#Blue Ridge Bed and Breakfast

[florencemtrash]

He Feels Safe With You — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation.

Warnings: Major fluff. Like tooth-rotting sweetness. Sleepy Az.

Author's note: I should be sleeping because I have work tomorrow but instead I've chosen to write this oneshot and I have no regrets.

It was starting to become a problem now. 

You cocked your head to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and watching Azriel as he continued to sleep soundly in your bed. You had the windows cracked open and the early Autumn breeze swirled indoors with the scent of lavender, bergamot, and the strawberry jam you’d slathered over your toast. You checked the time once again on the glossy marble clock face. The arrow-shaped hour hand clicked ever closer to 11am, the minute hand close to overtaking its competitor. 

10:55am and Azriel was still asleep. 

The sheets clustered loose and low around his waist, mimicking the curling of his shadows up and down the ridges of his spine and across the delicate membrane of his wings. His wings hung loose and relaxed, stretching off the edges of your bed and caressing the floor with a lover’s touch. You blushed at the sight. When you and Azriel had first started courting each other three years ago, you’d thought through the mechanics of housing an Illyrian warrior in your bed — should you buy a new bed frame and mattress? Did you even have space for it in your apartment? The answer had been no to both, and yet Azriel loved when your daytime activities ended here instead of at the townhouse. If he cared about having to walk sideways to avoid the bookshelves in the halls or having to crouch to avoid the overhang above the staircase, he didn’t mention it. 

Three hours ago you’d woken up beneath the gentle weight of his wings, untangled yourself from Azriel’s greedy limbs, and crept down the stairs to your kitchen, bleary eyed but well rested. But that was three hours ago! Since then you’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, and eaten breakfast, and still the Shadowsinger hadn’t stirred. You were beginning to question whether he truly was the Spymaster of the Night Court as you sat in your velvet chair and admired your lover. You traced all the subtle movements of his body as he muddled through dreams you could only wonder at — the creasing of his brow, the slack line of his lips as he breathed, the twitching of his fingertips as he reached for some phantom object. 

The clock struck eleven and you sighed, gathering your plates but leaving Azriel’s pile of toast, butter, and honey alone. You also left the teapot and its mismatched cup, blowing magic over its lid in a silent command to keep its contents hot until Azriel awoke. 

“I’ll be down in the shop,” you whispered to his shadows, trusting that they would relay the message when their master finally decided to grace the daytime with his presence. 

One by one, shadows slipped off Azriel’s skin, curling around your ankles and wrists in a silent plea to stay. You shook them off like one might a needy child, promising you’d only be two floors down. 

The artists’ corner in Velaris was an eclectic array of compact townhouses, each outwardly dressed in their unique, dazzling finery. Your townhouse was squished between a painting studio and a luthier’s. The painting studio’s owner seemed intent on changing the color of the wooden sidings every other day and the drawings scribbled over the windows every other week. Today it was periwinkle blue to match the hydrangeas overflowing from the window boxes. 

You nodded in approval as you flipped the apothecary sign over from “Much apologies, please try another time” to “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” The blue would match your tulip yellow sidings and the clean white accents of the luthier’s. Last week it had been red and that had looked gods-awful. 

You busied yourself in the shop, crushing up lavender and herbs and boiling mugwort in fire-stained glassware in between flurries of customers until the medicinal stench in the air grew thick and strong. You were used to it by now. It smelled clean. Like home. 

You were finishing tying up a bundle of teabags when Cassian came in carrying a sturdy wooden box under one arm like it weighed five pounds instead of fifty. You snapped out the wrinkles of a cloth bag, dropping the teabags and five vials of sleep serum for the nightingale-winged nymph in front of you. 

“Four feathers and three strands of hair, as we bargained for,” you said, sliding the bag across the counter. 

The nymph nodded in approval, extending out a wing and shoving her fingers into the pillowy softness. She tested for loose feathers ready to pull.

“You’re a godsend, Y/n, has anyone ever told you that?” She pulled out three feathers, closed her wing, and started testing the feathers on the other side. “Finnigan’s was asking me for ten. Ten! Can you believe that? If I hadn’t found you in time I’d have been reduced to a plucked chicken.” She was much less precious about her mousey brown hair and yanked out three strands at random. “Oops, you get an extra strand today,” she sang, dropping the feathers and hair into the jars you held out. 

“Well it’s a good thing you found me then, Moricka.” 

“Honestly! I understand he’s got a large studio space he’s renting in the thick of the Palace, and even I will admit the ambiance is rather professional—” 

Cassian raised his brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred lips as he continued to stand motionless in the doorway. It was true your space was more… homey than Finnigan’s, but your expertise shined in intimate spaces. You liked the control and the familiarity that came from running a smaller business and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

“But I do think the success is getting to his head. You both studied under Lady Madja so I don’t see why—” 

You nodded absentmindedly. It was always like this with Moricka. The songbird in her made it difficult for her to stop talking, but at least her voice was pleasant. 

She threw her hands up in the air before finally catching wind of another presence in the room. Cassian waved at her with a wink and an orange blush creeped onto her full cheeks. He tended to have that effect on fae with his towering size and the wild beauty of his chiseled jaw and smattering of scars over his cheeks and brow. 

“Oh… oh dear, I didn’t realize you had another customer. Oh my goodness I’ve been talking your ear off all this time and you’ve been too kind to say anything. You’re a godsend, Y/n. A godsend! I don’t know what I would do without you, although I should really be letting you go now.” She grabbed her things and sidestepped the range of Cassian’s wings, trying and failing now to gawk. “I’ll see you soon enough again I’m sure.” 

“I’ll be here.” You sighed in relief when the doorbell rang behind her petite frame, the inoffensive smile you offered all your customers sliding off your face like oil on water. Cassian chuckled, dropping the box onto the countertop with a dull thud. 

“Long day?” 

You pulled out a stepstool and began rummaging around through the box, pulling out jars of squid ink, bark trimmings, buttons, and one particularly nasty jar containing a large eye suspended in yellow goo. “It’s not even three.” 

“Did I stutter?”

You tapped the glass and the eye swiveled around to look at you, pupil enlarging and constricting with a stutter. “Yes, yes very good,” you muttered your praise and Cassian fought hard not to shiver. He had a stomach for a great many things, but some of the specimens you handled tested his resilience.

“Thank you for bringing all of this. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.” 

“Perhaps you could do the same for me and tell me where my brother is? I’ve been looking for him all day.” Cassian leaned forward on the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you holding him hostage, Y/n? Are you using your feminine powers to bring the poor male to his knees? I must admit, I didn’t imagine you as the kind capable of kidnapping. Or shadow-napping, shall we say?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly holding him hostage.” You gestured down the hallway past the bookshelves and the cases of empty glassware where the light from the staircase glowed like an iron eye. “He’s upstairs sleeping.” 

Cassian furrowed his brows, stepping around and past you. He kept his wings tucked closer to his shoulder blades, careful not to upset the cramped organization you maintained in your shop. 

He smirked. “Still? Are you sure you didn't work your feminine powers last night?” 

You glanced out the store window. A few fae lingered outside the coffee shop across the street clutching takeaway boxes against their chest as they chatted and sipped their drinks. The street was otherwise empty. For now, you wouldn’t have to deal with any customers. 

You looked back at Cassian. “I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

His brows furrowed. “About feminine powers?” He'd meant that as a joke.

“Gods, Cassian let that go.” You wrung your hands. “I wanted to ask if Azriel was alright? Has he seemed… normal to you?”

“I don’t know, has he?” Cassian lowered his voice, sinking into one of the stools by the clear glass medicine cabinet. “From what I can tell he seems well. Happy.” 

Although happy was an understatement. Ever since you’d stumbled into their lives with Madja’s accolades and your wry humor, Azriel had been a goner. You’d pulled emotions from him as deftly as a spinster with a pile of wool, reduced him to a reverential, lovesick mess, and imbued his existence with a color not even Feyre could mix up. Which made it all the more confusing why you looked so nervous.

“You’ve seen more of him than I have, Y/n.” Cassian said. He braced his elbows against his knees, turning serious. The faint bags under his hazel eyes hinted at sleepless nights spent fussing over Neera. It was their fault really, any daughter of Nesta and Cassian was destined to be restless and particular.

“He just… he’s been sleeping more. Falling into bed early, but waking up late. Sometimes we’ll be reading together or just existing side by side and when I turn to face him, he’s dead asleep on the couch.” 

Cassian’s lips twitched, slowly stretching into a smile. You plucked a hemp bag off one of the wall shelves at random, tossing its contents into a mortar and beginning to grind just so you could have something to do with your hands. 

“At first I brushed it off, but it’s gotten to a point where I’ll be talking to him — mindless things, but regardless — and I’ll catch him dozing off. He’s always very apologetic after but I…” The mortar and pestle clattered to a stop. “I worry that he’s growing bored of me. Or that he’s sick in a way I can’t help.” 

“Y/n.” There was a smile in Cassian’s voice, and indeed when you looked at him, his teeth were glistening in the soft afternoon haze. His eyes shined knowingly, as if the answer were obvious.

You paused. “Yes?”

“He feels safe with you.” 

You blinked once. Twice. 

“Pardon?” 

Cassian tipped back in his seat, knocking his head against the cabinet with a rattle of jars and glass as he laughed. “He’s sleeping so much because he feels safe with you. It’s probably why he prefers to spend time here instead of at the townhouse and why he’s still dead asleep while we’re sitting here gossiping about him. Three years ago you couldn’t even whisper his name in a crowded room without him appearing from the shadows as if summoned.” 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Oh... I see.” 

Cassian was grinning. “Y/n, I promise you he’s not bored of you. Azriel sleeping is a good thing. The gods know he could use more rest. I think he might be the worst of us when it comes to taking care of ourselves.” 

Something about Cassian’s words had a crack splintering in your chest. You knew about his past. You knew of the horrors burned into the ruined skin of his hands and the weight his duties deposited on his shoulders.

And here you’d been worried over him sleeping past noon. 

Shadows slipped down the stairs, pooling around your feet in a neat circle and kissing the exposed skin of your ankles. Azriel followed closely behind, still wearing his rumpled hair and pants and a shirt he’d hastily shoved his neck and arms into. He hadn’t even buttoned up the slits below his wings, opting to let the fabric swing free and loose and expose flashes of skin as he walked. 

He jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of Cassian and then folded himself over your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and dropping his face into the crook of your neck where he breathed in the scent of lemon and lavender and medicine. 

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said, frowning. There was a slur to his words.

“It’s past three, brother.” 

Azriel snapped his head up in surprise, squinting at the window and the afternoon sunlight streaking in. The pale cobblestones shone like they’d been drenched in honey. 

“What?” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, patting Azriel’s back fondly and mussing up your hair before walking towards the door. He flipped the sign from “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” to “Much apologies, please try another time.” 

“Goodnight, you two!" He called from over his back. "Remember we’re meeting at Rhys’s for dinner tonight.” He turned, bracing his arms against the top of the doorway and leaning forward like he meant to share a secret. “8pm sharp. Don’t be too late or we’ll get the wrong idea about what you two are up to.” He winked, then whistled down the street, letting the door close on its own behind him. 

Azriel sighed, going back to nuzzling his face in your neck. He peppered the sensitive skin there with kisses. 

“Will you be coming back upstairs then?” He murmured hopefully. "Now that you're finished with work?"

You bit your lip and decided rather quickly that the world would not end because you closed a few hours early. 

You led him up the stairs, past the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and then up to the third floor — your bedroom. The window was still open, the hustle and bustle of the city and the smell of coffee from across the street wafting in. Steam no longer poured from the lip of the teapot, so you knew Azriel had had something to drink, and where you’d left toast on his plate this morning lay only crumbs. 

Azriel dropped to his knees, untying your laces and helping you out of your boots. Then he straightened and tugged at the belt loops of your trousers, silently asking for permission before unbuttoning them and sliding them off your legs. Your shirt, then his shirt, and then his trousers joined the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, falling face first after you with a sigh. This was his favorite position to sleep in — you comfortable on your back and him laying with his hips slotted in between your legs and his head resting over your heart. 

You sank your fingers into his velvety, black hair. His hums of satisfaction flowed through your body, lighting every nerve with a comforting buzz. 

“Azriel?” You asked him, before sleep could finally claim him once more. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Do you feel safe with me?” 

He pressed his face further into the soft flesh of your chest, bringing his arms up and around your waist before allowing his wings to do the same. The thin membranes glowed red as hot coals, blocking out the most offensive rays of light from outside. 

“When I am with you, I forget that I was ever that boy whose hands got burned. When I am with you, the hundreds of years I spent feeling alone and worthless in this world melt away into nothing. When I am with you — when I am in this place that smells and feels so strongly of you — I can imagine a future that is good and pure and perfect.” He sighed deeply, seemingly ignorant to the pounding of your heart and the waves of feeling flooding your system. “So yes, my love — my Y/n — I do feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too,” you murmured. “I love you, Azriel.” 

You kissed the crown of his head, earning one last smile and a slurred, “I love you, Y/n,” before his jaw went slack and the room went silent save for the mixing of your breaths and the stirring of shadows.

[soelstress]

The Strength Of His Touch

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female!reader

Summary: Steve hesitates to touch you after seeing bruises he unknowingly caused.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , nsfw , slight alcohol consumption , sex/smut, p in v sex , unprotected sex , Sam being a good friend , Steve being a stubborn sweetheart , slight bruising from gripping a little too hard (he’s a Super Solider, he can’t help it)

Word count: 3.3k

A/N - Hello Lovelies! I seem to be on a Captain craze at the moment. Found myself wondering if either of the boys would worry about their strength… and this is what happens, especially since they can both be so stubborn.

The gif is sourced from Google

Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

Sunlight danced beyond your eyelids as it both warmed you and teased you with the thought of waking properly. A cool breeze tickled your skin while also refreshing some very familiar scents. The masculine scene of cologne, clean sweat and the faint musk of sex. Blood rushed to your face at the latter. The intoxicating mixture was something that you could barely believe you’d help to make. At your sleepy hum of contentment the arms that were wrapped around you began to drift along your body and traced patterns on your sun warmed skin. Hearing the gentle lub dub of a heart you nuzzled into a solidly heated chest which produced a smooth rumble.

