, removing his eyes from your panties that're now soaked through and sticking to you.

And for the first time in all the while you've known him, he's speechless.

But you are as well. So you simply push your thighs together, drawing your feet toward you.

He then shakes his head, letting out a low curse. "I should've let you ask more questions."

Once the two of you have showered and are in bed for the night—you'd gotten delivery for the night, Billy refusing to let you put your clothes back on all the while as you ate, and you pretending not to see his erection the entire time—you lied down in bed.

In truth, Billy had gotten off in the shower after your little drinking game—unable to think of anything else but the lovely sight between your legs, all for and from him. He'd not been quiet when he came, either. And when he emerged naked, going to lay down, he'd noticed a wet spot on the seat you got up from as you silently went to bathe.

It'd taken some time for him to calm down enough to sleep. His mind and body both, wondering if he shouldn't have taken a cold shower instead.

You, however, lied awake next to him, your own body still on fire, head still swimming, replaying the sight of him removing your shorts over and over again. The look in his eyes, his fingers pulling down the zipper, the veins in his hands as he gently yanked them off of you, curls falling over his shoulders, the scent of his cologne. The sight of him coming naked out of the bathroom. The sound of him orgasming in the shower.

You feel dampness in your panties again and you glance to him, still fast asleep. You then make what may very-well be a stupid decision and slip your hand beneath the waistband of them and begin to circle your clit with your fingers and your body jerks in response. You honestly couldn't remember the last time you'd not only touched yourself, but felt turned-on in general.

Living in that house with him...it killed all sense of hope and happiness and normality for you.

You look to Billy, your eyes trailing down his bare muscled chest, to his waist—his privates the only part of him that's covered, and barely at that, with a top sheet—and you slide your fingers between your wet folds and bite your lip.

You glance to his face, his lips, and circle your clit again, closing your eyes.

You spread your legs the least bit wider, closing your eyes, softly panting as you cup one of your breasts in your free hand.

Billy had been just on the verge of sleep when he'd heard you whimper beside him. His first thought had been that you were having a nightmare—stomach dropping at the thought of it being about him, about the other night—and then freezes when he looks at you and sees you touching yourself.

Your hand is in your panties, your other touching your breast, your lips slightly parted as you quietly moan.

His erection quickly returns to him then and he slowly turns onto his side. "You need a hand with that, baby?"

Your ministrations cease immediately, your eyes shooting open and head jerking to the right, looking at him. You open your mouth to reply and at first nothing comes out. Then, "I-I'm sorry."

He raises a brow, moving closer to you, erection brushing against your thigh. "For what, darlin'?"

You stare up at him.

"So, do you? Maybe I should just call in that offer for a sexual favor now. What do you think?"

You feel like your brain is suddenly misfiring as you actually consider saying yes. It's the alcohol. You're not thinking clearly. Not as you usually would without it in your system. But the thought of him touching you like that... It ignited something in you just when he looked at you.

He props himself up on his left forearm, his right hand coming to rest atop your stomach, then slowly moving lower and lower, his eyes trained on yours all the while.

Once his hand is just above the waist of your panties, you slowly pull your own hand out, resting it beside you, your heart now pounding.

He takes that as permission and slips his own between your legs, looking down.

"Fuck," he swears, looking back to you. "Are you always this wet?"

You consider telling him 'only with you', knowing that would most certainly get you a reaction. "S-sometimes."

His fingers explore between your hot folds, erection coming to settle atop your right thigh. It's only then you realize just how lengthy he truly is.

You turn more onto your right side, facing him and he slowly slips one finger inside of you, groaning at the tight feel, the slick sensation of you.

He then slowly—very slowly—leans down, pressing his lips gently to your own. And you let him this time. You kiss him back. And his heart fucking jumps.

Something it's never done with a girl before. The last time it had? The first time he set eyes on you in the parking lot at school as you walked inside. He'd known right then and there it was over for him.

He eases another finger into you and circles your clit with his thumb and you gasp against his mouth, then wrap your left arm around his neck, pulling your body against his own, and you begin to kiss him more fervently.

He circles that sensitive bundle again and again and slips his tongue in your mouth and you whimper, your own coming to dance with his.

He arches his strong fingers upward and you pull away, sighing, your lips brushing against his own.

"That feel good, honey?"

You nod, crushing your lips back to his own.

He massages that ledge inside of you and your body shudders and he smirks, continuing to kiss you, barely believing this is finally happening. That he's getting to touch you like this and you're allowing him to—enjoying it.

The entire time he'd been at the drive-in with Angela, all he'd been able to think about was you and Harrington in his car doing what he was doing with her.

What if he was your first time? What if you fell for him? What if he made you his instead? What if he lost any chance with you for good while Steve became your whole fucking world?

And for the first time, while having sex, he'd nearly been unable to finish. So, he'd closed his eyes, flipping her over, imaging it was you. And he'd finished almost-instantly then. Had damn-near yelled your name as he filled his condom.

And when he came back to reality, his erection had softened quickly as he pulled out and away from her, wanting—wishing—for someone else instead.

You'd never know the relief he'd felt—utter fucking joy—when you'd let it slip that you were a virgin, that you didn't even like Harrington like that.

And then he'd felt secure in knowing he didn't have any competition. Not for the moment being. You could still be his.

He moves his lips to your neck and you ease your head back, whimpering at the feeling of him licking and kissing and gently biting your hot sensitive skin. He then trails wet kisses to your ear and speaks lowly into it—you clenching around him when he does.

"When you come, sweetheart, I want you to fucking scream my name. I want half this damn place to hear it." He crushes his lips back to your own, tongue flicking against yours and you spread your legs wider, his fingers diving deeper.

Just as his arm begins to grow tired, your body jerks, your pants becoming more frequent, harder.

"That's it, baby, come for me. C'mon, sweetheart, you're almost there."

You begin to rock your hips against his hand, whimpering at the feel, clit growing more and more sensitive.

"Mm, please." You look up to him, kissing him again. Then, "Ah, right there."

His fingers work rapidly, rubbing and plunging in and out of you, your body responding accordingly.

Both of you are sweating now, panting, hearts pounding. His excitement grows knowing he'll be the first man to give you an orgasm. That he's the first to have his hand between your legs. The first for, well, a lot of things. And even more to come, he hopes.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breaths coming in shallow gasps and he knows he has you right on the edge. "C'mon, baby. C'mon, fuckin' come for me. That's it."

And then, "Billy! Ah, mm." You practically scream his name as you finish, your walls clenching rapidly around him, his callused hand now soaked in you.

He chuckles excitedly. "That's my fuckin' girl," he says between satisfied laughs, fingers still plunging away between your legs, until your hand comes down to grip his wrist, his movements ceasing.

He slips his fingers out of you, resting his forearm atop his naked hip as he looks down at you and you up at him from under hooded lids, lips swollen, face flushed, hair messy, the look on your face that of satisfaction.

"Thank you," you say shyly.

He presses a long kiss to your lips, then brushes some hair behind your ear. "No, thank you."

And then you do something unexpected: you take his throbbing erection in your hand and stroke him once, then twice.

He looks down, then back up to you. "Yeah?" He asks, brow raised, wondering if maybe you're just curious about touching him there after feeling it pressed against you so many times.

And then you nod, stroking a few more times.

He then wraps his fist around yours. "A bit tighter, baby. Yeah, no, tighter. You're not going to hurt me, sweetie." Then, "Fuck, that's fuckin' perfect. Just like that, angel."

You press your lips back to his, kissing him more softly this time, until his left arm snakes under your neck, gripping the back of your head, tugging at your hair and he devours your lips with his own. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him again, then slides down your thigh, lifting it onto his waist while you continue stroking away.

He squeezes your ass-cheek, then gives it a light slap, slipping his hand under your panties, keeping his hand there, squeezing and massaging as you continue to get him off.

Your strokes are a bit sloppy, and unsure, but he ignores that, just enjoying the feeling of being in your grip, of you bothering to return the favor. He then reaches down, pushing your t-shirt up and it's only then that he notices you're wearing one of his—the front design the cover of Def Leppard's Pyromania album. It only turns him on all the more.

Once your breasts are visible, he cranes his neck down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking, then rolling it between his teeth and you moan his name.

He trails his tongue along your chest, taking your other nipple in his mouth, precum dripping onto your hand.

He begins kissing upwards, to your neck, then back down again. God, he's never felt this fucking turned-on before.

