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bee-kathony · 4 years ago

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positions ch. 2 “flowers in her hair” | Eloise & Phillip

Chapter One

Phillip and Eloise find themselves in another arousing position

Phillip was in his study, large books open all around him. It was after dinner, and Eloise had gone to help the children prepare for bed. She knew she didn’t have to do that, as they had a perfectly suitable nanny that helped. But no matter what Phillip said, Eloise always did exactly what she wanted. He admired her for that among many other reasons.

They had four children now, their youngest Georgiana only being five months old. Eloise had shown just the same amount of love to Phillip’s first two children, Oliver and Amanda as she now did to her own flesh and blood. She was a wonderful mother, and Phillip reminded her of this nearly every day.

The first time Eloise had fallen pregnant, she had been so anxious about becoming a mother. She thought she wasn’t cut out for it, but he reminded her that she was already a mother to two very mischievous children.

“If you can handle the twins, then you can certainly handle a newborn baby,” Phillip laughed.

“It’s the taking care of the baby that I’m worried about,” Eloise sighed, lifting another biscuit to her lips. “I’ve taken care of my younger siblings enough times to know what needs to be done. But…”

“But…” Phillip slid his arm around her shoulders.

“What if I fail… at being a mother?” she sniffed, trying to hide her emotions.

Phillip gathered his pregnant wife into his arms, kissing her temple. “You won’t fail. God knows that if anyone has failed as a parent, then I deserve that claim. Just remember that you aren’t alone in this, Eloise.”

“I’m not, aren’t I?” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Never,” he kissed her lips softly.

Phillip had doubts of his own of course, as he was not exactly present in the first formative years of the twins’ lives. Rather than dwelling on what he could not change, Phillip focused on the future and making sure that their family was first above all else.

He was looking at his journals of pressed flowers now, trying to compile all his findings into a compendium of sorts. Writing a book about his passion for botany had been years in the making, and it was only until he met Eloise that he allowed himself to think it a real possibility.

The section on peas was almost complete, with drawings and diagrams of how he had finally bred them to grow fatter and plumper. He had come upon the key to it completely by accident. Phillip could pat himself on the back for his finds as much as he would like, but sometimes things just happened without any help from us.

Twirling a dried primrose between his fingers, Phillip was too engrossed in his work to notice that his wife had entered his study.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat, a smirk on her lips as he lifted his gaze. “I knew you wouldn’t be in bed just yet.”

“Sorry,” Phillip blushed, and pushed back his chair to stand.

Eloise held out her hand, signaling for him to sit down.

“I want to see what you’re working on,” she smiled, her skirts lifting as she came around to his side of the desk and peered over his journals. “More of the pressed flowers?”

“Yes,” he slid his hand along her back. “Just trying to sort them out into which native country they belong to.”

“Fascinating,” Eloise trailed her fingers over a blue flower that he had just picked earlier that afternoon.

Reaching forward, he swiped the flower from under her fingers and turned her head to look at him.

“And which flower is this?” She asked.

“This is the Centaurea cyanus,” Phillip said, tucking the flower behind her left ear. “Otherwise known as a cornflower.”

“This shade is lovely,” Eloise remarked and then took a seat on Phillip’s thighs, leaning back against him. “Will you show me your favorite?”

“Certainly,” he smiled. Eloise tried very hard to be interested in his work, and he could tell that she genuinely was. Other times, of course, he could see her eyes glazing over as he talked of the differing properties between a plant grown in different type of soil.

“The ones I have laid out here are all wildflowers,” he took her hand and laid it atop a white cloth covered in blooms. “This is the caprifoliaceae or the honeysuckle. This is the—“

“Forget-me-not!” Eloise happily named the small light blue flower, grinning back at him.

“Yes,” he laughed, admiring the rosy hue to her cheeks. “The Myosotis.”

He continued to point out several different types of wildflowers, giving their scientific name and species. Botany was one of his greatest passions, and Phillip loved getting the chance to share that with his wife.

“Do you have a favorite flower?” Eloise asked, adjusting her position on his lap.