You cracked one eye open to see a familiar pair of blue eyes blinking at you sleepily. His face still held the traces of slumber while sporting a mussed bed head hairstyle. “Good morning, beautiful.” The husky tone sent delicious shivers rolling through your body which replied before you could with a very distinct yowl. There was silence for a moment before his stomach then chipped in which caused him to start chuckling quietly. “Guess that’s the cue for some breakfast huh?” His attempt to move was hindered by you wrapping tightly around him.

“No.” The soft pleading whines only made him chuckle louder. “Wanna cuddle.”

“We can cuddle after breakfast.”

With a grumpy huff you quickly rolled away from him and tugged the sheet over your head. “Don’t wanna.” Your sleepiness was fading much to your annoyance. Was it so wrong to want to stay in that wonderful place between sleep and waking?

The bed dipped as he shifted onto his side towards you. “As much as Tony or Sam might argue, I don’t think Dum-E or Redwing are able to bring us breakfast so for now the task falls to us.” When the sheet was tugged away you squeaked in annoyance. “Now, let's-” A choked gasp ended his sentence.

The lingering haze of slumber quickly dissipated when you heard the sound. Confused, you rolled over to face him and opened your eyes. Gone was the languorous ease and sleepy expression. Now his eyes burned with something you didn’t recognise and his jaw was taut while his brows dipped with little ridges between. His silent behaviour sent you bouncing between worry and fear.

“What’s wrong baby?” Somehow the whisper forced itself past the lump that had formed in your throat.

“Can’t you tell?” The words were steeped in disbelief.

It took everything in you not to flinch at Steve’s tone. One that your boyfriend had never aimed at you and that had not been directed at you by anyone else for some time. Before you could spiral into worry you forced yourself to think over the events of the previous night when you had sex for the first time as a couple. Over and over you replayed every moment but could think of nothing obvious that might cause this kind of reaction. Anxiety bloomed through your body as you worried your lip.

His thumb smoothed over the agitated flesh and directed your attention to his eyes which you now recognised were angry and scared. “Talk to me sweetheart.”

“I can’t-”

“I just want to help. I swear I’m not mad.” When you blinked at him but didn’t say anything he moaned in worry. “Please, tell me where it hurts.”

Now you were beyond confused. Under his panicked gaze you stretched carefully and rotated your neck and shoulders before each tensing muscle area. A delicious ache in your core had you squirming slightly but other than that you felt fine. Heck better than fine. Your last full recollection of last night was melting into a boneless heap under Steve as he held you close. To go from that boneless heap to a sleepy daze and then receive this odd behaviour from the man who caused it all… your head hurt from the confusion which irritated you.

“What are you talking about? I’m fi-”

“Fine? How can you be fine?! Look at yourself!” He gestured towards the tops of your shoulders which you hadn’t actually looked at while stretching.

Oh.

Faint purple marks were dusted along the flesh and trailed down your arms slightly. Your head tilted in confusion as you prodded at one. It barely throbbed. Honestly you’d had worse bruises that appeared and disappeared just as quickly without knowing what caused them.

As your boyfriend briefly lined up his fingers to each bruise in a decidedly exaggerated manner to demonstrate that his grip had been the cause your mind once again raced through the prior night. When you were both about to reach your peaks you had requested he hold you and he had eagerly obliged by encasing you in his arms. At no point could you remember any discomfort or pain.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I am so, so sorry.” The whisper was anguished. Your boyfriend had moved to the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees as he hid his face in his hands. Restlessness rippled through his taut body.

As you felt him pull away both emotionally and physically you struggled with how to resolve this. Now that he had shown you the reason for his panic it was a little bit easier to understand where his mind was. But could he not remember the bliss of how you’d woken up or the pleasure you’d shared last night? Your mind ground to a halt by a horrible realisation. Maybe it hadn’t been shared. There was every chance that it had not been as pleasurable for him but he had carried on anyway. If that was the case it would absolutely explain his thought processes.

Quietly, you climbed off the bed and sank to your knees in front of him but he did not shift or give any indication that he’d noticed your movements. “Baby?” It came out as a rasp so you cleared your throat. “Baby, please.” Still no response. Well you were still going to talk. “Look, I know that you’d never mean to hurt me. It was an accident. But it’s fine. I’m fine. I thought you might have guessed that from how we woke up… and how things ended last night.” You bit your lip. “Or not. I know how it was for me but-”

Blue eyes met yours so suddenly you almost reared back in shock. But what made you hold your position was the fact his lashes were slightly darker and his eyes glistened. “Please tell me you’re not seriously suggesting that I didn’t enjoy last night?” When you avoided his eyes and instead locked your fingers together nervously he sighed and took each of your hands in one of his. “Sweetheart, look at me.” After he gently stroked his thumb along the back of your hand you met his warm gaze. “Last night was amazing. You were amazing. But it doesn’t change this” he murmured as he gestured towards the marks. “How can you say you’re fine?”

“You know what? You’re right, I’m not fine.” He ducked his head in shame. “I’m pissed that you’re killing the glow. Why can’t you believe me when I say I tell you how I’m feeling? You ask me to believe you that I’m not delicate in battle situations, how is this any different? It feels like you’re asking me to believe you but you don’t believe me.”

“It’s different when I’m the one who’s hurting you!” Steve’s fingers tugged through his hair in frustration. “I can’t- I won’t hurt you.” He stood and stalked out of the room leaving you feeling annoyed and hurt.

—————————————-

For the next few days, things changed drastically. Affection was limited. Before Steve constantly but absentmindedly touched you in some way almost instinctively. But now he froze when he reached out before adjusting his grip or hand placement.

“Still no change huh?” Sam eyed you over the cocktail pitcher that you were sipping from. He’d invited you out for a few drinks to catch up from the events you’d told him about.

You sighed and stabbed at the ice in the drink with your straw. “Nothing. Believe me it’s not for lack of trying. But I’ve noticed if he thinks I’ll spend the night at his he tries to tire me out by sparring or something so I just fall asleep.” You looked up at him feeling your lip wobble slightly as tears threatened your eye line. “Sam… I’ve even tried wearing things to bed. Sleep shifts, lace and silk and all of that. And he does nothing but smile and just cuddle.” You sighed heavily. “Maybe he’s just trying to find a way to break this off.”

Sam’s hand clasped yours and his brown eyes were lit with concern. “Don’t believe that for a second. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’d do anything for you. But he worries and gets in his own head. Man’s more stubborn than a mule.”

Rolling your eyes, you nodded in agreement. “I’ve gotten worse bruises.” At that, Akons ‘Smack That’ started playing over the speakers. You and Sam locked gazes before cackling with laughter. “Case in point.”

“Yeah yeah. Just remember we agreed to never speak of that.” Sam glared at you with mock anger. “I don’t need your Super Soldier boyfriend chasing me down because you made me spank you every time Akon said ‘smack that’.”

Giggling, you shoved him playfully. “I was drunk! Besides you said that no one could ‘smack that’ like you!”

“I was also drunk!” Both of you then eyed the remaining drinks and decided not to order anymore. “How did you explain that you couldn’t sit the next day anyway?”

“Said I fell.”

Sam nodded. “Just make sure you stick to that. Let’s finish this pitcher and call it a night.”

—————————————-

Slightly buzzed and happy, you entered your apartment to find Steve laying on the couch watching a new movie from his list. He looked up at your entry and paused the movie. “Hi honey.”

“Hi Stevie.” You hesitated before walking over to him. He sat up as you approached and smiled as you stroked his golden locks. He carefully wrapped his arms around you and took a moment to press his head to your tummy before pulling back.

“Did you have a nice time with Sam?”

You made a noise of agreement before placing a soft kiss to his forehead and stepped out of his embrace. “I’m gonna get ready for bed.” When you turned you missed the soft frown on Steve’s face. After wiping off your makeup and a quick shower you decided against the suggestive sleepwear. There were really only so many times you could offer with each little rejection having chipped away at you. Plus you didn’t want to douse the warmth of the buzz that Sam helped create. Instead you slipped on one of Steve’s t-shirts and crawled into bed.

Steve walked in shortly after having finished his movie. His heart melted at the sight of you cuddled up to his pillow. Quickly he stripped down to his boxers and joined you, pride swelling when he saw you were wearing his shirt. He was a little surprised, a little relieved and a little disappointed that you weren’t in one of those cute but tempting sleep sets. Though there was something about you wearing his clothes that tugged at his heartstrings. As he gently curved around your body you grumbled quietly before relaxing into his hold.

“Let me help you”

“Feels so good”

“Give it to me baby”

The sudden darkness and change in situation was jarring when you opened your eyes. Mere moments ago you had been hurtling towards the highest high under his burning gaze.

An incoherent mumble came from behind you.

Just a dream. You had imagined it. At the realisation you sniffled in disappointment.

“S’wrong baby?” When you didn’t answer Steve rolled over and reached to turn on his lamp before turning back to you where you were hiding your face in a pillow. “What is it?”

Your heart trembled at the concern in his voice. “Just a dream Steve. It’s fine.”

Steve huffed while arching a brow. “A dream that’s left you upset? Honey, that's not fine.” His warm hand brushed along your cheek as he encouraged you to roll onto your back. “Let me help you.”

His touch mixed with the words from your dream only brought back the ache that was plaguing your core with a vengeance. Leaning up you caught his mouth in a desperate kiss and your hands wrapped around his neck to keep him close to you. Steve’s brain froze for a second but you felt his resistance and tried to hold on even as he gently extracted himself despite your efforts. “Baby… no.”

Everything inside you screamed to move, to run away from the burning pain that came from his denial. It had been bad enough that the outfits hadn’t interested him but this was total rejection. You tried to squirm away from him but he pulled you against him, cradling your face as his blue eyes shone with pleas.

“I don’t want to hurt you baby.”

You already are. Steve’s sharp inhale and flinch of pain made you realise the words must have been said aloud. But you weren’t going to apologise. “You don’t touch me anymore Steve and if you do you’re adjusting your grip or where you put your hands. Is this all there is? You being scared to touch me and me wanting more?” A dam within you broke and tears began to spill.

Steve’s handsome face was torn with anguish as he watched. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he shook his head slowly.

“Steve.”

It might have been the tears that steadily trailed down your face or that he had never heard you say his name with such pain and need. But whatever it was had his resolve crumbling. His thumbs tenderly traced the tracks and swiped under your eyes before ghosting his lips against yours. At first you could not respond properly in fear that he would suddenly change his mind and you could not bear the pain of further rejection. Soft sounds of apology poured from Steve’s mouth as he lightly pressed kisses along your jaw and down your neck before returning to your mouth. One hand left your face and trailed down your side to your thigh before he hitched your leg over his hip. When your mouth parted in surprise he took advantage and with careful tenderness teased you with his tongue. He sighed happily when your tongue tentatively met his as you shifted slightly towards him. So caught up with Steve’s kisses and touches you suddenly weren’t sure how or where to touch him but before you could decide Steve lifted his hand that had been stroking your thigh and guided one of your hands to his hip before returning his back to your thigh. For a few moments you just let your hand drift up and down his side before cautiously squeezing the flesh and froze when a groan passed from his mouth to yours. Steve rolled so you straddled him. You broke the kiss in a bid for oxygen but Steve sat up and renewed his attention to your jaw and neck with kisses and soft sucks. As he reached that one spot below your ear you wriggled against him and felt his cock twitching through his boxers which were slowly dampening with your combined arousal. Reaching between your bodies you eagerly palmed his hard flesh which caused Steve to thrust up with a harsh grunt.

Something inside you snapped. No more games. You needed Steve. NOW. As you tugged the shirt over your head Steve raised his hips to shift his underwear far enough down to kick them off before you gripped his cock firmly and positioned him at your entrance. Steve’s head tipped back with a loud groan but his ocean eyes never left your face as you easily sank onto him thanks to gravity and how slick you’d become. He had felt big that first night but this position stretched you as he bottomed out deep with a pleasant burn. As you rolled your hips your clit brushed against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock and you whined at that first spark that soon turned into more as your movements quickened.

“That’s it baby” he murmured against the skin of your chest as his hands captured your face so he could watch you fall apart from just riding him. With a final roll you shattered into a trembling mess against him. For a few moments Steve watched your eyes become clouded with peace before they focused back on him. Your hands found his chest and pushed him back onto the mattress with a soft thump. Bracing your arms on him you leaned forward slightly and began to rise off him before sliding back down. Steve groaned at the wet heat sucking him in and he couldn’t help reacting when your breasts were so close to his face. He eagerly brushed his thumb over one while lapping and suckling at the other. A whine escaped him when you clenched from his actions. His hips flexed in retaliation and the tip of his cock nudged your g-spot. Both of you moaned at the sensation and he began to move in tandem with you as his hands moved to hold the bedsheets. The coil from before built faster and higher as you moved but wouldn’t snap even as your thighs began to burn from exertion.

You glanced down to see Steve’s face and chest flushed with pleasure as the sheets twisted in his white knuckled grip. “Stevie… please. Touch me.” The final thread of his restraint snapped as his hands found your hips and guided you as his thrusts quickened. “Oh my- Don’t stop Steve!”

Steve grunted as your walls pulsed around his throbbing cock in his determination to reach your release first. “No way sweetheart, not till you cum for me.” He planted his feet on the mattress and bucked up forcefully as you moaned loudly. “C’mon baby, cum on this cock. Cum for me now.”

Your cry of pleasure burst past your lips as your core spasmed around Steve’s cock but he kept moving and prolonging the pleasure. As you started to descend from your high he brought you down against him and held you tightly with one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other continued to squeeze your hip. He thrusted twice more before letting out a soft groan. You hummed contentedly feeling your core heat with his cum though his cock barely softened.

Soft kisses were dotted all over your face as Steve held you within the cage of his embrace. His soft blue eyes burned with devotion for you. “I’m sorry honey. Those bruises scared the hell out of me. I forget how strong I am and I feel like I can’t forget with you.”

You caught his face between your hands. “Steve, you’d never hurt me out of spite or carelessness. I’d tell you if you were hurting me. But I’d like to see how rough you can get. I kinda like it.” You blushed lightly.

“So I’ve heard.” You glanced up at him to see a grin tugging at his lips. “Do you care to tell me why you couldn’t bear to sit down on the same day Sam couldn’t touch anything with his right hand?”

[ramp-it-up]

Fade to Love: II

Fade to Love I

Summary: You and Bucky go way back. Way back to when you acted together 20 years ago. You had a crush on him then, but you were too young. You were best friends who shared a night. How's that working for you?