His cock twitches in your hand, then does it again and he knows he's close. He should've gotten up and grabbed a towel, but it would've risked ruining the moment.

His hips jerk, sliding through your grip, and then he calms. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to your own, his right hand cupping your cheek now. "I'm so fuckin' close, baby. I'm about to cum. Fuck, keep going. Jesus Christ."

You begin to stroke faster and faster, and then he pushes you onto your back, taking himself in his hand as he comes all over your stomach in hot sticky spurts, groaning all the while, hips bucking, wishing he was doing this between your legs instead.

Once he's calmed—his cock softening—does he lie down for a moment next to you, trying to catch his breath. He then smiles up at the ceiling and starts to laugh.

You look at him and he swings his arms over his stomach. "Woo! Fuck yeah, baby!"

He looks at you, then leans over you again, kissing you, tongue licking your lips, dancing against your own. And then he pulls back, smiling down at you, curls hanging down, framing his face, and he flashes you a smile, showing his brilliant white teeth. "I'll go grab you a towel, sweetheart."

You nod, smiling yourself, pecking him on the lips.

You watch as he walks to the bathroom and he smirks, feeling your eyes on his ass.

You hear the sound of water, him washing up quickly, and then he returns with a damp towel and begins to wipe you down.

He then tosses the towel on the floor and climbs on top of you, resting his forearms on your breasts and his chin atop his arms, looking up at you. "God, that was fuckin' perfect."

You smile. "So I did a good job?"

You'd been afraid he would've eventually gotten bored, or tired of how long things were taking, but he'd not complained once.

He then scoots higher, resting on his right forearm, left hand smoothing hair away from your face as he hovers over you. "Yeah, baby, you did."

He kisses you again, then scoots back down a bit, resting his cheek between your breasts and your arms come to wrap around his warm shoulders. And then you move your hands higher, tangling in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

And he falls asleep in your arms.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader

61 notes · View notes

1dmonthlyficroundup · 2 days

Text

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for May 2024! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ Ocean Wave Blues by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt [M, 49k, Louis/Harry]

After the gruesome death of his Alpha, Harry takes over as the Captain of the Rose Arrow. Trying his best to uphold her reputation as being the most dreadful pirate ship to sail the Seven Seas.

With the help of his alpha-quartermaster Niall, he manages to keep his secondary gender hidden from everyone except his most trusted crew, as he operates under his late Alpha’s name. Captain Payne.

Everything changes when his ship is taken hostage by Pirate Captain Louis.

To keep his crew, and himself, alive, Harry must play the part of dutiful Omega who’s waiting for his Alpha’s return.

＊ You Put the Boom Boom Into My Heart by @kingsofeverything [T, 5k, Harry/Louis]

Harry's been trying all summer to come up with a way to show Louis how much he means to him before he leaves for college.

Or five times Harry fails to win Wham! tickets and one time he succeeds.

＊ Into the Woods by @kingsofeverything [E, 2k, Louis/Harry]

Whenever he hikes, Harry keeps an eye out for trees with knots and scars that resemble buttholes. What started as fodder for his silly little Instagram account has become his favorite way to masturbate.

＊ A Book in the Ruins by magpielivingforglitter / @builtyouahousefromabrokenhome [M, 10k, Harry/Louis]

Harry randomly meets Louis, they eat food and read poetry, and it’s the zombie apocalypse.

＊ now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie [T, 5k, Louis/Harry]

Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest. There's only one slight problem -- Harry and nesting aren't exactly on familiar terms. At all.

This does not stop Harry from borrowing ("borrowing") Louis' things all throughout summer, though. Oops?

＊ just a couple of my cravings by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf [G, 3k, Harry/Louis]

Summer's just around the corner and Louis' battling his addictions... Cigarettes and Harry Styles.

＊ better latte than never by @disgruntledkittenface [M, 1k, Zayn/Harry]

Harry was looking forward to the coffee cart at work. Until the subject of the previous night's fantasies lined up next to him.

＊ I Like to Watch by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus [E, 9k, Louis/Harry, Louis/Zayn]

If there’s one thing Harry loves, it’s watching his husband Louis get fucked by other men. After picking up a lad called Zayn who is baffled by this concept, the three men are in for a wild night.

＊ Hope by @hellolovers13 [T, 2k, no pairing, Louis, Harry]

A father's desperate journey against time.

＊ On Love's Doorstep by @hellolovers13 [T, 1k, Harry/Louis]

Harry Styles: a day in the life

☑ Stuck in a dress ☑ Abandoned by his best friend ☑ Date with hot neighbour

All in all, not the worst day ever

＊ the very last drops of an ink pen by staybeautiful / @harruandlou [E, 47k, Louis/Harry]

The spoon made a hissing sound on the rim of his cup before he put it on his napkin. Sharp eyes met Harry’s over the table and Louis said, “So, we have a lot to talk about then.”

“How do you mean?” Harry blew on the foam at the top of his latte and let the heat of it warm his hands. Anxious energy curled down his arms as he waited for Louis to speak.

“Well, what are we doing about the business?” Louis picked up his mug and with his mouth against the lip of it, added, “Or are you going to leave that too?”

Against his will, his cheeks flushed in annoyance and Harry snapped, “Of course I fucking won’t.”

Or just after midnight on Harry's 30th birthday, he realizes he can't do another year without change. So, he forces it. Breaking up with Louis might have hurt less if they weren't co-owners of Studio 28, living within walking distance of each other, and if he wasn't the thing Harry was most afraid of losing. Secluding themselves on their shared estate in an attempt to save their working relationship may shed a light on where everything else started going wrong. And perhaps give them a chance to fix it.

＊ don't be afraid to love (and love again) by localopa / @voulezloux [E, 83k, Louis/Harry]

All Louis’ life, he’s known he’s been different. There’s always been something at odds about how he felt.

As the eldest daughter of seven kids, he knew something was wrong with his body. Something was off, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His mum dressed him in dresses and tights, plaits in his hair as he wandered around with the local neighborhood boys. They called him a girl, called him she and Rosemary when his name is Louis. He had told the boys as such, but they would tell him Louis is a boy’s name, not a girl’s.

Louis is a boy. He knows he is.

or the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

＊ Pacify Her by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright [E, 2k, Harry/Louis]

Harry's anxiety is acting up. Louis has the only thing that will soothe her.

OR Louis' pussy is the ultimate pacifier.

＊ this brokenness inside me might start healing by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [T, 29k, Louis/Harry]

Louis grew up in a tiny town, where everyone knew everyone -- or at least, they think they do. Then he left, and became a successful singer-songwriter, a star that everyone in the country knows -- or at least, they think they do.

But when Louis returns home for the birth of his first nibling, he meets a librarian who doesn't know him at all. And that's all Louis could ask for.

“I remember when you were a teenager," Miss Susan says, "telling me all the things you wanted to accomplish, the places you wanted to go. And I’ve seen a lot of kids, with a lot of big dreams – but you were different. You had this… quiet energy, this determined certainty. When you told me all you were going to do, I believed you.” She smiles, spreading her arms. “And now here you are.”

Here he is indeed, Louis thinks bitterly. Back where he started. His dreams on pause, his future uncertain. His whole identity built out of secrets and half-truths, while everyone thinks they know exactly who he is.

He left to find himself, he came home to find himself, and yet – here he is, feeling more lost than ever before.

＊ Rewriting the Melody by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 [T, 26k, Harry/Louis]

Louis doesn’t get put in One Direction. This time, the path to true love takes the long way round, including singing in toilet cubicles, fruit baskets, and long distance band counselling from someone who really doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just wants to keep talking to Harry.

＊ warmth within your arms by @hsburnr [M, 1k, Louis/Harry]

when it's get too much to bear and nothing makes sense, harry seeks comfort from louis.

one shot, hurt/comfort au.

- Fic Fests -

＊ 1D Dystopian Fic Fest / @1ddystopianfest / masterpost

“Telling a story in a futuristic world gives you this freedom to explore things that bother you in contemporary times.” ~ Suzanne Collins

- Podfics -

＊ [podfic] Season 3, Episode 4: Timeless [a fic by babyhoneyhslt] by podfic_pals / @podfic-pals [G, Louis/Harry]

After visiting an antiques shop, Harry gets transported through time, and discovers that he and Louis are Timeless.

Based on Taylor Swift's Timeless.

#may2024 #28th appreciation #1dsquad #trackinghome #hljournal #hlcreators #hltracks #1dficvillage

38 notes · View notes

pleasantlycrazyworld · 3 days

Text

Losing your pet.