Phillip had many favorite flowers, in fact there was not one that he didn’t love. But his favorite was a flower he had only seen a handful of times in person, as they were not common in England.

“I do,” he nodded. Phillip slid one arm tightly around her waist, loving the feeling of her full weight on his thighs. “It’s called the protea neriifolia, and it’s more commonly found in South Africa.”

Phillip leaned forward, pressing Eloise gently into the desk. He searched through his journals until he found the sketch he had of the flower, done many years ago. It was usually a dark pink color, growing upwards from the stem. The petals almost favored a birds feathers, and they were just as soft.

“It’s an interesting one,” Eloise said, leaning closer to look. “I’ve never seen anything quite like that here.”

“A friend of mine from South Africa was visiting England a few years back, and he brought several of his native flowers. I had never seen something quite so strange, but also so lovely. The tips are usually black, which is odd for a flower,” he said, moving the hair that had fallen down her back.

“Does it have a meaning?” She asked. “Don’t most flowers have some sort of meaning?”

“They do,” Phillip smiled, and slid his other hand along her hip. He thought he saw Eloise give him a sly look as he squeezed her hip. “It means transformation, or courage.”

“Courage,” Eloise said, reaching back to cup his cheek. “That’s something you have a lot of.”

Phillip brought her face down to his, kissing her lips lightly.

In fact, he did have a lot of courage. Courage to overcome all the pain and loss he had suffered as well as the courage to allow himself to love again. He had never felt so complete than in this moment, holding his wife.

“I do love you,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against her back. Eloise touched his hand over her stomach, squeezing it tightly.

“And I love you.”

They sat in silence for awhile as Phillip cradled Eloise against him. She was soft and tender in his arms, and he quite frankly never wanted to let go. But Eloise was sitting on a particular body part, that had begun to come alive ever since she took her spot on his lap. As she squirmed, leaning forward to flip through his journals, Phillip couldn’t stop the groan that left his lips.

“Am I hurting you?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You better say no.”

“No,” Phillip smiled, his hands curving over her hips and began to move down her thighs. “It’s not that.”

Eloise opened her mouth to ask him for further explanation, but his hands were gathering the material of her dress, exposing her legs to the cool air of the room.

“Oh,” she blushed furiously.

“Oh, indeed,” Phillip chuckled, kissing her shoulder.

“Should we go to the bedroom?” Eloise’s breathing was labored, a flush creeping up her neck.

“No,” Phillip growled, pulling up her dress to expose her thighs. “Like this.”

His hands moved along her bare thighs, feeling her smooth skin. He parted her thighs, letting them hang on either side of his. Eloise was open to him now, and she collapsed against his chest, biting her bottom lip in anticipation.

On many occasions, Phillip had gotten them into different positions. He loved how willing and adventurous Eloise was. She allowed him to fancy every fantasy and whim he had, as he also allowed her to do the same.

“I like to feel you like this,” Phillip said softly. One hand moved along her inner thigh, feeling her heat.

“I can certainly feel you as well,” Eloise wiggled her bottom, no doubt feeling his arousal pressed against her body.

Phillip stroked her thigh back and forth, teasing as he moved one finger closer to her center. Eloise’s breath caught as he pressed lightly against her slit. She was wet for him, and this only made him harder. His length throbbed against the tight constraints of his trousers.

Eloise reached down, squeezing his left hand in hers, and began to roll her hips, begging for more. Sliding a finger inside of her, Phillip groaned at the tight sensation. Since she was sitting on his lap, he couldn’t see what he was doing, but the lack of sight only heightened his senses.

“Oh Phillip,” Eloise panted, reaching one hand back to grip his head.

“I need to be inside of you, Eloise,” Phillip nipped at her shoulder, and then removed his finger, clutching at her waist as he lifted her up. She stayed lifted off his lap long enough for him to remove his hard length from his trousers.

Quickly, he pushed her dress up to her waist, exposing her bottom. With her legs parted, she was open and ready for him.

“I want to savor this,” Phillip groaned as he took himself in hand, pumping slowly. “But the sight of you is enough to make me come.”

“Don’t be gentle about it,” Eloise turned her head, meeting his gaze and smiling wickedly.