Word count: 5.3 K

Pairing: Actor!Director!Producer! Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This is the sequel to Fade To Love. As always, I crave feedback, so please let me know how you feel in asks, comments, reblogs and likes. TIA! ❤️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Best friends to lovers. AAANGST!, Referece to tragedy. Morning after thoughts, Mutual pining, argument, paparazzi, possessive Bucky, Director Bucky, nipple play, mirror sex, raw p-in v, bukkake, praise/degredation kink.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

----

You woke tangled in crisp white sheets that smelled like Bucky Barnes. Cedarwood and musk invaded your senses, dragging you back to the night before.

Memories of his lips and hands on you, tracing, worshipping, eating you out and eating you up, made heat rush to your cheeks. His voice, rough and commanding as he murmured your name and spilled his filthy thoughts, echoed in your mind.

The satisfying ache between your thighs was undeniable proof of just how thoroughly he’d fucked you. You stretched, your fingers grazing the cool edge of an unfamiliar bed.

Bucky’s bed.

Sunlight spilled through the windows, softening the room’s edges with a dreamy glow, but your thoughts were anything but calm. Doubts crept in.

Was he regretting it?

You shook your head, pushing the thought aside. Now wasn’t the time to spiral.

Spotting his dress shirt draped over a chair, you pulled it on, rolling the sleeves up your arms. His scent clung to the fabric, comforting and overwhelming all at once. 

The man you’d crushed on when you were fifteen had been yours last night. Yours. Now it was 20 years later and you were a grown woman.

You were the envy of millions of women. And yet, the same man might not feel the same way now that the sun was up.

Padding down the hallway, you followed the sound of humming and the smell of coffee.

The sight that greeted you stole your breath.

Bucky stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of ease that seemed to define him.

Barefoot, in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, he was the picture of domesticity. Damp curls clung to his forehead, still unruly from a recent shower.

“You’re up,” he said without turning, his voice warm and teasing.

“Thought you’d sleep in after last night. I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

“You could’ve woken me.”

Bucky turned then, his blue eyes sweeping over you in his shirt. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips before they curled into a slow, mischievous grin.

“Didn’t have the heart to. You looked... peaceful.”

You snorted softly, your irrational happiness bubbling over.

“Peaceful, huh?”

His grin widened, a smug, teasing glint lighting his eyes.

“Well, you were a little turned up last night.”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in two strides. His hands found your hips, his grip possessive yet gentle, and his expression softened.

“You okay?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, just... processing.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

“Me too,” he murmured. “But I’m glad it happened.”

You opened your mouth, but the words tangled in your throat, too intense to voice. So you just nodded.

“Breakfast first,” he said, rubbing slow circles into your back.

“Then we’ll talk, okay?”

Seated at the kitchen island, a warm mug of coffee in your hands, you felt steady for a moment. The morning felt almost perfect.

Until your phone buzzed.

You glanced at the screen, and your stomach dropped.

TMZ: Idol’s Ridge Reunion? Bucky Barnes and Y/N Spotted Together Outside Studio.

Your hands trembled as you opened the article: Bucky brushing something from your eye, his hand lingering on your face, the way you looked at each other. The photos were painfully intimate.

“Everything okay?”

His voice jolted you from your thoughts. You flipped the phone face down, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah.”

Bucky frowned, reaching for the phone. His expression darkened as he read the headline.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Memories of relentless tabloid scrutiny rushed back, your whirlwind romance with Steve, the endless rumors, and the tragedy.

Bucky set the phone down, his jaw tightening.

“Star... I’ve got to tell you something.”

“What?”

His hesitation was a warning.

“I called them.”

“What?”

“It was for the show,” he explained quickly.

“The studio wanted buzz. This was the easiest way.”

“You called the paparazzi?”

Your voice rose, disbelief giving way to anger.

“Without telling me?”

“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal,” he defended.

“Not a big deal?” A bitter laugh escaped you. 

“Bucky, you know what the tabloids did to me and Steve. How could you?”

“Don’t bring Steve into this,” he snapped, guilt and frustration coloring his tone.

Your chest tightened, and Bucky instantly knew that he messed up.

“He was my husband,” you said, your voice trembling as tears welled in your eyes. 

“I only had him for five years, and I don’t talk about him if I can help it. So when I do, you better fucking listen.”

“Star, I…”

Bucky reached for you, regret etched into his features, but you stepped back.

“I need air,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and shoes before slamming the door behind you, shattering your heart into pieces.

—---

In the car, you drove aimlessly, your thoughts drifting back to Steve.

You could still remember the first time he told you he loved you on the rooftop of his and Bucky’s first apartment in Brooklyn, looking up at the night sky. 

“I never thought I’d have this,” he’d said, his voice low and a little shy.  “Someone like you. Someone who makes me feel like... home. I love you, Star.”

Your heart had felt like it might burst. You kissed him, tears in your eyes, and whispered the words back to him.

“I love you, too, Steve.”

Steve was such a force, brilliant, focused, and endlessly talented. But there was always an ache in him, something raw he kept hidden from everyone, including you.

You and Steve ran away and got married in Vegas, and when you got pregnant, Steve was over the moon. But then you lost the baby, and something in him broke. He retreated, pouring himself into work until it consumed him.

“I don’t know how to fix him,” you told your friend and co star Carol Danvers, or Carrie as you called her, one night, after one of Steve’s binges of self-destruction.

“You can’t fix him. That’s not your job. He has to want to fix himself.”

But he didn’t. Not really. And no matter how much you loved him, you couldn’t save him from himself.

And then he was gone.

Now, sitting in your driveway, tears streaming down your face, you sobbed into the steering wheel.

One night of forgetting had let you imagine, however briefly, that you could be happy again. But deep down, you knew better.

You and Bucky couldn’t happen. Because you’d only destroy him too.

—--

In the days that followed, the writer’s room buzzed with activity, but the vibe between you and Bucky was tense and cold. 

You avoided him, throwing yourself into brainstorming sessions for the reboot of Idol’s Ridge with Sam and anyone else but Bucky, and worked very hard to get the show produced.

You spoke to him when you had to, but you weren’t giving him any more of yourself.

Even your friendship.

From across the room, Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He’d spent the last few days replaying every missed opportunity to tell you the truth about how he felt over the years, not just about the paparazzi, but about everything.

“You’re gonna lose her,” Sam said, his voice low enough that only Bucky could hear.

Bucky clenched his jaw. 

“I’m giving her space.”

“You’re making it worse,” Sam countered. 

“She’s gonna think you don’t care. She only has two more weeks until she goes on location for the movie. She won’t be back until it’s time for production on the show. You think she’ll wait forever?”

Bucky’s eyes lingered on you, your laughter floating across the room as you spoke with a studio exec. You didn’t even glance his way, and it gutted him.

Sam leaned forward, his voice softening. 

“Sometimes the hardest things are the ones you need to say. I’ve seen how she looks at you, Buck. And how you look at her. You’ve been patient long enough. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Bucky swallowed hard, his heart pounding. The distance between you felt unbearable, but the fear of losing you felt worse.

He glanced at the script in front of him, the scene marked where your characters, Jack and Sophie, finally confessed their feelings after decades of missed chances. He silently made a plan to talk to you before you left for Vancouver.

Then he glanced up and your eyes met across the room.

Everything else disappeared.

He could feel the weight of the past few days in that glance, the frustration, the longing, the hope that you would see past the hurt and talk to him. 

But then, before he could even get up from his chair, you turned away from him. It was a simple gesture, but it hit him like a punch to the gut. You were still angry. Still hurt. 

And Bucky knew that he had a long road ahead of him if he ever wanted to make things right. 

—---

When you went to Vancouver to film, you felt a weight lifted. The pressure to hold yourself in around Bucky was lifted, and you were able to immerse yourself into the role.

You would be away for about six weeks of filming, and then traveling for two to promote the film you completed the year before. Your mood lightened and communicating with Bucky became easier since there was no danger of being in the same room with him. 

But in your apartment late at night, the memories of that night would haunt your mind. And your body.

Bucky was restless as hell with you gone. The show was keeping him busy, as well as his other projects, but without you in LA, he felt unmoored.

He ate up every post on both your public and private instagrams, and mostly lurked in the years-old group chat that the OG Idol’s Ridge group had established, glad to see you joke around with the crew.

Until one day, Carrie dropped a grenade there.

The group chat, aptly named Day Ones buzzed with new messages as you stepped out of a meeting, your phone vibrating in your pocket.

Carrie: 📸💋 Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: our very own Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover star!!

The attached images loaded, one by one, and your stomach twisted at the sight of yourself. Your publicist had convinced you to do the photoshoot. SI had decided to feature over 30 models for their yearly iconic swimsuit edition.

You just got word that you would be the cover.

You were nervous as hell when you shared the pics, but you gave Carrie permission to drop them in the group chat.

There you were.

Sun-kissed skin, waves crashing behind you, barely-there bikini hugging your curves in a way that felt almost too intimate. The golden hour glow made everything seem unreal, but all you could see were the flaws, at least, the ones you were convinced were there.

Sam: Damn, Star. You out here making people weak in the knees. And by people, I mean Barnes.

You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes as more notifications poured in.

Carrie: Oh, he’s definitely not surviving this.

Bucky:

The message bubble popped up, then disappeared.

Then popped up again.

Then disappeared again.

Your brows furrowed as you waited, and finally, a single response came through.

Bucky: Holy. Shit.

That was it. Just two words, but they held a weight that had your breath catching in your throat.

Carrie: THAT’S IT?! That’s all you have to say?! Our girl is a goddamn goddess and all you can muster is Holy Shit?!

Sam: Pretty sure that’s his brain short-circuiting.

You: Don’t zoom in on my thighs. I swear to God.

Carrie: Too late.

Sam: Enhancing...

Bucky: No need. Already perfect.

You groaned, rolling your eyes before finally typing out a response.

You: You guys are ridiculous. It’s just a photoshoot. With strategic lighting. And Photoshop.

Bucky: Bullshit.

Your heart did a weird little flip at that.

Bucky: That’s all you. No Photoshop could ever do that justice.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Before you could think of a witty comeback, a new message appeared.

Bucky: I need a minute.

Sam: Oh, we know.

Carrie: 😈😈😈 Bucky Barnes, down BAD.

Sam: No, no, let him cook. I wanna see where this goes.

You: Y’all need to stop.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you locked your phone, but the warmth wasn’t just embarrassment. It was something else entirely.

And if you were honest with yourself,  it was something you weren’t ready to deal with.

So, instead, you buried the feeling and headed back to set, pretending that Bucky Barnes hadn’t completely unraveled you with just a few simple words.

—--

Bucky sat at his desk, staring at his phone with his mouth open. 

His heart was pounding and his throat was dry. He’d been trying to keep things controlled and professional, but he had absolutely no idea how to recover from this. 

He just stared at the PA who asked for his coffee order, his ability to string together a coherent sentence gone. 

Bucky had seen you in every possible light, laughing over late-night drinks, tearing into a script with that determined fire, wrapped up in nothing but his sheets. 

But this? This was different.

This was you, untouchable, stunning, and completely unaware of the effect you had on him. And now millions of other men.

And the worst part? You didn’t even see it.

Good lighting and Photoshop?

Bullshit.

His hands flexed against his thighs as he dragged a palm down his face, exhaling sharply. The image of you, all beautiful curves and confidence for the camera, was burned into his brain, and no amount of self-discipline was going to erase it.

Then came the group chat’s relentless teasing. Sam and Carrie were enjoying his suffering way too much.

No, no, let him cook. I wanna see where this goes.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut.

No, Sam didn’t want to know “where this goes,” because if Bucky had his way, you’d be in his lap right now, feeling exactly how undone he was and making a scene on Sam's desk.

He opened his laptop and poured all of his emotion into a script because he needed to do something.

Preferably something that didn’t end with him jumping on a plane to Canada.

—--

When you came back to LA to begin filming the series, you found a different man waiting for you.

Bucky Barnes, the director, wasn’t the same Bucky you tried to avoid before you left.

This version of him carried an edge of authority, and it was infuriatingly, irresistibly sexy. He wasn’t just directing a story; he was shaping the energy in the room, controlling every glance, every movement, every breath.

Especially yours.

You could see it in the way his eyes scanned the set, razor-sharp and calculated, ensuring every detail was in place, every piece of the puzzle aligned. 

But when his gaze locked on yours, all that precision seemed to falter. Just for a moment. Just long enough for the tension between you to spark, and almost ignite.

It was erotic as hell.

“Alright, let’s set up for the next scene.”

Bucky’s voice cut through the set, steady and commanding, as he moved into position. He wasn’t just giving instructions now; he was stepping into the role opposite you, directing himself alongside you. 

The weight of that hit you hard, a collision of the personal and professional that you weren’t sure you could handle.

You tried to focus on the lights, your marks, the lines you’d rehearsed a hundred times. Anything to avoid the way he overwhelmed you. 

But it was impossible.

Every word he spoke, every glance he threw your way, was like an unraveling. The heat between you wasn’t just a distraction; it was dangerous.

“Closer,” Bucky said, his voice quieter now, meant only for you.

He stood just a few feet away, his blue eyes locked on yours, and that fact made it hard to breathe.

“We need the emotion to hit, to feel real. If the audience doesn’t believe this moment, none of it works.”

You nodded, your throat dry, trying to concentrate on the performance. But the way he looked at you, so intense, so raw, it cut through all your defenses.

He stepped closer, his movements careful, testing the tension between you.

“This has to feel authentic,” he murmured. 

Another step, and he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Closer,” he said again, and this time, it wasn’t just a direction. 

“The kiss. It’s the turning point. It can’t feel forced. Let it feel real.”

His tone stayed professional, but his eyes told a different story. They burned with conflict, frustration, and something else you didn’t want to name.

You swallowed hard as he closed the distance between you, his proximity enough to make your heart race.

“Trust me,” he said, his tone softer now and his gaze softer still. He was asking for more than your performance.

The cameras rolled.

“Action!”

You fell into the rhythm of the scene, the dialogue, the choreography. But with every word, every movement, the line between acting and reality blurred. His direction, always precise, always clear, made the emotions feel far too real.

And then came the kiss.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist, his touch firm but careful, and his lips met yours in a way that was supposed to be calculated and rehearsed. 

But it wasn’t.

The kiss wasn’t just for the camera. 

It was real. Achingly, undeniably real. His grip on your waist, the way his lips pressed against yours, the slight hitch in his breath; it was all Bucky. 

And it was everything you hadn’t wanted to admit.