Triggers: pet loss; talks of depression.

Author note: I had to put my cat to sleep at the beginning of the month, he was my baby so things have been really rough lately. I'm hoping writing this will help with grieving and it may be posted it may not be. If it is I hope it helps anyone who is also experiencing something like this.

Eddie:

You call him when you were freaking out about what to do. You were awoken by your animal crying out and knew they needed a vet but it's so early in the morning you don't know where to go.

When he got the call he was instantly worried for you. He knew how much having your animal helped you cope with your depression and he didn't know how losing them would make you react.

He rushed over and took you two to the 24 hour vet.

He was there to hold you as you cry, he talked to the vet for you, he called the place to make arrangements for the remains

He'd offer to have you either stay at the trailer or for him to stay at your house. He thought being in a quiet house would make you feel worse and since it happened in your room he knew you wouldn't be able to sleep in your actual bed for a while.

The two of you slept on your couch for a week after everything happened.

He would set even more reminders to help remind the both of you that you need to take your medicine

I think he would have you come and sit in on a DnD session to give you entertainment and take your mind off of things, he'd feel pretty prideful when it works

He wouldn't rush you to do anything. There is still a box of litter, still a collar, still toys on the floor oh thats fine! We can get rid of it whenever you are ready to. You want to get a new pet great! Let's get into the van! You don't even want to be around animals that's fine too!

He will map out the store trips to make sure you do not have to even walk by the pet supply aisle if you can't handle it

Steve:

He paid for everything. He knows money doesn't fix much but he didn't want you to be worried about paying for anything.

He never had a pet but he knew how close you were with your pet and he knew you were going to take it hard.

He would make sure you ate and took your medicines, he isn't the best cook but he can do basics so it was about a week of mac and cheese before you started cooking again.

He had you stay at his house, he would worry about you being alone so he made a plea deal and convinced you to stay with him. It's already pretty big and there is more than enough room for the both of you

He would try and get you a new pet better soon after everything happened

I think he would try and get you to talk about your feelings, either by making you therapy appointments or getting you stuff to journal he doesn't want you to keep things bottled up

He tends to treat it as any other heartbreak. There will be days where you two just eat junk food and watch sad movies and when that happens he doesn't mind holding you as the both of you cry into your bowls.

Billy:

Alot of people would probably say Billy wouldn't be that helpful.

I think he would struggle with knowing what to do, he could tell you were struggling but he freezes when he doesn't know what to do.

He would make some sort of comment that made you start crying and that is when he realized how serious this situation was. "It was just a cat/dog/bird/lizard/etc. get over it." Seeing you break down in front of him was his wake up call.

He would bring take out everytime he came over, he'd act like it wasn't a big deal but he knew how much it meant to you.

I think if you were to journal it would be because of Max and if/when Billy tried to make fun of the new habit you both would give him a look that made it clear to back off and he took the warning loud and clear.

I think the next time he sees a stray he would pull over and try and take it home for you. He either comes home with the animal successfully or he comes home covered in scratches and is refusing to speak about what happened.

44 notes · View notes

eddiediazismyhusband · 1 day

Note

Do you think Buddie would have another kid after getting together? What are your headcanons for that?

Personally, I say yes and see them worrying that Chris would feel some type of way about it and then approaching the conversation very carefully and then Chris is just like “so I get a sibling FINALLY? Awesome”

Oh bestie i absolutely think they would… especially with how much buck wants a kid and how eddie would love the chance to be there for the important things he missed with chris.

(i actually have an ongoing fic series called “Never Grow Up” centered around buddie being baby-girl dads; i will link it below if you want to check it out ☺️☺️)

but one of my headcanons is that they would name their baby girl after maddie- i don’t think she would be maddie diaz, i think they would make her full name Madeline (or any similar spelling) followed by her middle name being Isabel after abuela.

if they had a baby boy, i could 1000000% see them naming him after bobby in some capacity whether that be his first name or not (i also love the idea of him being called robbie instead of bobby so that it’s like the same but different)

i think buck would immediately become the helicopter parent for whatever extracurricular activity they join (im talking coaching the kindergarten soccer team, sewing dance costumes for dance competitions, volunteering as a kid wrangler for school plays, etc.)

i think eddie would sing old lullabies to their children as he rocks them to sleep at night, buck would tell him he has a beautiful voice (he would), and eddie would shake his head and say he doesn’t think so

buck and eddie would both find moments during the day when chris would sneak into the nursery and be telling the baby a story about their family, or saying sweet things like “im slways gonna protect you” or “i will never let anyone hurt you” “if anyone gives you a problem you come to me”

buck would go all out for their birthdays, often bringing out clipboard buck to make sure everything goes exactly the way he planned

their kids would call all of the 118 uncle/aunt/auntie

i think buck would be the one who everyone thinks spoils the kid, but in reality eddie is much worse about it than buck is (although they are both bad about it)

i think they would have at least one baby via surrogate, so that buck would have the chance to he a biological father, but any more, they would look into adoption, getting help from henren through the process

i think they would raise the kids to be bilingual (buck would come home raving about research he did on how beneficial it would be to raise them in a bilingual household, and eddie couldn’t say no to buck)

eddie would get really insecure over messing up again (bonus points if he panics about not knowing how to raise a little girl) while buck reminds him that he is an amazing father and he will be just as amazing with their kids

I am so sorry this took me like over a week to post, anon… I started a draft of these and then life kinda blew up and i only just thought about it… i guess better late than never, right?

If you are interested in reading my baby-girl-dad!buddie fics, i am going to link the series below (there are currently only two one-shots, but i am sure there will be more to come!)

Thank you for the ask, anon! and again, i am so sorry it took me so long to get to it! 😭🙏💕

#911 abc #eddie diaz #buddie #911 #evan buckley #buddie 911 #911 on abc #buck and eddie #eddie x buck #eddie diaz x evan buckley #eddie diaz 911 #eddie 911 #eddie diaz x evan buck buckley #eddie diaz x buck

25 notes · View notes

callsign-mayhem · 2 days

Text

heartbreak feels so good (part 2)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 3861 CW: Shitty ex-boyfriends, slow burn, angst, fluff

Your boyfriend's callsign is Viper, which is fitting. Bradley doesn't know how much longer he can watch this man destroy you, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

Use of Y/N, but no description of reader. THIS IS A MULTI-PART FIC.

The eerie silence of your apartment woke you that morning. Either it was never usually this quiet, or you just hadn’t noticed it when Elijah stayed over. There had been a few occasions over the weekend where you’d noticed differences like this, and you wondered when and if it got any easier to deal with.

You had awoken with your childhood teddy bear tucked beneath your chin. Somewhat disoriented, you sat up and glanced around the room. Your phone was charging on your nightstand with a glass of water and a Post-It next to it. That’s when it hit you that Bradley had been here the night before. You must have fallen asleep on the sofa during your wallowing sesh, which meant he’d carried you to bed. Ted was staring at you accusingly as though he’d noticed how your heartbeat stuttered once, twice, and then righted itself.

Burning with curiosity, you reached over and grabbed the orange Post-It, reading what you could only assume were Bradley’s words hungrily. His handwriting was atrocious, as wonky as his voice was raspy.

Getting Starbs. Be back soon x

Well, that explained that one. For the second morning in a row, you’d woken up feeling rough, although you didn’t feel as bad as yesterday. Yesterday, crawling out of bed had felt more like crawling out of the pits of hell. Today, you knew that Bradley was coming back with coffee—after having slept over—and while this was confusing, it gave you something to think about aside from Elijah.

You took a cold shower to reset your central nervous system, using all your fancy products in an attempt to make yourself feel better. It only partially worked, so you decided to put on one of your favourite outfits, which had the tendency to make you appear more confident than you actually felt. Now seemed as good a time as any to buy into the fake it till you make it movement.

When you ventured into the living room, you noticed that the nest you had built on the sofa was still intact, although it had been moved around slightly to serve as a makeshift bed. This must have been where Bradley spent the night after he’d tucked you in. Something about this was hard to accept, and as you stood there staring at the pillows and duvet, you tried to come up with an explanation as to why he’d stayed. As you cycled through the possibilities, the same part of your brain that believed you weren’t worthy of anyone better than Elijah started trying to convince you that Bradley was going to do the same thing he had. Or worse, he was just pitying you.