Phillip grabbed onto her hip, and positioned himself at her entrance. She fluttered around him, sighing as she sank down inch by inch. He was large, he knew this, but Eloise accommodated him perfectly.

Once he was snugly inside of her, Phillip snaked one arm around her waist, holding her tight. “It is heaven to be inside you,” he mumbled, hoping his words made sense and weren’t just breathy pants.”

“Move,” Eloise almost cried out, desperate to feel him against her walls. She leaned forward, placing both hands on the desk before her, and rocked her hips. Phillip kept one hand on her waist and the other on her hip. With every thrust, her buttocks bounced, slapping his thighs.

Phillip was unable to move as he desired, blocked by both the chair and the desk, but he bounced Eloise on his hard cock. She was slick, and slid down easily on him. As lovers, they knew the way of one another’s body, and had grown together over the years. Phillip slid one hand up her body, cupping her round breast, full and swollen from breastfeeding.

“Ah!” She cried out, and leaned against the desk, pressing her face to the cool wood. Her hands flattened, clutching at something to hold onto. As she moved, Phillip was able to rise, pushing back against the chair as he stood and readjusted inside of her.

“Eloise!” He pounded into her, looking down at the place of their joining. She stood now, her legs wide. “I want to fuck you every day,” he said without thinking about the vulgarity of his words. “Fuck you in every damn room of this house.”

“Please,” Eloise begged, reaching back to clutch at his arm as she moved onto his cock.

“Say it,” Phillip’s heart was racing and he knew he was close, but he would see to Eloise’s pleasure first.

“Say what?” She flushed.

Phillip stopped his movements slowing inside of her, his cock throbbing. He trailed one hand down her back, and settled it on her bottom, squeezing the tender flesh.

“Say you want me to fuck you.”

Normally, Phillip would not use this kind of language around a woman, but with Eloise, all sense of propriety and decorum flew out the window. Something about making love to her turned him into a carnal beast, desperate for her.

Eloise’s face was red, from his words and their movements. He thought she might not say it, but then she met his gaze, her lips parted, and Phillip groaned.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said softly, sounding embarrassed, but altogether aroused.

“With pleasure Eloise Crane,” Phillip bent over her body, pressing forward as he thrust into her. A second later, he felt her own fingers rubbing over her clit, and that’s when Phillip came, hard and fast, unable to wait a moment longer.

Eloise rubbed over her mound, her eyes tight shut as Phillip came. His movements slowed, but he kept thrusting until she cried out, and her body jerked underneath his.

His journals and flower pressings would have to be sorted again, as their love making had rearranged his desk.

Phillip pulled out of her, grabbing a spare handkerchief in his desk drawer to clean himself and Eloise up. Then he lifted her off of the desk and carried her into his arms, walking over to the divan on the opposite side of the room.

“Surely this would have been a much more comfortable place for what we just did,” Eloise blushed in his arms, her fingers stroking the hair at his nape.

“Yes,” Phillip agreed, smiling. “But not quite as much fun.”

Eloise sighed against his chest, and he was content to sit there all night, holding her in his arms. There was once a time in his life that Phillip thought he did not deserve love. But it was Eloise, his darling wife, that showed him he did. Not only did he deserve love, but he was capable of giving love right back.

#positions #phillip x eloise #sir phillip #to sir phillip with p*ssy #eloise bridgerton #phillip crane #bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #philloise

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serzhantkris · 6 years ago

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Something Worth Fighting For- 14

Summary: You’ve just begun to settle into life as an Avenger when a mission gone awry divides the team in half, and a familiar face shows up just in time to make you second guess your every choice. Third installment of the Worth Fighting For Series.

Words: 1739

AN: So, we are almost to the end of SWFF. We will probably be wrapping up around ch 17!

Part 13 Masterlist

How many sunsets could you say that you had seen in your lifetime? It had to have been thousands, all of them unique, their colors painting the endless sky and yet always familiar. No matter where you were, the forests of Algeria or the Russian tundra, sitting on a bench in New York City or here, watching the sky fall asleep over Wakanda, there were always sunsets. The sun didn’t stop for war.