When he finally pulled back, your chest was heaving, and you couldn’t meet his eyes. Not when everything you’d been trying to bury was now out in the open, raw and exposed.

For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing unsteady. 

The camera captured every second of it.

“Cut,” Bucky said as though he just remembered what was happening.

His voice was rough, and the cracks in his control were showing.

The crew reset for another take, their chatter and movement distant, irrelevant. You stayed where you were, barely an inch apart, your heart pounding against your ribs.

“You’re doing great,” Bucky said softly, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear. 

Those blue eyes searched yours. 

“But we need to go deeper. You have to trust me.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with double meaning. You couldn’t tell if he was talking about the scene or something between you, but it didn’t matter.

“Let’s go again,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, his gaze never leaving yours.

Your knees were weak at the request.

And in that moment, the lines between the director and the man disappeared completely.

—-

Moments later, Bucky prowled the length of his trailer, restless. Physical distance hadn’t helped a damn bit.

He wanted you. And want was too tame a word for what he was feeling.

The kiss had been real, and now the slow burn of his feelings had erupted into an uncontrollable inferno. And if there hadn’t been an entire soundstage full of people, he would’ve done something about it. 

Dragging a hand through his hair, he realized his fingers were trembling.

This had to stop.

—---

Bucky knocked on the door of your trailer, his chest heaving, his mind a whirlwind. He couldn’t shake what had happened in that scene. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so real.

But it had.

And now, he was standing outside your door, hands unsteady, wondering if he’d completely lost his grip on what was professional and what was personal.

Inside, you still felt the ghost of his lips on yours, his voice in your ear. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pretend it hadn’t affected you. Couldn’t pretend it hadn’t torn down all the walls you’d built.

The knock came. Your heart flipped. You knew who it was.

But you hesitated.

You told yourself opening that door was a bad idea. That letting him in would only complicate things. But the truth was, the door had been open for a long time.

So, you let him in.

Bucky stepped inside, and suddenly, the space felt too small. He lingered by the door, and you could see the tension in his body, and the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself.

The weight of his gaze fell on you.

And you shifted, your thighs pressing together for relief, and fuck, if that wasn’t a mistake. Because Bucky’s eyes caught the movement. His breath hitched, and for the briefest second, his lips parted like he was imagining something filthy.

Like he was remembering the taste of you.

You took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Not when he was looking at you like that.

"I--" His voice faltered. 

He swallowed hard.

"That scene… was too much."

You stared at him.

"What do you mean, too much?"

His jaw clenched. 

"You were too good. Too real. I didn’t mean for it to be like that."

Your heart was going a mile a minute. He wasn't making any sense.

“What do you mean, too good? You didn’t mean for what to happen, Bucky?”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And in that moment, you knew.

It was written all over his face.

He loved you.

And he had for a long time.

"You’re a fucking amazing actress. You sold that kiss back there. I…" 

He licked his lips, gaze dropping to your mouth, his voice going rough. 

"But I think you’ll never give me another chance at it. Not outside of a production set.”

His words made your stomach flip, but before you could respond, he stepped closer to you.

"I can’t stand this anymore. This distance. Dammit, Star, I want my friend back."

You cocked your head at him, playful.

"I thought you said you weren’t my fucking friend."

A slow, knowing smile pulled at Bucky’s lips, his charm breaking through the tension. He remembered that he’d said that while inside you.

"I did say that, didn’t I?"

He moved even closer, testing the waters, drinking in the way you didn’t move away. 

"You remember that night?"

Your breath caught. 

"Yes. I do."

"Good." His voice dropped, low and rough. "Because it’s all I fucking think about."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"How we had a few hours of bliss before… I fucked it up. I think about that and so much more."

 His voice was raw with regret.

“What else do you think about, Buck?”

He let out a shaky breath. 

"I think about how I told you my fantasies. About how I said a lot of dirty things to you, but not the dirtiest secret in my heart."

He reached up, fingers skimming the length of your arm, curling around your shoulder, finally cradling your face in his hand. His thumb brushed against your cheek.

"You’re so damn beautiful, Starlight."

Your lips parted. “Is that the secret?”

You were scared, but still cracked a joke.

Bucky huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. 

"Nah. That’s not a secret. That’s something the whole damn world knows."

He looked at you like he was memorizing you.

"My secret is that I love you, Star." 

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it crashed over you like a tidal wave. 

"I’ve loved you for years."

The air was sucked out of the room.

"I fell in love with you when you were 20 and I was 25."

He nodded when your mouth fell open.

"I remember the first time I really saw that you had grown into a full grown woman. I was visiting your set set with Steve, and you were just… talking, laughing. Your hair was short then, and it suited you so well.

You were so full of life, so damn beautiful. But I knew that you were off-limits, Steve wanted you. So I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to make things complicated. But, fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I still can’t."

The way he said it made your heart ache.

"You didn’t tell me," you whispered. My 21st birthday… you let Steve..."

"Yeah." Bucky exhaled, his voice thick with regret. 

"I let Steve buy you that first drink. And I stood there across the room, watching him hand it to you, and it felt like I’d been punched in the chest."

His voice dropped to barely a whisper.

"I was going to tell you that night. But then... you looked at him like you’d never looked at me. And I thought... maybe you were better off with him."

Your breath caught in your throat. 

“But that was then. You and I are here. Right now. And I don’t want to hold back any more.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, stepping closer, your hand reaching out, brushing against his chest. 

The feel of his body under your fingers made your pulse race. You realized that happiness wasn’t conditional, and that you weren’t in control of love. You decided to let yourself believe in him and in the possibility of what could come next. 

“I love you too, Bucky.”

His face transformed with joy, his smile was huge.

“Really?”

You nodded, grinning back.

“Really really.”

Bucky laughed a little, then his mouth found yours, the kiss deepening with every movement, every breath. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall of the trailer.

The space between you was gone, and all that was left was this moment, this undeniable pull that had always been there, waiting for the right time.

You couldn’t resist him. 

You didn’t want to. 

“Definitely not your friend anymore.” 

You laughed and then your mouths devoured each other, tongues licking, caressing, tasting. Your hands grabbed, pushed clothes off, tore at buttons, and ripped at fabric. Wardrobe be damned.

Your heavy breaths mingled, and you exchanged incoherent confessions. 

“Missed you so much…” 

“Not more than I did.” 

“Oh My God, you feel so good!” 

“No, you do!” 

“Felt like forever.” 

You ended up in your underwear, straddling Bucky’s lap. One of his hands pulled your bra cups down to pinch and roll your nipples, while the other one slid your underwear to the side and started rubbing along your wet slit. 

“Feel so fucking good, Starlight. So fucking hot.”

You grabbed on to his broad shoulders, still covered by a shirt that had lost most of its buttons. But his eyes were on your nipples, tongue moistening his lips.

"I want to taste them." 

"So do that," you whispered. 

Those now navy blue eyes flicked up to yours.

"I wasn't asking your permission." 

You gasped when he circled his finger around a nipple and flicked it over the tight bud. 

"Bucky…" you moaned and squirmed on his lap.

"It's a mouthful, isn't it?" he murmured as if to himself as he bent and swirled his tongue around the bud before pulling it into his mouth.

 "Oh."

Bucky gorged himself on the nipple and realized he couldn't get enough. He switched to the other nipple, his tongue flicking over the bud before giving it the same treatment he'd given the other one. All the while the hand on your pussy rolled your clit with the pad of his thumb, and you were so fucking close to heaven.

“Bucky’… I… I want you, baby. Inside…” 

He held you in place by the waist with one arm, and pulled down his pants and underwear with the other, exposing your long lost best friend. At the sight of the drop of precum adorning the engorged head, your mouth watered, and Bucky caught the hungry look on your face. 

“Later, Star. Right now, I need to see you to cum all over my dick. Been dreaming of this since the last time you were in my arms.” 

Bucky lifted you off his lap and set you on your unsteady feet, rising behind you and kicking off his clothes. He moved you in front of the floor length mirror near your wardrobe rack and loomed over your shorter frame in the mirror. 

You shamelessly rubbed yourself on his hard, erect cock after your remaining clothes were discarded. 

“Look at us.”

When you do, you were assaulted by the sensuality of your reflections. The contrast of his golden skin and your complexion, of his large, hard body and your smaller, curvy form. His long fingers massaged your sensitive breasts. His dark curls pointed every which way, and your careful hair and makeup were completely undone. 

Bucky locked his eyes on yours as he pumped the head of his cock at your entrance and rubbed it between your sleek folds. He traced a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, raising goosebumps all over your skin. 

“I want us both to watch you cum,” he whispered before nipping at your earlobe. 

At his dirty words, a spasm ran through your body. You squeezed your thighs together, making the fit around his cock even tighter. 

“Fuuuuck…” Bucky dragged out, low and gravelly. 

Bucky lifted you by the bottom of your thighs, the head of his dick still at your opening, and he started to fill you nice and slow, inch by delicious inch.  

You saw your exposed labia in the mirror: glistening, pink, engorged, and stretched. You didn’t know if you were going to come from the pleasure building through your body or the erotic image in the mirror. 

When he was seated deep inside you, Bucky let your legs slide down your bodies, and grabbed your waist. 

“Hold on,” was his only warning, before two of his fingers reached for your clit, pinching it, as he started pistoning inside you, slamming you back into him with the hand at your hip. 

You felt your orgasm building towards its explosion, and closed your eyes, lost in the sensation. 

“No…” Bucky growled 

“Look at me. This is mine. You’re mine. Look at me when you cum.” 

You forced your eyes open and gasped out an impossible breath. The sounds of flesh against flesh, the wet noises, the smell of sex… so many sensations combined to push you over the edge.

You came undone, desperately fighting to maintain eye contact with Bucky, and feeling him start to come undone himself.

He pulled out of you and you watched him grab the base of his cock, staving off his own end. 

You slid down to your knees.

“We watched my show, Buck, now it’s time for us to watch you cum. All over my face.”

“Oh, my dirty little girl. My naughty queen. So fucking good for me.”

Bucky started stroking his cock, his hand blurring as you opened your mouth wide and stuck out your tongue, your hands clutching his thighs as he jerked for you.

“Mmmmmph… Fuckkkk, Starrrrr.”

It didn’t take long for Bucky to spray his hot, white cum all over your tongue and the rest of your face. 

Bucky huffed and almost doubled over at the intensity of his orgasm. He gave you a filthy cum filled kiss before you went to wash your face.

You wound up in the shower making up for lost time, standing wrapped up in Bucky, firmly in the present.

———

Let be know if you like it!

[conchcronch]

Kinktober 2024: Day 13

WC: 4995

Summary: A drunken night he had told you he wanted you to fuck him, after a few weeks of preparation and planning the day is here.

A/N: This chapter is literally the WHOLE REASON I did Kinktober, just to force myself to write his one fuckin’ thing.

Warnings: Aside from the very obvious NSFW content, I did make him have a mommy kink which I know isn’t everyone’s cup of tea of please be advised.

The plan has been laid out for weeks. The idea was originally put out into the world one drunken night in bed, fucking yourself slowly on Sanji’s cock while he begged you to fuck him. The topic was later broached in a delicate manner as you two sat alone in the aquarium bar, him planning the next day’s meals and you pretending to read a book. From there the plan evolved until the date was upon you.

The Sunny was docked at a larger island where the crew planned to explore, restock and enjoy a day on land. From the moment you saw Sanji you could tell he was counting down the minutes until they left, having woken up even earlier then normal to prep breakfast, excusing himself once everyone started eating under the gauze of not feeling quite himself but the look he gave you as he walked by told you exactly what he was going to his room to do.

You looked yourself up and down in the full length mirror, your outfit was the first thing you had planned before even confirming with Sanji that he was into this. You had been looking for an excuse to wear the skirt you had bought in a hurry when it appeared much longer on the mannequin, and a crop top that Sanji had to give you strict instructions to never wear it around the ship otherwise he may pass out from blood loss. The came the equipment; the harness was nothing overly exciting, the black fabric of the straps dangling limply behind you, grazing the backs of your thighs every so often as you adjusted the bright pink silicon cock that bobbed between your legs, forcing your skirt to tent. As you stared at yourself you slowly worked your new appendage, noting the ridges and bumps trying their best to mimic the veins of a real cock, the very tip of the head poking out from the edge of your skirt. Just at the sight of yourself, you could feel your folds become sticky with arousal, but that was going to have to wait, today is all about him.

A knock at the door made you jump, clearly too wrapped up in your new accessory to have registered the sound of his dress shoes clicking against the floors. You pulled the door open, you immediately clocked how nervous he seemed, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched together tightly. His eyes were wide when he saw you, if there had been a cigarette between his lips he would have had to save it from falling when his mouth hung slack. You stepped aside, silently inviting him in before closing and locking the door behind him.

He couldn’t decide what part of you to stare at first, your pert nipples barely covered by the thin blue material of the cursed crop top, or the way your skirt barely fell below your ass which had harsh black straps over the curve of your cheeks. But what ultimately held his gaze was the hot pink silicon tip poking out from the hem of your skirt, the cock wasn’t fully ridged, the weight of the skirt and it’s own heavy material making it droop and sway as you moved your hips.

As he looked over you, you couldn’t help but noticed how semi erect cock beginning to strain against his slacks, a forced swallow making his Adam’s apple bob. “Sanji?” You spoke quietly, almost as though you were worried you’d spook him. He didn’t even move his head when he hummed in response. “Did you still want to…” You allowed your sentence to fade, knowing he knew what you were asking without having to say it.

“I do, I’m just…I’m not sure how to start.” He pressed a hand to his head, as he so often does when he’s stressed, his eyes coming up to meet yours and you can tell immediately how unsure he is.

“Come here” You stepped forward, pulling his hand from his hair and guiding it around your waist as you rocked up onto your toes so you could press a kiss to his lips, drawing him into something deeper. You almost missed the groan when he pressed his hips into your’s, grinding against the synthetic bulge that was now pressed squarely against his own as you pressed your tongue past his lips. His other hand grabbed your hip, pulling you closer to him as he moaned into your mouth, unable to muffle his sounds already. The pads of his fingers pressed into your flesh as he whined, clearly wanting more then what you were offering him, his hips rutting against your strap. “So eager already.” You whispered against his lips, smiling when he whimpered.

“I want this” You swallowed his words, your nails digging slightly into his neck when you heard them. You cant your hips forward, feeling him moan against you more than hearing it as you repeated the motion over and over again, your hand moving from his neck to his lower back, applying just enough pressure to keep him from pulling away from your hips.