These were the kinds of tricks your brain liked to play on you, and usually, it was successful, but this time you were interrupted. Someone was knocking on your front door, presumably Bradley, who didn’t have a key. It dawned on you too late that you’d given Bradley your spare yesterday evening when he’d told you he might go out and grab coffee in the morning, and you were turning the handle before you could really register what this meant.

It had only been a few days, but you’d forgotten just how disarming Elijah was. He was standing in the hallway with a bunch of beautiful red roses, dressed in your favourite outfit of his: black cargos, one of his band tees and his beat-up Docs. You could smell his aftershave from where you stood, and he’d obviously had a haircut and beard trim before coming to see you.

Both relief and dread flooded you simultaneously, and you were torn between slamming the door in his face or collapsing into his arms, flowers be damned.

‘El,’ you croaked. ‘What’re you doing here?’

He smiled sheepishly, holding out the flowers so you could take them. They smelled like second chances and summer romance. ‘Went to that market we used to go to this morning and saw these. They made me think of you, so I thought you should have them.’

‘T-thanks?’

‘I know it’s out of the blue, but I thought we should talk.’ He said all of this so calmly— cool as a cucumber—as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if you were going to discuss the weather and not his narcissistic tendencies. ‘I might have overreacted.’

You scoffed. ‘What was your first clue?’

Elijah rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’t come here to fight. I came to apologise, Y/N. Maybe there’s something here worth salvaging.’

And didn’t this happen every single time? He fucked up on a monumental scale, only realised because of your reaction, and apologised because he knew that’s what he was supposed to do, not because he saw any issues with his behaviour. He’d promise to work on it, you’d believe him, and then the cycle would start all over again. After dealing with it for a year, you were only just becoming aware of the ways he manipulated you, ways that would probably still work if you gave him enough time.

The scary part is that you were considering letting him despite the newly reawakened, sane part of your brain screaming at you not to.

‘Y/N?’

Oh God. No, no, no, no.

Bradley Bradshaw had materialised behind Elijah in all his golden glory, two coffees in hand, aviators perched on the tip of his perfect nose. He was wearing shorts and a black tank top, so clearly, he’d popped home to change clothes. To top it off, he was doused in a light sheen of sweat that glistened underneath the lights in the hallway.

The sane part of your brain was relieved to see him, but the part that Elijah controlled was about to implode. Your hands felt clammy, and your throat was thick with nerves, making it incredibly difficult to talk.

Elijah spun around. Even though he now had his back to you, you had a pretty good idea of what his face looked like. His shoulders tensed up and you watched him squeeze both of his hands into fists.

‘What the fuck?’

‘El, it’s not what it looks like, he-’

Elijah spun around. His anger was an almost tangible thing. He’d always struggled with it, what with having undiagnosed and unmedicated ADHD, and it could be terrifying. He also liked using it as an excuse when he acted out, claiming he couldn’t help it.

Bradley seemed relatively calm. You knew it was a front, that he wanted to rip Elijah’s head off, but that would end up hurting you, so he was reigning it in for your benefit.

Elijah was glancing between you and Bradley, nostrils flaring and jaw set with anger. Briefly, you locked eyes with Bradley but couldn’t determine what emotions were hidden there.

‘Not that it’s any of your business, Viper,’ Bradley started. ‘But I’m here helping Y/N through a tough time. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do.’

‘Not sure why she’s having a tough time.’ Elijah spat. ‘I’m the one getting sent pictures of his girlfriend walking down the beach with another guy. Do you have any idea how that made me look?’

‘Maybe it should’ve been you, then. Oh, wait,’ Bradley smiled sarcastically. ‘You were too busy ghosting her because she went out with her friends.’

‘I don’t need to stand here and listen to this. Who the fuck do you think you are, man? This has nothing to do with you.’

‘Elijah.’ You warned.

‘And you’re defending this guy now, Y/N? What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘That’s enough.’

‘No, I’m not done. Because I wanna know what you think gives you the right-’

Bradley sidestepped Elijah and handed you the two iced coffees. You stood there dumbly, unable to do anything.

‘I’m her friend, that’s what gives me the right. I’m the one who’s gonna pick up all the fucking pieces.’

Elijah was trying to square up to Bradley, but he was a fair bit shorter, so it just looked pathetic.

‘Pick up all the pieces of what? Her broken heart?’ Elijah laughed bitterly. ‘Boo fucking hoo. If she weren’t such a slut, we’d still be together. It’s her own fault.’

Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t a violent person. It was a last resort for him, so when he slammed Elijah into the wall, you knew it was because he’d been pushed way beyond his limit by that last comment.

Elijah shoved Bradley off him and swung, clipping the side of his face and causing him to stagger back. Bradley took a second to right himself and, with a great heaving breath, swung back hard. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the sound of Bradley’s fist meeting Elijah’s nose was loud enough that you could still picture it vividly. It reminded you of the sound of gravel getting crushed underneath the tyres of the Bronco or the eggshells you’d spent the last year walking over to spare Elijah’s feelings.

The sound seemed to snap you out of your helpless daze.

‘That’s enough!’ You yelled.

The bin bag containing Elijah’s belongings was next to the front door so you’d remember to take it to work the next day. You grabbed it and threw it at Elijah, who just about managed to catch it before it hit him in the face.

‘I don’t wanna see your face around here again.’ You said bitterly. ‘And I don’t want any rumours going around base about Bradley and me because this breakup is all your fault. You’re the one who couldn’t get his act together.’

‘And if you ever call her a slut—or anything else—again, I’ll make sure you never fly for the navy again.’

You meant every word of it, but it was still difficult to look Elijah in the eye one last time before he walked out of your life for good. It was hard because you’d still loved a version of this man, laughed, cried, and talked for hours with him. And if he’d managed to admit to a few of his shortcomings, work on them and maybe go to therapy for his unhealed trauma, you’d probably still be laughing, crying and talking with him.

You would have probably married him.

But he would never admit to having shortcomings, never take the time to work on things, and therapy was out of the question. Love is only a small part of what makes a relationship work, and when it came to your relationship with Elijah, your love for him was the only thing keeping it going. Most days, this wasn’t even enough.

You half expected him to say something else, but he seemed to know better. Clutching the bin bag full of his belongings, Elijah skulked off down the hallway, and you watched uneasily until he disappeared around the corner, finally leaving you and Bradley alone.

You released a shaky breath, and Bradley pulled you into a hug so comforting that you just about melted. He smelled of sunshine, clean cotton, and Bleu De Chanel, and you had to refrain from inhaling.

‘I leave you for half hour, and that dick shows up.’ Bradley murmured.

You could hear the smile in his voice, which was also a comfort. After a scene like that, the last thing on Elijah’s mind would have been comforting you. Even though Bradley was the one physically hurt, his priority was still taking care of you and keeping the mood light so you didn’t start spiralling.

Reluctantly you pulled away from Bradley, not because you wanted to, but because you thought he deserved some breakfast after his morning heroics.

‘Did he get your eye?’ You asked, concerned.

‘No,’ Bradley smiled reassuringly. ‘Almost, but no.’

Once back inside, you set about making breakfast. Bradley was glancing around, somewhat disorientated, and you briefly worried if he had a concussion.

‘You good, Roo?’

‘Yeah, what happened to the coffees?’

‘Oh, they’re on the side where I keep my car keys. By the door.’

Bradley fetched the coffee and sat in his usual spot at the kitchen island. He was unharmed, but it was evident in the way he wouldn’t meet your eye that something was on his mind. While you cooked the bacon—having deja vu from yesterday—you thought about the best way to approach the situation. Bradley was entitled to feel some type of way about what had just happened, and he was under no obligation to share said feelings with you if he didn’t want to. After all he’d done for you, he was entitled to a few private thoughts. But something about the brooding look on his face made it hard to leave well enough alone, and all of a sudden, you found yourself wanting to know every thought—good and bad—going on inside his pretty little head.

You lowered the heat on the stove and turned around to grab your coffee, making a point of trying to meet Bradley’s eye. The contact lasted about three seconds before he refocused his attention on his coffee cup, which had suddenly become very interesting. This man had tells, and you were going to learn them all.

‘What’s wrong, Bradley? You can talk to me, you know?’

He shook his head slightly. ‘Nothing.’

‘Bullcrap. You can tell when I’m not being honest about how I feel, and guess what? It’s a two-way street. And just like you encourage me to talk about what’s bothering me, I’m encouraging you to do the same.’

‘I’ve created a monster.’ Bradley grinned.

‘You have. It’s your own fault, Bradshaw.’