It’s quiet, behind the big glass windows that overlook the expanse of fields and trees that make up the country. A winding river weaves through the fields, past distant farmlands and vanishing into the forest. It’s like looking into another world from where you stand, the white walls smelling of bleach, machinery stacked at the back of the room creating a disjoint from what is behind you to what is in front of you.

The whir of the sliding doors announces his presence before the soft footsteps that carry him to your side. He pauses, following your gaze out the window. The sun sets, slowly, like the sky is melting on the world. Bucky’s hand slides into yours, grasping tightly to your palm.

You finally turn to look at him, at the way the fluorescent lights ignite the blue of his eyes. He’s shaved, his beard shaped and trimmed neatly. The way Commander Phillips would have approved of. His hair is combed back from his face, the scent of shampoo clinging to the clean strands. There’s a soft smile on his pink lips, and it’s the first time in a long time that there isn’t dirt plastered to his skin.

“Do you remember,” he starts, looking out and up at the stars that fill the blue-black blanket nestling over the sky. “The night before we went after Zola?”

Seventy years later, and you still haven’t forgotten. Somewhere in a distant memory, you can still feel the warmth of the campfire, of Bucky’s hands twisting your hair into a braid as he told you about his sister and made promises of a future; and the terrible feeling of dread. The feeling that had come to fruition and sent you spiraling toward an entirely different future.

“Yes.”

Bucky nods. “We won the war.”

A mechanical whirring echoes in the hospital-like chamber and you glance down, frowning at the metal that glimmers dark and black in the bright lights. Bucky had promised you once, so long ago, that it didn’t matter what he lost as long as he had you. He had paid the price. And what sacrifices did you make? A mechanical body. Night terrors. Living through the deaths of everyone you’d held near and dear.

And now, after all this time, the two of you were standing side by side in Wakanda, your hand in his, and it was quiet. Was this what it had all been for? Was it finally over?

“Did we?”

Bucky looks at you, finally, and even now in the safety of Shuri’s lab, far away from Zola and Johann Shmidt and Hydra and Zemo and Tony Stark- he looked tired. No amount of sleep seemed to be enough.

The war, this battle that you and Bucky had been fighting your whole lives, had taken everything. It had taken everything and given back some, but nothing was the way it was before.

The light beyond the window had started to fade. It no longer touched the glass, drawing long shadows over the fields below. Reflections of you and Bucky had become clearer in the window, and you studied them carefully. Bucky was still looking at you, a loose piece of hair slipped past his shoulder and his metal hand tucked into a pocket on his modified jacket.

“Shuri’s working on… Something.”

Your brows knit in confusion and Bucky sighs through his nose. Reaching out, you tuck the loose hair behind his ear. “What’s ‘something?’”

He hesitates, tumbling words in his mouth until he finds the right ones. “Something to fix me.”

You let go of his hand, turning toward him, finally letting the open air between you come to a close. Your hands slide over the coarse, neat beard and hold onto his face.

“You don’t need fixing-“

“I do,” he says, hands wrapping gently around his wrists. He holds them there, eyes fluttering closed and head tipping forward until his forehead touches yours. “I can’t trust my own mind, Y/n. So-“

He takes a breath and your eyes slam shut, squeezing, lights dotting your vision as your hands grip the sides of his head, begging him not to say another word.

“Until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head-“

Your lips trembled and Bucky’s hands squeezed your wrists. A tear slid through your lashes, and then another.

“I think going back under is the best thing-“

A choked sob catches in your throat as a tear rolls onto your lip.

“For everybody.”

Your eyes open and you pull back. Bucky’s right hand lets go of your wrist, carefully brushing the tears away.

“That’s not fair,” your voice cracks and the barrier, the wall that stood between you and feeling has collapsed, and it hurts worse than being shot, worse than losing half your body. “I just got you back.”

“I know,” Bucky’s voice is a whisper, and his hand cups the side of your face, thumb still brushing the apple of your cheek. “But it’s the right thing to do.”

“It’s not fair,” you cry again, your chest tight and body shaking. Anger swallows your heart, not at Bucky but because you know he’s right. “It isn’t fair.”