”What do you want, my love?” You pulled your lips away, smiling as he pressed a chaste kiss to you before you could pull back outside of his reach.

“Can you t-take control.” His eyes were fixed on the strap as it bobbed between you when you shifted your weight.

“You want me to tell you what to do?” You asked in a soft voice, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek, guiding his eyes to meet yours as he nodded. “You want me to take really good care of you, hm?”

“Please” His voice was barely louder then a breath.

“Let’s get this off, what do you think?” He nodded again as you dragged your hand from his face down his neck until it grabbed the first button of his shirt and worked it from the hole, doing the same with each button, feeling his eyes watching you do so. The tips of your fingers grazed his soft chest with every movement, even dragging over his pecs and shoulders as you guided his shirt off of him, tossing it over the back of your desk chair. Next, you dropped to your knees, not missing the surprised gasp he let slip as you unzipped his slacks and tugged them from his narrow hips.

His cock was straining against his boxer briefs, a wet spot already apparent on the ocean blue fabric. Despite knowing he was already closer then he would ever admit, you couldn’t resist running your tongue over the salty patch, feeling his hands quickly push your head away, a whimper barely slipping from between his lips. You glanced up at him, already knowing he was going to make excuses that it was all too much, but you didn’t let him. You lowered your head, dragging your tongue along his covered shaft, his hands balling in your hair but not pushing you away. You repeated this a few times, until the stain had grown and his hips were bucking up in a silent plea for more.

You grabbed the sides of his underwear and tugged them off, running your hands back up along the his thighs as his hands moved from your hair to your cheeks, guiding you up to your feet.

As he kissed you, you could tell he was less in his head, the pleasure outweighing the self doubt he had been feeling when he first knocked on your door. His tongue ran along yours, your lips slotting together like two puzzle pieces that had been seperated for decades. You swallowed each other’s moans, prompting the other to return them until his hands moved from your cheeks to your hips, tugging you even closer against him, your silicon cock pressed against his.

“Can you go lay on the bed for me?” You barely pulled your lips away from his to get the words out, feeling him nod as he pressed on more, long kiss to you, clearly reluctant to pull away but forcing himself to do so anyway. He stepped back until he could sit on your bed, pushing himself back so his back was against the headboard and his legs were spread wide enough to fit between them.

You crawled between his legs, guiding one to bend at the knee and pressing kisses to his knee as you lowered yourself. You could feel his eyes boring holes into you, wanting to question your every move but biting his tongue. You laid on your stomach, propping your self up on your elbows so you could press kisses to the inside of his thigh as he had done time and time again to you.

Something about this power, this role reversal had you buzzing. You had tried power play in the past, taking the reins in the bedroom, but something about the heavy silicon piece that dangled between your legs gave you a different kind of confidence. As your lips got closer and closer to his cock, his hips bucked up slightly. Your free hand reached down onto the ground, underneath the bed until you could grab the small bottle of lube that you kept away from any prying eyes. The familiar sound of the cap opening made Sanji tense for a split second, the dense lehg muscle you were peppering with kisses going ridgid under your lips.

Noticing his sudden unease you pushed yourself up, bringing your legs underneath you so you could lean over him. One hand still held the bottle, while the other ran over his chest. “Can I start” You watched as he turned his head, his eyes fixating to a spot on the wall as he nodded, his cheeks somehow turning and even darker shade of red. “I’ll take it super slow.” It would have gone without saying, but you still wanted to say it, more so for yourself. You sat back on your feet, watching as he scooted down on the bed so his head was on the pillows and you had more access to him. You pushed the leg that wasn’t bent out more, opening his hips before pouring a healthy amount of lube over your fingers.

His ass was more muscle then fat, making it a touch harder to spread with your non-lubed hand. You rubbed your fingers over his hole, spreading the slippery substance over his entrance before slowly pressing your middle finger against the muscle. You forced your eyes away from his hole and up to his face, noting his furrowed brow and pinched eyes as you slowly pressed more and more of your finger into him. “You’re doing so well, such a good boy.” You pressed a kiss to his knee, resting your chin against it so you could watch him as you tried to bend your finger inside him. You pulled your finger almost all the way out before pressing it back inside, bending it he swallowed you to the third knuckle, speeding up each time until his lips parted and you could see his breathing becoming more labored. “Think you can take another one?” He nodded, his eyes still pinched closed but this time you could tell it was from pleasure rather than discomfort.

You pulled your finger all the way out, pouring some more lube over your fingers before slowly pressing the two inside. You could tell his jaw was clenched but he was trying to keep himself together as you stretched him out. “You’re doing so well sweetie, so good for me.” You spoke in a soft voice, pressing kisses to his knee as you did. With every half inch of your fingers he swallowed you breathed a good or juuuust like that until he had taken up to your knuckles. You bent both fingers, rubbing them in a come hither motion as he had done so many times to you, watching as he sucked in a shaky breath. “Does that feel good, my love?” His brows knitted closer together, his eyes still pinched as he nodded. “I’m just gonna’ stretch you out okay, let me know if it’s too much.” He nodded, his lips parting in a shaky sigh as you separated your fingers, feeling his walls surrounding your fingers.

You worked him open until his walls no longer felt tight around you, making sure to crook them every so often, the sound of a shaky whine slipping out was all the reassurance you needed. When he started bucking his hips, his cock drooling pre cum, you pulled out, reapplied lube and pressed three fingers into his stretched hole. Part of you was amazed he hadn’t softened, his cock still, if not harder then it was when you started, a messy pool of pre cum smeared over his belly button and lower stomach, his hips bucking as you spread your fingers inside of him.

“P-please.” Was the first real word to fall from his lips in what felt like an hour. His voice was rough, mouth dry and head lolled back against your pillows. “Please” He repeated, his hips bucking as you bent all three fingers inside of him, pressing against something that made him almost cry out.

“Please what?” Your voice was dripping with jest as you watched his hips buck against your fingers.

“I’m ready.” His cock looked like it hurt, his skin turning red from the blood held in his tissue, you could almost see it pulse.

“You’re ready for what?” You tried your best to keep your tone innocent, wanting to hear him ask for it. He groaned in response, squirming on your fingers in hope you would give in before he did. You moved from where your head was perched on his bent knee for the first time in awhile, feeling your body ache slightly as you bent your body over his, pressing a kiss to his bitten lips. “Come on love, I just want to hear you ask for it.” You could feel how slick your cunt was, your core pulsing, with every whimper you craved more. You wanted to fuck yourself on his cock, wanted to smother his whines with your cunt, feel his tongue press into your hole the way your fingers fucked into his. But tonight was his night, something you had been planning, researching and thinking about for many weeks. He made you cum almost every night, tonight was about giving into something he trusted you enough to share.

“I’m ready…” The way his voice faded out led you to believe he wasn’t done with his thought, so you stayed quiet, giving him the space to ask. “I’m ready for you to fuck me.” You couldn’t help but moan at his words, giving your fingers one more come hither before pulling them out slowly, watching as his relaxed hole clenched around nothing.

You backed yourself up, leaning back on your haunches as you reached down and grabbed the now half finished bottle of lube. Just before you were about to pour a good amount of the milky coloured liquid over your pink cock his voice made you pause. “Wait” Your eyes quickly met his, his eyes trained down to your silicone cock before meeting yours. ”I want to make you cum…before we finish.” You nodded, you ready should have anticipated he would do this. “Please” Without another word you laid back on the bed, your head landing just shy of the footboard of the bed. He was quick to flip his position, his face almost immediately buried in your folds, moving your legs over his shoulders so he could feel the squeeze of your thighs around your head.

His tongue felt like it was everywhere, his fingers pressing into your hole while he lapped greedily at your neglected clit. He was moaning almost uncontrollably into your, the hand that wasn’t fucking into you was holding onto your thigh, until it vanished. You were so lost in the pleasure, the feeling of his lips where you had wanted them most since before he had walked into your room that you barely registered the feeling of something pulling at the harness you had almost forgotten was there. When you opened your eyes that you hadn’t even realized were closed, you saw his hand wrapped around your silicon shaft, moving up and down as if he were jerking you off.

You were mesmerized, his knuckles were white from how tightly he was holding onto you, his thumb swiping over your false head in a clearly very practiced motion as he moaned into your cunt. You rutted against his face, feeling your orgasm grow, until finally your thighs clenched around his head, keeping the tip of his tongue flicking over your clit again and again until you were arching from overstimulation. You pulled your fingers from his hair, not caring enough to question when they had even gotten there. You ran your hand over your stomach, under your crop top and pulled at your pebbled nipple, grinding against his face as you felt yourself start to get wet again.

There was a beat where you thought he might dive back in, and honestly you’re not sure if you would have pushed him away or not. But before he could decide, you pressed your foot to his shoulder, shoving him away so you could get up. As you sat up and he pushed himself up from where he laid you couldn’t help but kiss him, the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. “Do you want me to fuck you?” Lust had taken over, your hips rutting your cock against his, your hands leading his under your shirt so he could grab at your tits.

“Yes” he breathed out, likely not even aware of his own words.

“I’m gonna’ fuck you so good” No words were good enough for a response in that moment, the only sound he was able to produce was a whiny moan. You pulled your lips back from him so there was enough space to pull your shirt over your head, his lips quickly moving to your now exposed chest. He sucked at your breast as though he may get substance from it, moaning into you as you pulled the clasps at the side of your skirt until you could toss it to join your shirt. “Lay back for me” you carded your fingers through his golden tresses, watching as his lust drunk eyes opened and slowly met your gaze, pulling away from your chest before laying back slowly.

The bottle of lube was in your hand again, squeezing it over your silicone cock running your hand along it to make sure it was sufficiently slick. His eyes followed your hand, lips parted as his breath came in quick little gasps. When you were done you wiped your hand on the sheets before moving between his long legs.

The head of your cock nudged against his entrance first, one hand holding the strap steady while the other wrapped around his cock, not moving, just holding him tightly as a source of stimulation. “Relax my sweet boy” you rubbed gentle circles on the underside of his cock as you pressed further into him, watching more and more of the strap disappear inside of him. “That’s it, you’re taking me so well.” He tried to stifle a moan but it slipped out as you pressed more than half of it inside of him. Despite wanting to press further inside you forced yourself to pause, giving him time to grow accustomed to the stretch.

You watched his expression, scanning your eyes over his face until nothing his brow relaxed, and his eyes slowly opened, his head nodding slightly to signal you to keep going. And who were you to question it.

You changed your grip on him, maintaining your hold on his cock but moving your other hand from the strap to his leg, guiding it over your shoulder. There was a split second of resistance that you could feel in his thigh when you started moving it but as you sank into him deeper his leg went lax. You pressed kisses to the side of his knee, the exact same way he did to you whenever you were in this position, your eyes staying glued to his until your pelvis was flush against him. “You’re such a good boy, how’s it feel?” You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, his jaw tightening and loosening a few times before he nodded, his eyes moving beneath the lids as he tried to search for words.

“Feels…” his voice was raspy, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he tried to find the word that perfectly described how he was feeling, knowing a simple good wouldn’t be enough for you. “Full” you hummed as you slowly stroked his cock which had softened a bit but still stood firm in your grasp. As you ran your thumb over his head, pre cum quickly gathering from his slit for you to work down his shaft his head lolled back, a breathy moan falling from his lip.

It didn’t take long before his cock was pulsing in your hand and his hips wiggled against your strap, almost as though he was trying to fuck himself on you, but you remained steadfast, hoping he’d be reduced to begging for it. Which of course, he was.

”P-Please” His gasped as the slick sound of your hand on his cock filled the room, his leg was tensing over your shoulder, trying to draw you closer to him but you knew he was consciously controlling how much of his leg strength he used with you. ”Pleaaase” He threw his arm over his eyes but you could see the tips of his ears were burning, and the blush had even traveled down to his bare chest.

“Please what, baby?” You couldn’t help but lean forward, his leg now trapped between your chest and his, a startled whine fell from his lips as your strap nudged against his prostate. You let go of his now pulsing cock so you could push his arm away from his face, your lips pressing to his forehead. “I’ll give you everything you want if you can just use your words, like a good boy.” He moaned in response, moving his head in an attempt to capture your lips but you were quick to pull just far enough away that he missed. You clicked your tongue at him, pressing your hips further into him, earning yourself a broken moan. “Come on, it’s not that hard baby, just tell me what you want.” You were close enough that your lips brushed over his as you spoke, his wide, wet eyes were locked on yours as he tried desperately to fuck himself on your unmoving cock. ”Let mommy make you feel good.” Words you never expected to say, but the sound that left Sanji made it all worthwhile.

“Fuck” The word unconsciously felt his parted lips the same was a breath does, a shaky hand reaching up to run through his own damp bangs, moving the blonde locks completely out of the way of his normally concerned eye. ”C-can you p-plea-se move.” His swirled eyebrows knit together as the words left his lips.

“See, was that so hard?” You pushed yourself up, moving your hand to support yourself on the bed next to his head, rolling your hips as you adjusted. His whole body moved, his calf muscle flexing against your chest as you wrapped your free hand around his thigh using it to support the position change.

You rolled your hips against him, pulling out slowly before pressing into him until there was little resistance against the toy. With every thrust his moans got louder, but not quite has loud as it had been when you had managed to hit the squishy organ inside of him.

You pulled completely out of him, a long whine leaving his lips in place of a question which would have been near impossible for him to piece together in that moment.You guided his leg off your shoulder as you slipped off the bed, glad that even in this cock drunk state he was able to understand what you were trying to do so he could move allowing his legs were dangling off the bed on either side of you. The toy slipped back inside him with as little resistance as there is for him after he’s made you cum a few times. He sucks in a sharp breath as you sink into him fully, only stopping when your bodies can be no closer together, your hands pulling his legs over your shoulders and tugging him closer to the edge of the bed so his hips are lower then yours, a position you hope will get the desired outcome.

The sight of his muscular legs over your feminine frame made his face turn a bright red, watching as you nip at the calf that's over your right shoulder, your leg hand running down the other leg until you can run grab his hip. You begin fucking him, moving your hips at a different angle each thrust until a startled moan shoots from his lips. You lock your body into that angle and begin to pound into him as though you had sensation in the strap and you were chasing your mounting orgasm. Everytime the bulbous head of the cock grazed along his prostate, his sounds got more and more broken, his volume louder than he had ever been before. Very quickly what little resolve he still maintained cracked, shattering the moment your hand wrapped around his aching cock again.