‘It’s not a big deal,’ he said, sipping his iced latte. ‘I’ve just been trying to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t come at that exact moment.’

Your stomach twisted. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were holding roses. That look on your face, Y/N… I think if I didn’t come back when I did, you would’ve let him in.’

‘That’s…’

He was gazing at you expectantly.

‘...Ridiculous.’ You finished.

‘See, I really wanna believe that,’ he smiled sadly. ‘But I know you well enough to know that you’re lying.’

You turned back around to face the stove, partly because you needed to flip the bacon and get started on the eggs and partly because you couldn’t keep the agony off your face. Because Bradley was right as usual—as much as it pained you to admit it, you would have eventually let Elijah in.

‘It’s not as black and white as that.’

Bradley’s eyes were burning holes in the back of your head. It was extremely off-putting.

‘I know, Y/N. Nothing is.’

This caught your attention. You spun around and pointed the spatula at him accusingly.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ You asked.

Bradley held his hands up. ‘Nothing, doll. I’m just agreeing with you.’

‘Nothing in life is simple,’ you murmured, opening the cupboard above you and taking the packet of bagels out. ‘No matter how much you wish it was.’

‘Just to be clear, I don’t blame you for wanting to let him in. He’s a manipulator, and he’s good at what he does. And you love with everything you have.’

‘Even when I shouldn’t.’

You heard Bradley sigh. ‘Y/N, I’m gonna tell you something, and I want you to really take it in, okay?’

‘Okay?’

‘Loving hard is never a bad thing, and you should never shrink your love to make it easier for people to digest. If you find yourself doing that, then the person you’re doing it for isn’t meant for you. The right people will always take your love as it comes, and you won’t have to change anything.’

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. ‘Like you. And Nat.’

‘Yes,’ he breathed, seemingly relieved that you were beginning to understand. ‘Just like me and Nat.’

Bradley Bradshaw was not in the business of denying you of anything, which is how he found himself curled up on your sofa for the second afternoon in a row, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls. The two of you had watched so many episodes that he knew the theme song by heart, and as catchy as it was, he only liked it because you sang it each time without fail. This was the happiest and calmest he’d seen you all weekend, which was surprising after Elijah’s surprise visit earlier that day. After quite the internal debate, he’d come to the conclusion that you needed to see him after the breakup, no matter how briefly, in order to start the process of moving on.

Bradley was starting to fancy himself a love and relationship expert despite not having experienced it many times himself. Something about you and your particular situation made him feel he needed to monitor it, as though it were his job to make sure you emerged relatively unscathed.

He glanced at you sideways, wrapped up in a pumpkin-covered throw with a mug of tea keeping your hands warm, and felt this innate need to protect you from the world and everyone in it. Especially Elijah. He couldn’t explain it, but it went further than friendship, possibly even further than love.

Bradley was just about to suggest going for a walk to stretch your legs and get some air, but then the intercom started buzzing, causing the both of you to jump out of your skins.

He reached and took your tea from you so you could get up without ending up wearing it. Whoever was waiting to be let in was pretty persistent, constantly buzzing until you managed to get to the front door and click the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ You asked, panting from the exertion.

‘Natasha Trace, you know, the best friend you’ve been blanking all weekend.’

You cursed under your breath, pressing the release for the door. ‘Sorry, Nat. Come on up.’

It suddenly dawned on Bradley that he hadn’t updated Nat since sometime yesterday and that she was probably worried sick. She knew nothing about Elijah showing up at your apartment or the fact that Bradley had stayed over. The fact that he’d slept on the sofa wouldn’t matter to her when she found out. He’d never hear the end of it.

You were hovering nervously by the door, clearly anticipating the same telling-off as Bradley. ‘I was supposed to call her last night,’ you told him. ‘And then I passed out on the couch.’

‘We’re both done for, Y/CS,’ he grinned. ‘It’s been super nice knowing you.’

Somehow—in the time it took her to get up the three flights of stairs to your front door—he managed to convince himself that she wouldn’t be that mad at the two of you. But when you opened the door, he could almost feel her anger, like heat rolling off her in waves. Before you could get a word out, she was pulling you in for a rough but well-meaning hug.

‘I was worried sick, Y/N.’

You relaxed into the hug and put your arms around her middle, squeezing reassuringly. ‘I’m sorry, Nat. I should have called.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘You should’ve. Last time I saw you, you were half-cut and running away from us at The Hard Deck.’ You stepped aside so she could come in. ‘You’ve got some explaining to-’

When Natasha noticed Bradley reclining comfortably on your couch, she stopped speaking. Bradley had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her teasingly.

‘Hey, Nix.’

Briefly, she glanced at you and then back at Bradley. Then back at you, then back to Bradley.

‘Don’t ‘hey, Nix’ me, mister. You’ve been here all weekend?’

He shrugged apologetically. ‘Pretty much.’

‘No text? No call?’

‘Sorry. We were kinda preoccupied with wallowing and fighting Viper off.’

‘What do you mean fighting him off?’

With a great sigh, you traipsed over to the couch and collapsed back into your spot. ‘He showed up this morning with roses and the usual fake apology.’

Natasha was incredulous. She didn’t sit down, she just started pacing in front of the couch, Gilmore Girls still playing on the flat screen behind her.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yup, and it’s lucky I came back when I did,’ Bradley chimed in. ‘Y/N was gonna let him in.’

Natasha stopped pacing to glare at you. ‘You were gonna do what?’

You launched a throw pillow at Bradley’s head, which, fortunately for you, he didn’t manage to dodge.

‘Hey!’ He huffed. ‘I’m not blaming you! We talked about this earlier.’

You rolled your eyes. ‘It wasn’t my finest moment, okay? I’ve been drinking his Kool-Aid for so long it’s gonna be a while before it’s all out of my system. So I guess Bradley really did come back at the right time.’

This didn’t seem to satisfy Nat, so you launched into a more detailed account of the past weekend, filling her in on everything except a few details about Bradley. Those you would save for when it was just the two of you. Halfway through, she perched herself on the edge of the coffee table, facing you and listening intently to what you had to say. By the end of it, she was literally seething with rage. This time, directed at your now ex-boyfriend.

‘He ought to watch his back,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Cause if I see him on base, he’s gonna wish he’d never been born.’

The three of you ended up ordering pizza. At one point, you got up to go to the bathroom, and Natasha took the opportunity to grill Bradley some more. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Only surprised that it had taken her this long.

She started the interrogation by smacking the back of his head.

‘What was that for?’ He hissed.

‘That’s for going after your best friend when she’s just had her heart broken.’

‘What makes you think I’m going after her?’

Nat pretended to think about this. ‘Hmmm, let me see… Maybe because you’ve slept here two nights in a row, and I walked into you cuddled up on her couch drinking fucking cocoa!’

‘It was tea, actually. And I slept out here both nights. Just didn’t want her to be alone.’

She relented, but only slightly. ‘Still, you need to cool it. She’s probably feeling all kinds of confused right now, and she doesn’t need you and your big puppy dog eyes making things even more complicated.’

He smiled despite himself. ‘You think I have big puppy dog eyes?’

She glared at him witheringly. ‘Is missing the point a personality trait of yours?’

‘Nix, will you calm down? I’m not going after her, I’m not confusing her, and I’m not making things difficult with my big eyes. I’ve been giving her advice, helping her through the worst of it. That’s all.’

Natasha softened, satisfied that Bradley was telling the truth. The toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened, so they’d have to finish this conversation some other time. But before you came back, Natasha whispered one last thing…

‘I know you love her, Bradley. I know you always have. But you have to give her some time.’

End of part 2. Final part coming soon!

Taglist: primroseluna eloquentdreamer sgt-barnesveins daybleedsintonightfa11

51 notes · View notes

silenzahra · 2 days

Text

The content that I'm bringing next ✨

I thought I could give you a hint of the content I'm preparing in order to bring it during this week and next month! I'm taking my time to create it all, so that's why it's not gonna be posted right away, but I hope you'll like to read everything as I share it! 💖

I'll start with some regular posts and then I'll focus on my writing 🥰

-Get to know me. I mentioned a while back that I thought it'd be fine to share a little bit of myself with you so you can get to know me a bit better, and I'm currently working on this one and trying to think of as many things as possible so as to make it, you know... interesting? 😅 I don't really know how to describe it, but in any case, it's in the works!