Bucky lets go of your wrist and pulls you closer, holding the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest. You clutch the front of his jacket, knuckles white, and seventy years of pain, seventy years of grief and loss comes pouring out of you. Bucky does not move, only holds you tighter, closer, as though he could push you right through his chest and into his heart. The sound of your sobs filled the room, and while your heart is broken now, both you and Bucky know this is the only way to mend it.

Seventy-two hours. You had seventy-two hours until the stasis chamber was ready. Seventy-two hours until Bucky would go under, until he would be on the other side of the glass for God knew how long. You had been tossing and turning all night, your mind turning endlessly. Your eyes kept finding Bucky in the dark, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. You wanted to commit it to memory, not wanting to miss even a second before he’d be gone once again.

The bed creaks under his weight as he moves, the sheets tugging down from your chin as he rolls toward you. A sleepy sigh falls from his lips and his eyes flutter open, his chest expanding with a deep breath as he pulls to consciousness.

“Sorry,” you whisper, reaching to brush a piece of hair out of his face. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He hums softly, reaching to pull you closer. You let him, resting your head against his chest and listening to the soft patter of his heart. Bucky kissed the top of your head, resting his cheek against it with another sigh.

“I love you.”

The words set a fire in your stomach, just like every other time. You pressed a kiss to his skin, letting your lips linger. Bucky slides a leg between yours, tangling the two of you under the sheets.

“We could still have a life,” he says, his hand dancing up your shoulder. You shiver under his touch as the fingers trail over your neck and to your face, lifting it to look at him. The moonlight cast a blue glow over his face, and even with a rugged beard, he looks younger in this moment than he had in years. “When I wake up.”

“Is that a promise?”

Bucky shifts, pushing himself up on an elbow so that he can look at you properly. His hand grabs one of yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. The bones under the flesh are mechanical, but the skin is real and warm under his lips.

“I still don’t have a lot,” he says. “We might never have our own roof or regular jobs. Probably won’t have normal lives either. We can’t go back. And I still don’t have a ring-“

Bucky fumbles with your fingers, lacing them between his. You sit up, slowly, the sheets pooling at your waist. Bucky’s eyes trail over your naked torso, tongue between his teeth, and he holds your hand against his cheek.

“But I still love you. I still want that future, that life, as long as you’re a part of it.” Bucky’s eyes drop to the mess of sheets under the two of you.

“We’ve been fighting so long,” you sigh, tracing shapes on the back of Bucky’s hand. “I stopped thinking about what life might be like if we ever stopped.”

Bucky hums, the sound deep in his throat, and he leans forward to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“We could find out,” he whispers. “When I wake up, if you still want this, this life, this- mess we’ve made of ourselves- marry me.”

Seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours to fill with kisses, to fill with making love and tangling your limbs together. Seventy-two hours in which you could lay the foundation of a future, maybe here in Wakanda where the stars shine brightly and the sun doesn’t stop, where Bucky finally sleeps through the night and where the skies hide you from harm.

“No,” you shake your head, and Bucky’s face falls and there’s a deep hurt etched in the contours of his face. “Bucky, I have loved you through war and death. Our whole lives have been filled with it, and no matter how many times life tries to wrench us away from each other- We always find each other. We always love each other. I’ll be there when you go under, and I’ll still be here when you wake up. But let me do it as your wife.”

Bucky smiled, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand. He held on tight, kissing each fingertip, each knuckle; his lips trailing over your palm and down the veins of your arm, crawling over you and letting his lips roam everywhere he could reach.