His head lolled back, eyes filled with tears, jaw slack as the moans poured out of him. Anytime he tried to speak, words turned into whimpers and cries, begging for more, which you tried to give him but you didn’t have the stamina he did, you could feel the muscles in your stomach, hips and even your ass started to protest your thrusting but you couldn’t let up.

As you fucked into him, unable to tear your gaze away from him you felt his hand grab the hand that was wrapped around his cock, assuming he wanted you to move it you slowly started to move your wrist, which forced a pained cry from his lips, his head shaking as his grip on your tightened. “T-t-o-oo m-much” he met your gaze, his hand still tight around your wrist as you pieced together the fact that he didn’t want you to touch him, that it wasn’t the toy that was too much, that it was instead your hand around his cock. He was getting off entirely from you fucking into him. You pulled your hand away from his erection, instead intertwining your fingers with his and pinning it next to his head as you maintained a rough pace. With your free hand you nudged one of his legs off your shoulder, allowing you to move closer to him, trapping his leg between your chests as you pressed a kiss to the dip in his collarbone.

“You take my cock so well, you take it like such a good boy.” You felt him moan more then you heard it, his chest vibrating against your lips. “Think you can cum for mommy?” You flicked your gaze up to him, seeing him nod over and over again, his hips trying to buck against your strap, a string of please mommy leaving his lips until the leg over your shoulder tensed, his top half sitting up from the bed as much as the position allowed as a long and slightly choked moan shot from his mouth as you felt your chest become coated with cum.

With every rope of cum his whole body jerked, getting weaker with each pulse until he was whimpering against the mattress, hips still bucking ever so slightly as he orgasm tapered.

He looked absolutely beautiful underneath you. His chest pink, the slightest hint of freckles could be seen over his shoulders, his cheeks were flushed, lips chapped and bitten, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes, his eyes closed and face relaxed. His cock lay, deflating against his lower belly, cum dripping from the head and into his belly button. You guided his leg from your shoulder, sure to press a kiss to the inside of his knee before letting it hang limply from the edge of the bed. As soon as you slowly began pulling out of him you noticed how his cock twitched, beginning to harden just from the feeling of movement inside of him, followed shortly by an overstimulated whine.

“I know baby, I just gotta pull out.” You held his hip as you stepped back, your cock eventually slipping out of him and hanging heavily. “There you go baby, all done.” Your voice was hushed, as you unclipped the harness and let it fall to the ground so you could step out of it.

As soon as it was gone, you couldn't help but miss it a little, but you knew it wouldn’t be long before you had it on again. You gently guided him onto the bed properly, hearing his little hums every time you touched him until you were able to get his head on the pillow and wrestle the blanket over him, crawling under it beside him. As if by instinct he moved his head to your chest, pressing his face into your bare skin, his arm wrapping around your waist. You wanted to ask him how it was, ask him how you could improve, when you could do it again, but you forced yourself to wait, opting instead to card your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep against you.

[keyaho]

.summary: terry and blaire are in shambles while aaron and brennan make things more official. .word count: 6k+ .co-writter: @zillasvilla

Blaire stood in front of her vanity toying with the zipper on her dress. The white dress was covered in red and blue flowers. She accented it with red jewelry and heels. Even Noah’s outfit for Sunday service matched. A red button up polo shirt and tan slacks. She had blown her hair out, the kinky texture creating volume. One side was pinned back in a twist. 

As she was getting dressed, Noah’s father, Terry, was getting him ready. He had brought over his clippers and it was his first big boy haircut. For the past seven years she kept Noah’s hair braided and she’d miss the way he fell asleep in her lap while she did his hair. He was already asking to spend more and more time with his Dad. 

Another frustrated grunt fell from her glossed lips as she tried pulling up the zipper, but once again, it caught on the inner fabric. She rolled her eyes and held the dress as she walked down the hall towards Noah’s room. Blaire could hear them talking and she called out to them as she came into their line of sight. 

Terry wasn’t dressed. His slacks were on and so were his shoes, but he was shirtless, holding their son’s head still as he lined up the back. Blaire looked at the sink. Her son’s curls in a dark brown pile. She turned around, the tears forming in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to cry over his first hair cut, but seeing his hair gone sent her over the edge. 

Noah looked at his Dad after seeing his Mom walk back to her room. He knew she was going to cry over his hair. 

“Mommy cries a lot,’ Noah says. 

Terry stopped cutting and straightened up. “What do you mean?” 

”She cries a lot?” Noah wasn’t sure what else to say. “Sometimes I can hear her in her room.” He shrugged.  

Terry finished up Noah’s haircut and sent him to the kitchen for breakfast. Terry walked down the hall towards the main bedroom, where he used to lay his head. The door was cracked and he looked in to see Blaire trying to tug the zipper on her dress. Every now and then she’d sniffle; a sign she had been crying. He pushed open the door and slowly walked in. It was still decorated the same, earth tones. There was more green though he noticed. The wall behind her bed was painted in a rich emerald. The four poster bed was draped in green and brown sheets. There was a thick white comforter on top and tucked in between the pillows was a Lambchop puppet she had since she was a kid. It never left their bedroom. Her. Her bedroom. 

“You’re going to rip it,’ Terry whispers, coming up behind her to still her hands. She avoided his gaze as he looked at her in the mirror. “Blaire,’

"Not, now, Terry.” 

He placed one hand on her hip while the other zipped the dress easily. She moved to step away but he stopped her. His hands pulling her hips backwards. 

“Just listen to me, please,’ he asked. When she didn’t move he came to stand in front of her, his hands still holding her. 

There were moments when she trusted him enough to touch her, because he was quick to drop those hands where they shouldn’t be. However, when he wanted to be serious they stayed on her hips. He needed physical contact.  

“I miss my wife.” 

This had been the longest they went without being under the same roof. Yeah he was kicked to the couch a few times, or the guest room, but when she asked him to leave the house he knew he had fucked up royally. It’s been almost a year of him renting an apartment because she didn’t want him in the house. Not while he was still entertaining Summer from Rebel Ridge. And it was never like that. Blaire knew about his issue down there and what happened to Summer. She was a recovering drug user and he felt like he had to keep an eye on her. So much that it came between him and Blaire. 

“You haven’t divorced me and I think that’s because you miss me too.” 

Terry read her face and could see the truth in her eyes. He hadn’t been the only one to notice how they started to gravitate towards each other again. It wasn’t awkward at family dinners or when they had to sit beside each other. In fact, he had been able to rest his hand on her thigh. He remembered her curling her hand around his while she ate. Those moments of tenderness he missed. 

She hadn’t worn her wedding ring in months. Her hand felt light and odd without it. He still wore his. It hurt him a little to know he had upset her to that point, but she never explained how she was feeling so he was in the dark on what he himself had done. He apologized over and over to her, but he didn’t know what was holding her away from him. 

“Noah,’ she begins, shifting the focus to their son as she always did. 

“I’m talking about you. Noah is good. You’re not.” 

Blaire scoffs. “What are you talking about?” 

Terry got closer and her hands fell on his thick biceps. She could still feel the heat from his body and the bare skin was smooth to the touch, like it always was. He smelled good. He always smelled good. Blaire found herself relaxing in his arms, his scent, and the feel of his thick body against hers. He smelled like oak and pine, the outdoors, and something smokey. It was like smelling the earth after it rained. Terry knew just what to do to get her guard down. She let him do it every time. His hands rubbed her sides, pulling her back from the brink of crying again. She was such a crybaby. 

“There’s my girl,’ he coos. “Tell me why you’ve been crying.” 

“You need….,’ she stuttered, ‘you need to put on a shirt.” 

He let her go with a smile, but grabbed her hand as he was walking away. She followed him to the guest room and he made her sit on the bed while he finished getting ready. They could hear the tv going and knew Noah was waiting for them. As he did every Sunday. 

Terry was up to one night a weekend and he always picked Sunday night to stay over. It allowed him to see Noah off to school at the start of the week and he felt Sunday’s gave him more time with Blaire. 

“Why are you sitting there like that,’ he asked, frowning as she picked at the hem of her dress. 

She looked up and shrugged. “Because whenever you sat me on the bed you were scolding me for something. Acting like my damn daddy,’ she mumbled. 

Terry had been over protective since the day they met. He walked on the side of street when they were out, he opened her doors, held her hand when she wore heels because he knew she got tired, his jacket was hers while he was drenched in the rain, the list went on and on. Terry was what social media called a ‘traditional man’ or ‘masculine’ by their gendered stereotypes. Full on Daddy kink with him and he took it seriously. Despite all that, and despite her own independence, she liked that he made her feel helpless, she just hated when that turned into hopelessness. 

Blaire could go get all the jars in the kitchen and he’d stand there and open them for her, but she couldn’t tell him how much he had actually hurt her seven years ago. 

“Don’t leave out how much of a brat you can be.” He tsks. 

Blaire watched him pull a blue shirt from the closet, the material was stretchy but if it was the shirt she bought him, then it wasn’t going to stretch much. That shirt was sized perfectly. He slipped his arms into it with his back to her. She watched him tuck the shirt in and add a belt. 

Terry was rough around the edges. Always had been. He played football in high school, went to the Marines right after, she knows he does a few classes at the YMCA for boxing and still keeps up with his jiu jitsu training. When he wasn’t at those places he was hauling concrete slabs and shit with her father. He was blue collar through and through and at one point him coming home was the highlight of her day. She didn’t mind working and coming home to cook for him. He made her feel safe enough to do it. He never took advantage of it and when he would come home to her having forgot or was behind he’d step in and do it. 

Terry was damn near perfect. Except he was so damn helping. His morality being his vice. He would stretch himself thin trying to help and it would push her away. 

“I can’t begin to fix what I broke if you won’t tell me, dushi.”

“We don’t have time before Church to talk about this.” Blaire stood up and headed for the door. 

Terry would normally let her go, to not stir up another fight, but he was tired of her running. In a few strides he was in front of her, closing the door. 

“You can’t keep running from this Blaire.” 

“I’m not running.” 

Terry rolled his eyes. “We’re going to have this talk tonight. Or,’ he sighed. 

Blaire leaned back from him, crossing her arms at this point. “Or what?” 

“I’m done. No matter how much I miss you, if we can’t clear this up, I’m done.”  

The light from beneath their door shined through the cracks and her soft humming filled his ears. Aaron groans while stretching out his legs and swinging them over the bed. The morning sun was starting to peek through the windows as he squinted. He could feel when she wasn’t in bed, her side having been cold for a while. He reached for his glasses, the thin frames sitting on his nose as he stood up and stretched.

He sifted through large brown moving boxes–some of them labeled as clothes or shoes. They had yet to finish unpacking, living out of boxes in the shared bedroom. He and Brennan had been together for three years before finally moving in together. He finds what he needs in one of the smaller boxes, while picking his phone up. He checked his messages while peeking through the small crack of the bathroom. Her rich complexion shines in the mirror. Brennan’s hands were working the small black flat iron over a small section of hair.

Aaron: Come do Bre’s hair in two hours Nique: It's 4 in the morning. You're not about to sweat out her hair. Aaron: I will pay you. Nique: Text me a time.

Aaron shakes his head while putting his glasses back on the dresser. Her soft humming gets louder as he walks in the bathroom. Her eyes found him through the mirror.

“Gud mɔnin, ɔni”. 

Aaron’s morning voice was something Brennan had to get used to. It was deeper, raspier, and certain words just came out in that thick Krio accent that he husked in ear on the nights she used to stay in his town home.. Aaron’s lips leaned over to kiss her cheek. Brennan relaxes against him as his arms circled around her waist. This was their first Sunday morning together. They were used to parting ways the night before or she was already at her mom’s place. Aaron had become a nice change to her morning routine, usually sitting up with her, a book in hand while she did her morning routine–stealing quick kisses here and there. 

“What I say about talkin’ to me like that.”

Aaron only speaks in Krio when he wants to fluster her. She had learned what a few words meant.

“Oni.” Honey.

Brennan’s fingertips stroke lightly on his arms, the pads of them rubbing along the visible veins. The time on her phone reads four-thirty. Service started at 11, and she knew her momma was gonna have some words if they didn’t make it on time. She bites her lip. “Service starts at eleven, baby.”

Aaron turns his head into her neck, pressing soft gentle kisses along the length of it. “Mhm. then why are you up so early?” Her hair was already down, Nique had come over the day before and blown and pressed her hair–and here she was going over it when she didn't have to. He preferred it in its natural state, loving the way her curls bounced and framed around her face.

“You know how my hair is.” Her eyes closed at the feeling while he opened his eyes to watch her in the mirror. The curves of her body, and the swell of her breast covered in a thin silk material that stopped mid thigh. Her breast jiggled beneath the dress, he could see the outline everytime she moved. “Can’t be late for Church either.”

“We're making a baby.” Just as quick as he turned her around, he had her sitting on the sink, pushing his way between her thighs and making the nightdress bunch at the waist. His green eyes scanned over her features with a bit of his lip.

“Aaron.” She feels his fingers sneak up the material, his hands warm against her skin. She leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck.

7:30

Aaron sat up against the headboard with different hair products scattered around him as he adjusted Brennan's head in his lap. Their early morning session led to her hair getting wet in the shower. He had already texted a friend to come fix it, but decided to speed up the process by helping her blow dry and braid it. Brennan comfortably fell asleep during the process as his thick greased fingers parted and braided the last side of her head. 

He would've been done sooner but he found himself watching her sleep;  the rise and fall of her back, the way her nose and eyebrows scrunch together when she was dreaming about something. How she let out soft whines when he moved to grab some more grease into his fingers. 

Her hair soft between his fingers was braided down to the crown of her head He secured the last braid to the others with a clear rubber band.

“Didn’t I just do your hair?” Dominique asks. She had come over to fix her hair-having seen the braid down Aaron did, she sped through securing the wig for her. She spoke through the comb between her teeth. Her right hand held onto bonding spray–the left covered her eyes as she shook the can and sprayed wig glue across the wig cap. 

“A-a-ron thought it be a good idea to fuck in the shower.” Aaron in the guest room taking a shower. They had set up in the dining room–the only room set up with higher chairs. They only had an hour before they had to leave and now she was rushing to finish. 

“And you let him?” While she let Brennan’s hair air dry a little, she put up the stuff she brought, leaving out what she would need to style her hair. 

Brennan bites her lip, watching her face through the decorative mirror that she finally unpacked and made her Dad put up for her.. 