-A masterpost. Just like the first one, I also mentioned that I'd like to create one at last, as I've posted a few stories and two headcanon posts already, and I want you guys to find them as easily as possible whenever you'd like to. This is gonna take a bit longer, because Tumblr's search tool doesn't work very well 😬 But I'll manage! 💪

-My pending asks. This is a bit embarrassing... I've had some asks waiting for a reply for months now and I'm so sorry that I've kept you waiting for so long 😅 Here's a promise: as soon as I've posted at least one of my pending fics (more about this below), I'll start gradually and slowly answering all the asks that I have left. I wanna give each and every one of you the proper replies you deserve, which is why I warned that I'd take some time, but that's one thing. Taking forever is very different and I'm truly so sorry 😅

-May and June calendars. Don't know if you've seen some of my calendar posts, but I happen to have two Nintendo calendars for this year and I've been showing them since January (here's the February one since I can't find the others lol), but sometimes I simply forget to share the one for the new month and it gets delayed... Shame on me again 😅 I intend to show May this week since it's technically still May, and I'll make sure to not let many days of June pass before I show the ones corresponding to that month 🥰

-Tons of reblogs! I've already started doing this actually, as I've been tagged in a lot of amazing content, and even if I'm slow, I wanna see everything and leave proper feedback when I have the chance 🥰 Thank you again to those of you who tagged me! And for your patience as well 🫂💖💖

And now... let's talk about...

✨📝 MY WRITING 📝✨

-My Kitsune/Tanooki story. This one is coming soon, and when I say soon, I mean this week! 😁 I would've liked to post it mid May, but life wouldn't let me, but hey, better late than never! 🥰 I'm now in the process of editing and I intend to start translating tomorrow, and that usually doesn't take long, so you can expect this one at the end of the week 👀 Hope you'll like it! 💖

-Anything for him: Chapter 3. As I've mentioned a few times, this last chapter is long overdue and I'm ashamed that I'm taking SO long to finish it as I know very well what's going to happen! 😅 Still, once my Kitsune/Tanooki fic is up, this is the next thing I intend to fully work on, and even though I'm not sure to give a specific date, I would like to post it in June at last. Wish me luck in achieving this! 🤞🤞🤞

-Post-nightmare cuddles fic. Okay, it's been a few months already, but... anyone remember this writing prompt? I happened to receive a couple of suggestions in my inbox, and even though I wrote and posted the first one back in March, I wasn't able to finish the second one as I wasn't in the mood for angst when I first tried. But that's changed! 🤩 I'm CRAVING to write some angst, so this is gonna be the third thing on my writing list, and, again, I'd like to post it in June. I'll let you know if I succeed! 🤞🤞🤞

Also, if you're curious, you can read the other prompt here 👇

-And last but not least... did anyone say...

... an AU? 🤔

Yyyyyyes! That's right! 😁 I've recently started working on my very first AU and I am SO happy 🤩 I'm really SO excited about this one! I don't know yet how long it'll take until I'm ready to start posting it, but this is the thing that I mentioned yesterday that I keep getting new ideas for almost every single day 🤩

I'm not gonna say yet what it's based on, as I want it to be a surprise when I finally start sharing it with you guys, but it contains EVERYTHING that I love and that many of you love as well, so... I believe you'll like this one when it's ready 🤭 Maybe when I work a bit more on it and see a release date coming closer I'll go and tell you what it's about, but for now... I'll just keep working on it and enjoying every single word that I'm writing 😁

I really hope you'll like all of this once I start sharing it! As you see, I'm a big fan of making lists 😂 That's the way I usually organize everything that I have to do every day and such, and I thought that maybe sharing this, I'll have it a bit easier to focus and really bring all of it to this blog, even if I'm slow. Still, just know that I'm truly enjoying the process of creating not only the written fics (and the AU 🤭), but also the posts that I wanna bring soon 🥰

If you read everything, thank you! I know I tend to talk a lot lol, so I really appreciate it! Love you so much! 💖💖💖

#future content #the posts that I'm bringing #the fics I'm working on #new story coming this week #new fic coming this week #my very first AU #an AU is coming soon!#I'm seriously so excited 🤩#I hope you'll like it! as well as the fics and the posts that I'll bring!#thank you again if you read everything #I talk too much 😅#hope you're looking forward to all of this though!#super mario bros #new mario content coming soon #my fics #my writing #silenzahra

25 notes · View notes

from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 18 hours

Text

Wednesdays mean a new chapter of Wídfara and Guthláf!

Part 5 of 8, in which Wíd gets a glimpse of what it’s like to lose Guthláf, and it helps him make a big decision. Thank you to the small but mighty crew who support this story—I deeply appreciate all of you!

Catch up on previous parts here: One. Two. Three. Four.

Wídfara was back in the stables again early the next morning, having spent the hours since his confrontation with Guthláf in tortured sleeplessness. Maybe we just shouldn’t be together. His own words echoed in his ears, so foolish and so hasty. He wanted nothing more than to take them back, to undo everything about the night before. And yet, he wasn’t sure there was any better outcome.

If he did as Guthláf wanted, he was sentencing himself to a life lived in abject fear of a tragedy he felt certain was coming. But if he managed to impose his will on Guthláf instead, their relationship would be forever poisoned by the acrid taste of resentment. Even worse, he ran the risk that the Guthláf who remained would no longer be the same man Wídfara had fallen in love with, that some irreplaceable part of him might die along with his discarded dreams. No matter what he did, he seemed destined to lose Guthláf somehow, and his aching sorrow was mixed with a heavy dose of grievance toward a world that was giving him only impossible choices. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he needed to talk to Guthláf again. Things couldn’t end as they had last night.

As more men arrived to prepare for the day, Wídfara withdrew into himself, taking up menial tasks – changing out bedding, refilling feeders, polishing tack – to keep his hands busy while his mind struggled to work out his thoughts. Ordinarily, these simple barn chores would be his novice’s work, but Freogan seemed to intuit from just a glance at his face that this was not an ordinary day. He gave Wídfara a wide berth and posted himself a short distance down the aisle, where he could quietly discourage others from unnecessary disruptions.

Even Freogan’s dutiful attentions, though, could not stop the eventual inquiries that came when Guthláf’s continuing absence began to draw notice in the stable. Several of the senior men of the éored came to Cypren’s stall to ask Wídfara if he had yet seen his friend that morning, and he was forced to shrug off those inquiries, feigning ignorance as to Guthláf’s doings since leaving the tavern. But amidst his bitter sadness and confusion, a chord of worry now also sounded in the back of his mind. Guthláf was never late and rarely alone, and yet now he seemed to be both at once. Wídfara couldn’t help but worry about what this unusual behavior might mean.

It wasn’t until an hour after the start of training that Guthláf finally appeared, and his arrival did nothing to assuage Wídfara’s concerns. He had never seen Guthláf as he looked that morning — dark circles under his eyes, pale, listless and with none of his usual spark or good-natured easiness. He walked slowly and with an awkward remove from his surroundings, as though his body was present but his spirit was elsewhere. He ignored the teasing innuendo of friends about overindulgence in either drink or women, and he silently accepted a reprimand for tardiness from Déorwine before mounting his horse and taking his place in the ranks. But while others soon went back to business as usual, it remained painfully obvious to Wídfara that Guthláf was not alright. His riding was sloppy, he was frequently out of position, and his reactions to the movements of others were delayed.

Widfara watched him carefully from the periphery of his vision, one eye always on Guthláf even as he followed commands and executed his own drills. When they lined up to practice defensive tactics, with some riders occupying the roles of hypothetical enemies, Wídfara could see right away that Guthláf was out of position again, leaving himself dangerously exposed. Elfhelm saw it, too, and called out for an adjustment as the drill began, but it was too late – Herubrand, in one of the enemy positions, easily knocked Guthláf from his saddle, and his helmet, poorly secured, slid off as well. Far closer than he should have been to the adjoining paddock fence, his head struck a wooden rail with a sickening crack on his way to the ground.

All organized action came to an immediate halt as men rushed toward Guthláf from all directions, but no one got there faster than Wídfara, who was off his horse and across the open distance before much closer men had even been able to dismount. He skidded to his knees at Guthláf’s side and felt his own heart stop at the sight of a halo of bright red blood quickly pooling in the dirt behind Guthláf’s head.

“Guthláf? Can you hear me?” He patted Guthláf’s cheek a few times, but his eyes remained closed and he didn’t stir even as Syndrigan nosed heavily at his shoulder. With trembling fingers, Wídfara reached down to check his pulse and let out a shuddering sigh of relief when he found a faint but steady beat.