TAGS OPEN

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#bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky

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royallypsychotic · 4 years ago

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Irina Shayk Rocks Burberry Jumpsuit In Nyc Following Rendezvous With Kanye West

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monstroum · 3 years ago

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so literally 0 people asked but here are valentine dates with all the different trash goblins:

mr. memphis: go for a real nice real fancy meaty dinner. it’s so hard to get reservations and somehow he managed. memphis offers you a nice expensive piece of jewellery, diamonds maybe, did he buy them? not exactly. have a couple of drinks afterwards, okay maybe 20 drinks, dash without paying, giggling all the way, but not without vandalising or inflicting some serious property damage on whatever fancy establishment you two just stole from. set fire to some trash, maybe a church if he’s feeling naughty. he talks dirty to you throughout 99.9% of the night but it’s not sexy. it’s kinda creepy. actually he might just be numbering all the literal dirty things he knows of. but at least he pays for your uber in exchange for your autograph without getting handsy. what a gentleman.

the woodsman: it’s not a date. has he told you that it’s NOT a date? doesn’t matter. he looks pissed off, is constantly teasing you and seems like he might have had a few before you showed up. you go on a walk through some national park but he’s NOT paying for dinner. woody only stops making fun of your dumb hair and your dumb perfume when he spots a baby deer with its neck stuck on a fence. he helps the animal free and you both watch it run back to its’ mama. woody’s beard looks reddish in the sunlight. he finds some dumb flower that reminds him of you. he tosses it at you, catch it. or don’t. whatever, he doesn’t care, shut up, you both go home before the sun sets, this was a terrible idea anyways.

hannibal lecter: remember that one kid who kicked a stray cat when you were little and how that was the first time you learned about how cruel and senseless the world could be? well, hannibal does. he’s such a good listener he always remembers everything you tell him. hannibal really does pay attention. and even though he can’t really physically comfort you, he hopes that his words can, at the very least, guide you through the darkness. he wants you to prosper and he wants you to know that, despite the violence, there’s also a lot of beauty in the world. anyway, that kid is dead, his remains are scattered across a deserted area, here’s a map, here’s some cryptic one-liners, p.s.- if you look down at the area from an helicopter, the loose limbs draw a heart (aw).

rustin cohle: he doesn’t believe in valentine’s day. he sees it as an excuse for (especially) men to liberate themselves from all romantic obligations or accusations of thoughtlessness. rust doesn’t see how a relationship can survive if the only time love is set on the table is on some day in february. he’ll make you a cup of coffee though. maybe sit on the porch with you while you tell him about ex-lovers. probably chain smoke but only as a way to fight the temptation of sharing. in between all of the depressive shit he says, rust pulls a sometimes love is not a ring or chocolates, sometimes love is comfort. you both sit quietly and watch the sunset.

shadow moon: you grab some hot coco during the day and shadow’s cup is overflowing with marshmallows. he scoops some of them with his spoon and places them in your coco. he says he doesn’t want you to starve. he’s also not very funny. but he does show you a few coin tricks and they’re actually pretty good. he’s not the most talkative but every time you laugh he smiles. he gives you a pair of gloves he bought an old lady during one of his interstate trips. the woman told him they were from the old country though he’s not sure which old country. the wool has bright colours. shadow realises he has to leave earlier than he was supposed to. he looks stressed as he runs out the back door. he never calls back.

hellboy: he forgot it’s v-day. but don’t worry he can fix it! he’s bought a pack of beers and stole two cuban cigars which he’ll smoke all by himself. but hey, he carries you up to some empty rooftop late at night and you do some people watching. maybe even make a game out of it. he’s childish, challenges you to arm wrestle with his big stone hand but hellboy (quite obviously) lets you win. later in the night he says sorry for forgetting and that he’ll make it up to you some other time. you’re about to tell him something but he shushes you and points at a shooting star. you're surprised by how similar your wishes are.

black phillip: he got you out into the woods. you don’t remember how. the sun is vanishing quickly and he doesn’t speak. it’s valentine’s day and he takes you out to meet all of his girl friends. they’re dancing around a bonfire. most of them are naked. bp whispers that you’re different, you’re not like other girls. he sounds shifty but he promised you so much. and he really does sound like someone who keeps their promises. his friends are weird. it’s hard to get alone time with bp tho. besides he keeps making goat noises idk i’d ditch him if i were you bestie.

#* ch. study : anung un rama #* ch. study : the woodsman #* ch. study : hannibal lecter #* ch. study : rustin cohle #* ch. study : mr. memphis #* ch. study : black phillip #* ch. study : shadow moon #i both love and hate all of them #sorry dash

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