“Well this is our first morning in our first house.” Brennan was sentimental–everything always had a meaning for her and Aaron being the sappy man he was fed into that shit. The two were joined at the hip.. Dominique didn’t understand why they were hiding it. 

“Girl.” Dominique shakes her head–she has a blow dryer in hand on high heat to speed the drying process.

“What?” She bites back a smile. 

“You and him might as well be married.” She finishes, sectioning off the hair to curl the ends. “That man ain’t letting you go any time soon.” Dominique was the only one outside of her family that knew the two of them were really together–catching them both at the gas station down the street from Melanin Preparatory Academy.

Brennan stood between him and the car while he pumped gas in her car. His free hand rested on her hip as they talked–Brennan hid a smile behind the drink she was holding, whatever he was saying to her had her flustered. She had never seen Brennan so soft. 

“Kinda don’t want him to.” Brennan bites her lip.

Aaron had walked into the room fully dressed. He was simple when it came to fashion–especially when it came to church. The brown turtleneck shirt fitting loose around his frame-larger sizes gave his arms room to flex. A pair of black dark washed jeans that stacked a little at the ankles. She caught a whiff of the cologne he was wearing. Clive Christian. The wood spiced  scent made her wonder who else he was trying to smell good for. He glances at her frowning face with a chuckle.

He sets down their coffee to walk over to where she was sitting.

Dominique, having already finished the last curl, turned away to pack up her stuff. 

Aaron leans over Brennan to keep her seated in the chair. She had to tilt her head up to look at him. The smell of him was stronger than the moment before and she knew for sure it was about to linger on her. 

Their lips smack against each others in a quick, but lingering kiss.

“Fiks ya fes.” He whispers against her mouth before pulling back. 

Brennan’s mind was jumbled as he walked away. He grabbed the black mug and the caramel scent hit her nose as he sat  it on the table. Coffee–made exactly how she likes. He held his own while moving to sit in the den, the large tv playing several highlight reels and a few stack of papers and a stapler.

“Nigga-”

“You got until I'm done or we're gonna be late.” 

“I'm almost done.” Dominique curled the last few pieces of hair. Brennan was lucky she had bought a new wig. She didn’t like the length of it but knew Brennan would. “Are you dressed already?”

“Yeah, just gotta put my shoes on.”  

Brennan had already put on a black silk button up, and her own black jeans. The only thing she could get to with Aaron's clothes in the way. The closet was too small and she was really close to calling her dad to build her a new one. Brennan can feel the mist of hair spray being put on her hair, letting her know she was done. Aaron was half-way through with his task when she looked over at him. 

“You're stapling papers?”

“First day of school tomorrow and picture day.” He answers like she doesn't already know. He was the reason they were probably gonna be late. “Where's your shoes?” He looks back at her down to her pretty brown feet, toenails in a sharp white color- a small gold anklet peeking from the leg of her pants. The same one that dangled over his shoulder while he thrust–he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. If it was him they would stay home, but her mama would beat his ass if she knew he was the reason they were late. 

“I'm going to get them.” She pulls Dominique in a quick hug and thanking.

Aaron shook his head, turning around to pack up the last stack of stapled papers. He could hear hear race up the stairs and Dominique packing the last of her stuff and jiggling her keys. 

“Alright, I want my money Aaron!” Dominique rushes to the door, pointing in his direction.

She expected he would Zelle it to her until his voice echoes to her.  He had looked up just as Brennan comes around to stand in front of him. She wore a pair of black wedges that he was sure she was going to pull off in the truck.

“It’s by the front door Dominique."

She spots the bills peeking out from under the key bowl. It looked like a good four hundred.

 “Oooh! And you tipped! I see you big spender.” She grabs the money, pocketing it into her purse. “Bye girl, I’ll see you tonight.”

Once the door closed he pulled Brennan into his chest as he stood up. “You look real good.” He kisses her cheek and moves around her to grab his keys. “Let’s go before your mama beat my ass.” 

Sunday Service had been particularly short compared to the long services they were used to growing up– but they weren’t complaining. The sun beamed down on them as they exited the church. Aaron and Terry had gone to grab the car, Noah going along with them so the AC could be running before they got in. Brennan and Blaire waited for their mom to finish talking to a few friends back inside. They probably wanted her to cook for the next church potluck. 

“Thank you, again Angela.” 

“Alright, see you,” She waves at one of the other church members while coming down the steps to stand in front of her daughters with a shake of her head, she follows Brennan’s gaze to Aaron who was tossing Noah, their nephew in the air and catching him. She places a hand on her hip as Blaire completely ignores Terry looking at her.

“That was Ms. Gladys.” 

“Mhm.” Brennan hums, eyes never leaving him even as he gets in the truck.

“She said she dreamt about fishes last night. Brennan, are you pregnant?” 

“Why are we talking about this on the lord’s steps?” She looks confused trying to figure out what she’s talking about. Blaire laughs from behind her. “And why are you asking me? Blaire could be pregnant.”

“Don’t put that on me.” Blaire stops laughing and points her finger at her sister. “He’s already been bothering me to talk all week.”

”When are you going to tell him?” Brennan asks, not caught up on the latest Blaire & Terry episode. “It’s been seven years, Blaire, the man has practically groveled at your feet.” 

She knew her sister was right, but, if anything, she was scared. Not of Terry, but actually losing him. His ultimatum from this morning was heavy on her. The sudden fear of not having him at all? 

“He’s not going to wait long, Blaire,’ their mother added. 

“I know!” She hissed. Brennan and Angela looked at Blaire with wide eyes. “He told me that this morning. Either we figure it out or he’s done trying.” 

The last thing she wanted to do was tell her mother and sister what Terry had said, but pretty much everyone was on his side and they didn’t fully understand how she felt. 

“Wait,’ Angela softens her tone at Blaire’s somber expression. 

“He said what?” Brennan chimed in. “Oh he’s serious this time.” 

They quickly changed the subject when Aaron and Terry came back. Noah was already in his seat. 

“Y'all ready,’ Terry asked, his eyes on Blaire and she rubbed her arm. 

“Hell yes,’ Brennan shouts, then covers her mouth when Angela smacked her arm. “Ow, my bad!” 

Terry held out his hand as Blaire reached for the rail. She took his hand and let him guide her towards his truck. Confused, she looked over her shoulder. 

“Where are we going?” 

Terry stopped at the truck and leaned her against it. “I need to know now.” He says. 

“What? You said we would talk tonight,’ Blaire replied. 

“I don’t want to wait. I don’t want you to have time to give me some politically correct answer. I want to know now.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Do you want to stay married?” 

“Yes!” 

Blaire looked up at him. The word falling from her mouth with little hesitation made Terry feel slightly better about where this was going. 

“Do you want me back in the house?” 

She nodded. “All the time.” 

Terry was confused then. She wanted everything he wanted but she was pushing him away. 

“Then why are you so upset with me?” 

“Can we talk about this with a bit more privacy?”  

Everyone was waiting by the other car, staring in their direction. When she looked over his shoulder and waved, they all jumped- pretending they weren’t watching. 

“I don’t want to be church gossip.” 

“Come on so we can eat!” Brennan groans from the backseat of her mom’s car. “Noah, tell your parents to hurry up.” She glances at her nephew.

Noah looked to his aunt with a ‘do you think I’m dumb’ expression. 

“We’ll just see them at the house.” Angela waves them off. “And why ain’t you with Aaron, Bre?” She looks at her youngest daughter in the backseat. "Why are ya'll always I my car?"

“He said he had to talk to Daddy about something.” she shrugs, pulling off her heels. “Men things.”

“What he got to talk to him for.” Angela shakes her head. “Markus better not be at my house, Brennan.”

Marcus parked the truck in front of Angela’s house. He cuts the engine while looking over at the passenger side. Aaron had been quiet the whole ride. His leg bounced nonstop and he could see the nervous posture he had.

“You gon speak or what?”

Aaron didn’t get nervous often. He usually keeping his composure in any setting, however talking to Brennan’s dad about something so important. He just couldn’t shake the anxiety he was feeling right now. His hands were clammy as he wiped them on his jeans.

“It’s about Brennan.”

“Yeah? Something wrong?”

“No. No.” He sighs finally making eye contact with Marcus whose face was etched with concern. “She perfect… I just wanted to ask you something.”

“You want my blessing.” Marcus asks him, seeing where he was going with the conversation.

Marcus had half expected for them two to elope or have a Vegas-style wedding. His youngest daughter was his wild child. He’s learned over the years that she was mini-Angela. He thought she would be the one to end up with Terry, the both of them were hot heads-however Brennan wanted Aaron. “Thought you two would elope.”

Aaron lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. He doesn’t look him right in the eye. Marcus takes that silence for an answer to a question he didn’t even have to ask. “When.”

“June 17th.”

Marcus thinks of the date, turning in his seat to look at Aaron, an oh wow expression on his face. “And on her Birthday too.” He has to open the car door and get out, confusing Aaron and making him get out to. He stuffed in his hands in his pockets. Marcus walk around the front, stopping in front of Aaron in disbelief.

“So why are you asking me for my blessing. You did it behind my back already.”

“I wanna do it right this time.” Aaron could see another car pull into the driveway.

The doors open, Angela, Brennan and Noah. The three of them heading into the house.

“Right my ass.” Marcus grumbles. “What are you gonna tell me next, that she is pregnant?” Aaron makes a face and turns around, he jogs up the brick steps just as Marcus yells out. “Yo, Aaron! She better not be!”

Angela and Brennan had set the table, Noah in the other room, watching cartoons. The food was catered from Cajun Station, the scent of fish that lingered from being warmed in the oven masked by a lit candle. Brennan had snuck pieces of of shrimp to snack on, sneaking a few pieces to Noah.

“You’ve been gaining weight Bre.” Angela says from the kitchen. “You sure you ain't pregnant.” She brings the conversation from earlier backup. She noticed a certain glow to her and it wasn’t because her and Aaron finally moved in together.

“No mama.” She groans wondering where her sister is. She moves to look out the window. Aaron and her dad were still talking. She watched as Terry’s truck pull in.

Blaire slid out the front seat having stopped by the house to change. She switched to a white sundress and sandals. She had a bag in her hand and Terry’s half smile could be seen from the front porch.

”Stop looking at me like that,’ Blaire says.

“It feels good,’ he replies, while shutting her door.

“What feels good?”

“To know my wife missed me.”

He leaned in as if he was going to kiss her but instead pulled the bag from her hands to carry. The front door opened and the screen smacked against the wall as Noah ran towards his parents. Their private moment was interrupted, but Blaire knew it was going to be a long night.

“Let’s get inside, Terry,’ she pushed at his arm, guiding the son back towards the door. He followed behind them. She sent Noah back to the table and grabbed Terry’s hand before pulling him to the kitchen.

Terry had sent Blaire upstairs once they got home. It was the night before picture day and with it being the first day of school Noah had been anxious. So much that he had been telling Blaire he didn’t want to go. Knowing Blaire, she’d keep him home until he was ready, opting to homeschool instead of helping him to grow up. 

Helping Noah, Terry sits on the floor by his son's bed, mostly to get his backpack and clothes ready for the next day. He did his full nighttime routine while they waited for dinner to be delivered. Neither parent wanted to cook and with their talk looming over their heads, their minds were occupied. 

Giving Noah a snack he had him sit in the den. TV time was rare in the house, but Terry managed to get Blaire to compromise on a few shows on the weekends. Finding Blaire in the same place he did this morning, Terry closed the bedroom door behind him as he walked in. 

“Alright,’ he says, ‘let’s talk.” 

She sat up on the bed, tucking her legs under. 

“I miss you being in the house and the routine we had, just all of what we had.” 

“So why am I in an apartment?” He folded his arms across his chest. “If you want me here.” 

Her bottom lip started to poke out and her eyes welled up. Shit. Terry thought. He forgot she was a bit of a crybaby. 

“What did I do, Blaire?” 

Seven years of pent up frustration had finally blown over. The resentment she held onto had no base to hold onto once she spoke. 

“It felt like you put Summer before me and Noah.” 

Terry’s shoulders rolled back as her words blew him. “You weren’t answering your phone.” She went on, telling him the same story, this time he had perspective. Hers. “Brennan called, my mom called, my dad, your brother!” The tears poured down her face as she hissed the words at him, trying to keep her voice low. “You just barely made it to see him be born.” 

“I apologized for that, over and over, Blaire. I’ve begged you to forgive me for that.” 

“I have!” 

“Then..” 

“You shouldn’t have been late.” Blaire threw up her hands. “You should have dropped whatever you were doing and came to me. Your wife.” 

“She-’

"Oh fuck her!” She snaps. “Labor was hell for me. I had to lie there knowing where you were! And you to have the audacity to give me an ultimatum.” 

There was no arguing her on this. She was right. He cut it close to Noah’s birth and he knew she had been upset with him over it, but to cling to it for seven years? He understood the bitterness now. He never apologized for putting her second, because that's exactly what he had done. 

“You missed that. It wasn’t your hand I was holding. It wasn’t you telling me to push. You just barely made it! Then you came in smiling like you had been there! I wanted to sock that fucking grin off your face.” She punches her hand for emphasis and Terry looks down. 

“Now,’ she says, plopping down on the bed, ‘how can you fix that? How can you fix my trust in you?” 

Speechless, Terry rubbed a hand down the back of his head. 

“I’ve never felt so vulnerable,’ she explains, ‘and alone, my husband somewhere-’

Terry slipped into the bed with her, carefully reaching out to pull her into his arms. She fought him at first and he held his hands up. She didn’t get off the bed so he tried again and successfully pulled her into his chest. She looked up at him, eyes drenched in her tears. She couldn’t even keep up with wiping them away as they fell. 

He’d known Blaire all his life. Having grown up a few houses away from her she was one of the few neighborhood families that welcomed the Richmond family when they moved in. Blaire had always been a cryer. Her emotions so big she couldn’t help but cry. Instead, this time she was crying because of him. That he didn’t like. Holding her, he rubbed his hands up and down her back. He brought his hand around, using his thumb to wipe at the tears on her face. Blaire sucked in a deep breath, trying not to cry again. 

“Are you mad at me?” She asked. 

“What,’ he whispered, ‘no!” His head shook. “I just didn’t know how much I hurt you. Now I do.” 

She noticed he didn’t have on a shirt and she pushed at his chest. “Why don’t you ever have on a shirt?” 