“Get on his horse, Wídfara. Now.” Elfhelm had elbowed his way into the tight circle that had formed around Guthláf’s crumpled body and taken in the circumstances in a quick glance.

“What?” Wídfara looked up, wild eyed at the thought of being sent away from Guthláf in this moment.

“Get in the saddle and we’ll hand him up to you. You’ll get over to the healers much faster by horse than trying to carry him yourself.”

Wídfara jumped up and pulled himself onto Syndrigan’s back. She stomped a foot and shook her head in agitation at bearing an unfamiliar rider but calmed as soon as Herubrand, Elfhelm and a few others lifted Guthláf up and set him in front of Wídfara, his limp body leaned back onto Wídfara’s chest and shoulder. He clasped an arm across Guthláf’s middle, gave Syndrigan a nudge and rode off to the healers as fast as she would carry them. A horn was sounded behind him, the notice to the healers of an incoming injury, and by the time he arrived at the right building, several men waited out front, ready to carry Guthláf inside.

The next hours were the longest and most desperate Wídfara had ever known. The healers whisked Guthláf away from him before he could protest, and they blocked him from entering the room where they worked to treat the injury. Once again, Wídfara found himself standing in a hallway, listening to the appalling sounds of distress drift out to him from behind a closed door. Groaning and vomiting as Guthláf regained consciousness. Raised, urgent voices speaking short, barked commands. Cries of pain. He paced a dogged path back and forth in front of the room, certain that he would wear a groove into the stone floor if he was kept outside much longer, and his entire body thrummed with frantic energy, the charged sting of panic. He clung to the very edge of his sanity and felt even that slipping from his grasp when, at last, the door opened and a woman in a bloodstained apron emerged. Wídfara nearly tackled her in his fervor to hear news.

“There is a break in his skull,” the woman said, “but it’s a relatively clean break. The external wound is now sewn closed and we are satisfied that there will be no critical swelling. He needs a lot of rest, but the bone should heal on its own over the next few weeks. You can go in, but he’s been heavily dosed for his pain and won’t wake up for several hours.”

The sudden easing of Wídfara’s fevered anxiety was so strong that he almost lost his balance, and he slumped back against the wall for support. “Thank you,” he managed to rasp out. “Will you please send an update to Marshal Elfhelm as soon as you can?”

“Of course. And someone will be back to check on him regularly.”

Wídfara let himself into the room as the remaining healers went out, and he looked down at Guthláf’s still, fragile form, sleeping curled on his side with drying, rust-colored blood matted through the back of his hair. Out of sight of others at last, he finally allowed himself to cry, the tears that had brimmed his lashes for hours now spilling at last down his cheeks. Through those tears, he took a clean cloth left by a water basin in the corner and tenderly washed away as much smeared blood as he could from Guthláf’s face, throat and hands. When he was finished, he sat quietly in a chair at the side of the bed and gratefully studied all the little signs of life he could discern – the slow rise and fall of Guthláf’s chest, the minute movements of his eyes behind his closed eyelids, the faint pulsing in a vein at his temple as his heart did its work.

Minutes slipped by, and then hours, and Wídfara sat silently, interrupted only by the woman in the apron, who came in every hour to briefly check on Guthláf’s condition.

When it began to grow dark outside, Wídfara rose to light a lamp, and just as he sat back down again, Guthláf stirred at last. His eyes slowly opened, unfocused and with the black of his pupils so large that the light blue surrounding them was almost entirely obscured. The eyes searched around, disoriented, but when they landed on Wídfara, they stayed there.

“What time is it?” The question came out as a hoarse whisper, the words slightly slurred.

“It’s getting late,” answered Wídfara. “But that doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere else you need to be.”

Guthláf’s eyes traveled from Wídfara’s face down to his chest and shoulders, where his shirt was soaked in blood from the ride to the healers. “Did someone hurt you? Whose blood is that?”

“It’s yours,” he said gently. “There’s been an accident. But don’t worry. You’re alright now. You’re going to be alright.” Tears flooded back to his eyes, and he choked down a sob.

One of Guthláf’s hands slid across the bed and grasped Wídfara’s, the grip weak but determined. Wídfara held onto it tightly, so desperately grateful for the gesture that in that moment he didn’t even care if the healer walked back in to discover them this way. He held Guthláf’s hand as his eyes drifted closed again and for long minutes after, but just as he decided that Guthláf had fallen back to sleep, his eyes fluttered open once more.

“Wíd?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, too. I should have said that yesterday, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m the one who is sorry.” Wídfara raised Guthláf’s hand and pressed it quickly to his lips. “We can talk about it all later, but now you need to rest. I’ll still be right here when you wake up.”

Wídfara was there when Guthláf next woke, but he wasn’t able to maintain his hold on the seat by the bed for long. As they always did when there was a major injury or illness, the éored posted a rotation of men to Guthláf’s sick room, each taking six hour shifts to either watch over him while he rested or, as his strength returned and his head cleared, to keep him company while still confined to bed. After the blur of that first evening, Wídfara had been forced to yield to procedure, allowing Brunloc to take his place early the next morning. What’s more, the presence now of others forced him to stifle any excess emotion or expression that might expose to others the true depth of his feelings. As a result, the most he could manage over the week that Guthláf was in the healers’ care was to drop by for short visits, always in the company of the many others who lined up for the chance to sit with a beloved friend.

The weight of their fight in the stable still sat between them, unresolved. Every hint of Wídfara’s anger and resentment had washed away cleanly in the flood of his panic and then relief after the accident, but his fears were as potent as ever, if not even further heightened now. His frustration at being unable to address them was tempered only by his relief at Guthláf’s continuing improvement, which allowed him to maintain a basic semblance of calm as he went about his daily routines – attending to duties, adding regularly to the pile of small offerings to Béma that sprang up outside of Guthláf’s room, and taking care of Slaga, Guthláf’s dog.

It wasn’t until Guthláf was finally released back to the barracks for another few weeks of general rest and recovery that the opportunity to be alone again returned. On the day of his release, Wídfara went to the central market, buying up all of Guthláf’s favorite things – plums and honey sweets and walnuts and spice cake and anything else he could find that would bring a smile to Guthláf’s face and show him how much he was loved, fight or no fight. It was far more than he could have afforded on his own, but the old women at the market stalls always doted on Guthláf when he came by each weekend and they loaded Wídfara with extras when they found out who he was shopping for.

He stopped off on his way back to pick up Slaga and headed eagerly to Guthláf’s room. He arrived at the door just as Guthláf himself came slowly down the hall from the communal baths, a towel around his waist and a steadying hand on the wall. The sight of him filled Wídfara’s heart with both warm relief and the sharp bite of concern.

“Should you be walking around by yourself?” Wídfara shifted the bag in his arms so that he could put a supporting hand under Guthláf’s elbow.

“Maybe not, but after a solid week trapped in that bed and not even able to take a piss without three people watching, it was nice to get washed on my own for a change.”

“Oh.” A sudden nervousness gripped Wídfara. Maybe it had been presumptuous of him to assume that Guthláf would be ready to talk to him now or would even want to. “I can just drop this off if you’d rather be alone for a while…”

Guthláf glanced quickly around the empty hallway before moving his hand from the wall to Wídfara’s arm. “No. I’ve missed you, and I want you to stay.” He eyed the bag in Wídfara’s other arm and smiled. “And I’m not just saying that because you’ve brought gifts.”

They went inside and Guthláf spent a few happy minutes fussing over Slaga, who was positively vibrating with joy to be back in the crook of his arm, and sorting through the bounty Wídfara had brought him. He tasted a little of everything as he pulled each item from the bag with a delighted exclamation, and he insisted that Wídfara share in his own gift, giving him generous portions of all the best treats. Wídfara was grateful to see that both Guthláf’s appetite and manner seemed normal, though his movements remained slow and hesitant.

After receiving many profuse thanks, Wídfara held Guthláf’s arm again as he stepped gingerly into his trousers, tossing the towel to a corner of the room. Before he picked up a shirt, though, he gestured to his hair and the brush that sat on a small table beside his bed.

“Could you help me with this, too, Wíd? I can’t see the back of my own head, and I don’t want to snag my stitches.”

“Of course.”

Guthláf carefully lowered himself to the ground, sitting between Wídfara’s knees, and leaned back with a sigh as Slaga curled up contentedly in his lap. Wídfara raised the brush to begin his work, but his hand faltered at the first sight of the many small loops of thread that cut across the back of Guthláf’s skull and the inky black bruising, easily visible through the light blonde of his hair, that still spread all across his head and down his neck, where it slowly faded first into dark purple, then blue and finally a greenish-yellow. The sense of calm that Wídfara had worked so hard to maintain over the past week dissolved in an instant, and every word he had planned to say vanished from his mind just as quickly, leaving behind only the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat.

When he heard Wídfara’s breath hitch, Guthláf reached back to squeeze his leg. “It’s alright. It’s not as bad as I’m sure it looks, and it feels better every day. In a few weeks time, it’ll be fine, and everything will be back to normal again.”

Back to normal. His words were meant to be comforting, but they terrified Wídfara instead. Because he wasn’t sure that he saw a way back to normal. If Guthláf could really put all this behind him – wait for his physical wounds to heal and then just move on – what would happen if Wídfara simply couldn’t? How could they ever be together if Guthláf moved steadily forward and Wídfara languished where he was, an eternal prisoner of his own dread? He dropped the brush to his lap and covered his face with his hand. “But how?” The words came out with a pleading tone that embarrassed him, but he was helpless to control it. “Every time I close my eyes, I see your head hit that rail and my heart is in my throat all over again. I’m not sure that terror will ever leave me, and the idea of maybe living through that again each time you’re out there with the banner, where you’ll be defenseless and exposed and targeted…I can’t face it.”

Guthláf set Slaga aside and hoisted himself up to sit next to Wídfara on the bed. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, pulling Wídfara’s hand from his face to look into his eyes. “I really am. And I understand how you feel. I worry about you, too, you know. That’s what happens when you love someone. Your own happiness gets tied up in their well being, and that’s always going to be risky. Because we don’t get any say in how much time we have with anyone else.”

His hand trailed absently across the scars on his chest, and after a moment’s silence, he looked back to Wídfara with a sad smile. “Trust me on this, Wíd. You can run yourself ragged trying to change the past or control the future. You can even force me out of achieving my dream if you really want to. But sometimes a candle is going to catch on a bedsheet in a neighbor’s house on a windy night, and no amount of fear or precaution will stop everything you’ve ever known and loved from going up in flames. So you’ve just got to make use of the time you’re given before anything like that happens. Enjoy what you have while you have it, and don’t let regrets or worries take it away from you any earlier than necessary.”

Wídfara heard the wisdom of those words, coming from one much better acquainted with tragedy, and he was humbled, as always, to contemplate the strength that Guthláf needed to live his life with optimism and spirit despite that tragedy. But Wídfara had never been tested that way and still doubted that a similar strength was in him. “I…I don’t know if I can.”

Guthláf squeezed his hand. “I’m asking you to try. And I know that’s no small thing, but I wouldn’t ask it of you if I thought you couldn’t do it. You’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for, and I promise that I’ll do what I can to help. And if it turns out that you never can bear it, then…I don’t know. I guess we’ll deal with that when it comes. But I need you to try first. Please. For me.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Wídfara’s, once, twice and then a third time before Wídfara caught hold of him and didn’t let go.

Whatever dark uncertainties plagued him, the one thing he knew to be true was that this was where he wanted to be. In Guthláf’s arms again, he felt his defenses and objections begin to relent, thinning like river ice in the first sun of spring and then giving way entirely under its spreading warmth. If he had to swallow his fears for his heart to get what it wanted — to get this — then he would try his hardest. He couldn’t just walk away from everything that was good in his life. If the last week had made anything clear to him, it was that the only thing worse than losing Guthláf later would be to lose him now.

“I will,” he said. “I’ll try for you. For us.”

Guthláf answered by kissing him again, and Wídfara fairly melted into the embrace, savoring every element – the pleasing roughness of his beard, the warmth of his breath, the scent of his skin. All the things he had missed so desperately since everything had first gone wrong.

He would have been content for that kiss to last forever, but he didn’t want to overtax his patient and so he lay back on the bed with Guthláf beside him. For a time they talked of other things, seeking respite from the high emotions of recent days by gingerly turning instead to the lightness of gossip Guthláf had picked up from those who sat at his sick bed or a recounting of how many pairs of Wídfara’s boot laces Slaga had chewed through while staying with him. Eventually Guthláf, still easily tired from even small exertions, began to show his fatigue, and Wídfara encouraged him to sleep. When he had drifted off, a cheek resting comfortably on Wídfara’s chest, Wídfara kissed his forehead and lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling in aimless thought.

From the hallway, he could hear the faint voices of men, friends being summoned or someone’s whereabouts sought. It reminded Wídfara of his youth in the plains, when his cousins would call to him and to each other from their places at far ends of the herd. Back when his life was basic and uncomplicated, and everything he feared was just the standard fare of childhood. The low rumble of thunder in the dark. The shadowy specter of a wolf prowling around in his dreams.

Back then, his mother would sit by him in the night, hold his hand and tell him to find one small thing to focus on very hard, something that brought him peace and calm. No matter how often his mind tried to veer back to the storm or the nightmare, he was to return it again and again to the small thing and think only of that. And he would listen carefully to his mother’s slow, even breathing, counting each inhalation, changing the pace of his own breaths until they matched hers, resting a hand on his chest so that he felt the movements in sync with the sound. And soon, inevitably, his fear would begin to recede and he would find himself able to return to rest.

He set a hand on his chest again now, just next to Guthláf, and he concentrated on their breathing. How it sounded. How it felt, both in the rise and fall of his own ribs and in the warmth of Guthláf’s exhalations on his hand. How it looked when the whiskers of Guthláf’s beard fluttered slightly as air left his nose. He counted breaths and brought his mind back to the count each and every time it slipped to darker matters. And many long minutes and many hundreds of breaths later, he eventually closed his eyes and drifted into uneasy, dreamless sleep.

Guthláf’s first months as banner bearer passed in relative quiet as he finished his healing and the éored was confined to exercises and training, there being no other need for them at the time. Even so, Guthláf was happy in a way that Wídfara had never seen before. Pride poured out of him when he returned to service, and he greeted each opportunity to practice and drill as one who had been given an unexpected but precious gift. It couldn’t cure Wídfara’s misgivings and dread, but it did help him to see the joy and fulfillment that his endurance allowed. And for his part, Guthláf did all that he could to show Wídfara his loving appreciation for the sacrifices he knew were being made on his behalf, for Wídfara to give up his peace of mind in support of Guthláf’s dreams and ideals that far surpassed any of the modest ambitions Wídfara had for himself.

They held onto a tenuous calm, and Wídfara slowly grew accustomed to the presence of his fears. They were never gone, but they receded into the background, as constant yet indistinct as the sound of the surf to those who live by the sea. But his ability to withstand the present was one thing. It remained uncertain what would happen when the first call for relief brought those fears racing back to the forefront and sent them off to battle with Guthláf in his new role.

That call eventually came from the West-mark, where the need for extra assistance was becoming increasingly common as forces of Isengard grew bolder and more aggressive toward the Rohirrim. Of the éoreds in the city, Elfhelm chose to send the king’s to keep their skills sharp after a period of inactivity, and the order went out around midday for a departure first thing in the morning. Guthláf’s eyes had gone right to Wídfara when the announcement was made, but the busy press of preparations kept them from a moment alone until long after the sun had gone down and the rest of the garrison was settled for sleep.

In those small hours of the night, Wídfara was stretched out on his side, a hand on his chest and counting his breaths, when Guthláf quietly slipped in. Without a word, he lay down alongside Wídfara and pulled him back into his arms. A tall man himself, with broad shoulders and a solid build, it wasn’t easy to make Wídfara feel small, nor was that a sensation he necessarily enjoyed. But held in Guthláf’s long, strong limbs and pressed tightly into the niche made by his body, he surrendered to the feeling and let himself be wholly enveloped.

“Are you alright?” Guthláf whispered the words, his lips so close to the soft, curving edge of Wídfara’s ear that he felt each one.

“I’m trying,” he answered. And Guthláf kissed his ear, pulled him even tighter, and held him that way all night, until the morning bells called the éored to its muster point and they left for battle.

In the next chapter, Wíd sees Guthláf carry the banner for the first time with surprising results.

@emmanuellececchi @hobbitwrangler @dreambigdreamz @konartiste @sotwk

Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit

#guthláf #wídfara #rohan #obscure blorbos #rohirrim #lotr #lord of the rings #guthlaf #widfara #diacritics really mess with my tags!

16 notes · View notes