“I’m hot natured, you know that.” Terry cupped her face, his fingers stroking the hair on the back of her neck. “Are you going to let me earn your trust back?” 

“Yeah I can t-’

"Don't try anything." His thumbs pressed to her lips. “Just be my wife again. Let me fix it.” 

The tv was on pause as Aaron kept her in a heated kiss. The two of them had returned home after a day with their family, Publix, and a quick run to Men’s Warehouse for Aaron. School started back tomorrow and it was picture day–he wanted to get a shirt that matched her outfit for their pictures. 

“We’re supposed to be watching the movie.” She reaches over him to sneak some popcorn and move her legs across his lap.

His arms come down from the back of the couch. His hands warm against her thigh while rubbing her smooth skin. After getting takeout, and coming home to finish unpacking, she found some of his old high-school shirts. Her name was etched into one of the sleeves in black sharpie and it became the shirt she decided she wanted to sleep in. His lips press against hers, using the hand on her thigh to pull her closer. She’s almost in his lap when she giggles.

“You’ve seen this one a thousand times.” He mumbles, rubbing his hand up to grab her ass, massaging the flesh between his fingers. 

“So, it’s my favorite movie.” she pushes him back to get up. She slides her feet into the stitch slippers he randomly got her.

Aaron’s face drops in a ‘where you going look', the dark lighting making his hazel-coloured eyes look sharper.  “I’m going to the bathroom.” She points to the tv. “Restart it.”

“We ain’t gon’ watch it.” He lets her go to grab the remote.

“You probably won’t but I am.”

Aaron shakes his head and restarts the movie but pauses it on the opening scene of SharkTale. Once he hears the bathroom door close, he rushes to a small room just off the den. 

Brennan took her time in the bathroom, relieving herself while reaching into the sink cabinet to pull out a small black gift bag. She set it on the sink vanity, finishing up to stand and wash her hands. Aaron was still sitting in his spot, arms resting in the back of the couch, phone tucked in his left hand to scroll through messages. Her eyes trail up his fingers–they look naked.

“You gon’ come sit down or keep starin'.” 

“I got something for you.” She moves around the couch, forgetting that she was staring. How could she not when he looked the way he does? He gives her his attention–phone dropping somewhere on the couch. 

“What is it.” 

Aaron sits up with a cheesy grin, eyes flickering from the small bag in her hands to her face. She sits next to him and puts the bag on the coffee table. “Gotta open it and see.”

“I got you somethin’ to.” He reaches on the side of the couch to pull out a small blue bag and place it in front of her. “Open yours first.”

Brennan grabs the blue gift bag–reaching inside she pulls out a small black velvet box. “Aaron.” She pulls her lip between her teeth to hide back a knowing smile. The material was soft beneath her fingers. The pads of them over the name ingrained in it. He reaches over to open it for her. The round cut diamond shines in her face that was accented with smaller ones. “This is beautiful.” 

Brennan had her eye on the woodland wedding set since the moment they decided to elope. Aaron had seen her looking at the rings on a jewelry website a few months ago. In the midst of them deciding to elope they hadn't thought about rings. She had been dropping hints the past few weeks, not realizing he already had the ring sized and delivered to his brother's apartment. 

She holds her left hand out palm down, making him chuckle at the excitement in her voice. “Put it on for me?”

He gently grabs the ring and silver band between his fingers. It slid on her fourth finger like butter. The silver-leafed band fitting snug below her left knuckle. Brennan would have to get used to the new weight on her finger, but her heart swelled knowing Aaron paid attention to details. 

Brennan almost forgets about her gift. “Open yours.” 

Aaron kind of had a clue on what it was when he pulled out the small wood grained box. The material smoothed against his fingers as he opened the box. “Damn.”

Brennan grins at the appreciative look on his face-eyes squinting as he pulls out the black and gold band. “Do you need your glasses?”

“Nah, baby. This.” He blows out with a small laugh and a smile that reaches his eyes. “It's perfect.”

Tungsten Carbide wasn’t a cheap material. The gold interior and then cut around it accented the black texture. She pulls it from his fingers and grabs his left hand. She had to sneak a couple of his other rings just to get it sized right. He watches her grin as it fits snugly around his ring finger.

“Now them bitches can know you're married.” 

@liquourlaughslove @heytaewrites @wrestlingprincess80 @simplyzeeka @prettyfilmz @venusesworld @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @harmshake @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @eilujion @heytaewrites @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@browngirldominion @insidefeelingofanadult @blackerthings @gwenda-fav @brandithecrystalgem @captainwithoutmakingitlove @dremmmm @kindofaintrovert @thegreatlibraryofalex @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @kuromiish @virgomess @bbyxgall @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @dundienominated @mymindisneverhere

[itsluckylolita]

Savior Of Dragons | CHAPTER FIVE

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Y/n woke slowly, groggy from the night of dreams and voices. She stretched out her body, hands reaching for the sheets but instead finding something sharp. She cursed, pulling her hand away from the mysterious object and blinking her eyes open. Y/n grumbled, picking up whatever had soured her mood and holding it to her face. It was a dark shard, perhaps broken, with ridges decorating its outer layer. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light and undoing her previous judgment. It was not a shard, but a piece of an egg. A dragon’s egg, the same shade Morghul’s was.

Y/n shot up, searching to find her three most prized possessions but instead finding the broken carcasses of them, all three torn to shreds in her blankets. She felt her lip quiver and tears begin to fill the edge of her eyes. Of course the gods wouldn’t allow her to keep them, she was no true Targaryen, she was nothing aside from what she had forced herself to become. Y/n blinked the tears away from her eyes, she would not allow the gods to have the satisfaction of her sorrow. Instead, she collected the broken pieces within her arms and carried them to her window. It was a straight drop into the perilous cliffside below, no one would be able to find any evidence of her keeping the three doomed dragon eggs. Y/n tossed them over the edge, a shaky sigh leaving her lips. She turned away from the sill only for something to tug on her hair. She cursed for the second time that morning, grabbing the back of her head and spinning around to see what had done it.

“Holy fuck!” Y/n gasped, stumbling back as a recognizable black blur flew into her room, screeching as it did so. The gods had not forsaken her, they had blessed her, Y/n realized as who she assumed was Morghul flapped about her chambers. Their cries called the others, two more hatchlings sniffing their way in from the window. The first was a light lilac, with deep purple frills and striking blue eyes, while the second was a shimmering gold, complete with pale green frills and wildfire-like eyes. Rhaelys and Veraxes, Y/n smiled, the two joining their sibling on top of Y/n’s bed. She approached cautiously, barely able to contain the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“Hello you three,” Y/n held out her hand, stopping just before her bedside, “remember me?” She swallowed harshly, slowly reaching out to caress Morghul’s spiked head. The small dragon shivered, chuffing and nuzzling their head deeper into Y/n’s palm. Rhaelys and Veraxes followed suit, nipping and rubbing against Y/n’s hand. As she sat down with the newborns Y/n remembered what the voice had said in her dreams. Ānogar hen Zaldrīzes; Blood of the Dragon. Perhaps the gods did have plans for her when placing her in Fleabottom, perhaps they knew all along that she would come to this point eventually, that she would realize her blood’s purpose. Her entire purpose of being born in this universe.

A polite knock came at Y/n’s door, Elinor’s kind voice coming from behind the wood.

“Ser?” She questioned, Y/n scrambling out of her bed.

“One moment, do not come in!” Y/n shouted, gently picking up the three dragons and looking frantically around her room. She decided to put them back at the window, shooing them away with promises that she would see them again soon. Reluctantly the three flew down to the cliffside, all looking up with large eyes as Y/n drew the curtains. She quickly opened the door, wincing a bit as she stepped on her injured leg.

“Yes, Elinor?” Y/n questioned, looking down at the shorter maid.

“Your breakfast, Ser.” Elinor curtsied, holding out a platter of steaming food. Y/n smiled, taking the platter.

“Thank you, Elinor.” Y/n said, Elinor looking into her room to see her distressed-looking bed.

“Would you like me to help you make up your bed?” Elinor asked, Y/n shaking her head furiously.

“No need, I wish to be alone while I eat. Thank you, I will call when I require your assistance.” Elinor nodded at that, dismissing herself as Y/n closed the door to her chamber. She placed the food down at her beside, opening up the curtains and looking down the cliff again. The three hatchlings hadn’t moved, seeming to enjoy watching the waves of the narrow sea crash against the shore below. She whistled, catching their attention and making them fly back up to her side. All three found purchase somewhere on Y/n’s body; Morghul resting in Y/n’s arms, Veraxes on Y/n’s shoulder, and Rhaelys on her other shoulder.

She sat down to eat her breakfast, periodically feeding the three dragons whatever meat there was. Y/n noticed that compared to their siblings Morghul had an abnormally long neck, similar to the hatchling’s father Caraxes. She hoped that unlike their father Morghul was a female, Y/n had always wanted a sister, and what better sister was there than that of a dragon?

A few weeks, a few more weeks of no duty was what the maester had ordered. A few weeks to find a suitable home for the three on dragonstone. Hopefully they wouldn’t forget Y/n, at least not for a while. Perhaps, when one was fully grown, she would claim it and declare herself the blood of the dragon in front of Rhaenyra herself. Until then the three would need to remain a secret, and what a secret that would be.

*

Y/n had added a new activity to her nightly routine. At night, when most were sleeping, she would sneak off to the Dragonmont to meet with her clutch of three. She would not climb it, that was far too hefty a task for her condition, she would simply stand near the bottom and whistle. Then, in an instant, the three small dragons would descend with happy chirps to her side. She had realized over the nights that Morghul was more attached to her than the others, refraining from flying about with their siblings to sit with Y/n instead. She had also noted that all three were growing at an unusual rate. She had watched how the young princes’ dragons grew while in Kingslanding and none had reached the point of her clutch so quickly. Y/n came to the conclusion that if the gods were to give her dragons, they may as well give her useful ones.

Upon her second week of visiting them they had increased from the size of a scrawny pup to the size of a small pony, not yet big enough to ride but a substantial difference all together. Y/n dreaded her third week the most, the week when she would be fit for service and would no longer be able to sneak out as often to see her three dragons.

When that week came Y/n stood stiffer than ever outside of Rhaenyra’s chambers, itching to move as the sun disappeared under the Dragonmont. No one could see her anguish, however, for Rhaenyra had allowed Y/n to keep her helmet although it did not serve a purpose any longer. She did not know how many people at Dragonstone knew of her sex, but by the way her peers continued to treat her, it wasn't many. She supposed that the Princess decided not to spread the news, it would come out one way or another. It would be on the third night of not seeing the three that they would show up at her window, squeezing themselves inside with great effort.

It was chaos to have them in her small chambers but a delight nonetheless, sleeping with all three curled around her that evening. When she awoke they were gone, but the welcomed scent of dragon still lingered. Later in the afternoon Y/n stood watch within the chamber of the painted table, Rhaenyra and her council surrounding it.

“I have heard rumours that three hatchlings have been seen wandering the Dragonmont?” Daemon broached the subject first, hands clasped and resting on the ornate table before him.

“Yes, your highness. They appear to be wild, perhaps born to Vermithor and Silverwing.” One of the maesters responded, beckoning forth a dragonkeeper.

“Ñuha dārilaros,” My Prince. The keeper spoke in High Valyrian, “Emi ūndegīon zirȳ sōvegon naejot Zaldrīzesdōron naenie jēdi isse se bantis, pōnta vestragon naejot sagon jurnegēre syt mirros.” We have seen them fly to Dragonstone many times in the night, they seem to be searching for something.

Daemon hummed, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Skorkydoso uēpa gaomagon ao pendagon issi?” How old do you think they are?. Rhaenyra questioned.

“Gaomi daor gīmigon, emi ūndegīon byka hen zirȳ toliot se past dorolvie tubissa yn each jēda issi rōvykta.” We do not know, we have seen little of them over the past few days but each time they are bigger. The keeper shrugged, perplexed by the current situation.

“Nyke ūndegon, ivestragon īlva lo ao find mirros arlie.” I see, tell us if you find anything new. Rhaenyra dismissed him, grabbing hold of Daemon’s hand gently.

“It would be wise to send some of your children without dragons to search for the three when they are old enough, your highness.” A lord suggested, Rhaenyra nodding slowly.

“You are quite right, thank you for your input.” She smiled, though her mind seemed to be somewhere else. The rest of the meeting was about mundane topics such as taxes, the opinions of the small folk, and deaths or otherwise unseemly incidents the Princess should be aware of. Now Y/n walked along silently behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, stood at the front of the gaggle of guards. They whispered words in High Valyrian, arm in arm and step in step. She couldn't make out what they conspired about, but before she could attempt to listen further one of Rhaenyra’s sons rounded the corner, smiling as he saw his mother.

“Luke.” Rhaenyra sighed, welcoming her boy to her side.

“Mother! Arrax and I saw three new dragons flying about the Dragonmont, did you know about them?” Lucerys was practically jumping with excitement, not yet out of his dragon riding gear and still stinking of the beasts.

“Yes, my love, we found out this morning.” She hummed, taking his arm with hers.

“They are almost as large as Arrax, I have no idea how Jace and I didnt spot them sooner!” Lucerys began to rant quickly, practically vomiting out all of his thoughts and feelings.

Y/n continued to stay silent as her mind wandered back to her clutch of three, dreaming of the day when they would grow into the fearsome creatures Westeros dreaded to see. Clutch of three, perhaps one day when she was long dead that would be the title of her dragons’ hymn.

[venactricisfics]

Bound by Instinct: Teen Wolf Story

Chapter Seven

NSFW content and other stuff. 18+

The morning light cast a golden glow over Peter, highlighting the sharp lines of his face and the soft curve of his lips. He looked peaceful, almost vulnerable, a stark contrast to the sharp, cunning man he was when awake. My gaze wandered over the planes of his chest and the faint scars that marked his skin, each one a story I hoped he’d tell me someday.

I let my fingers trail down his chest, tracing over the dips and ridges of muscle, marveling at how human he seemed in this quiet moment. How real. It was hard to believe that someone as intense and enigmatic as Peter could have a side like this—unshielded and open.

As if sensing my stare, his eyes fluttered open. The piercing blue that had once unnerved me now felt like home. His lips curled into a lazy, knowing smirk. “Enjoying the view, Little Wolf?” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

I smiled, unbothered by his teasing. “I am,” I admitted softly, letting my hand rest over his heart. “You’re different when you sleep.”

His brow arched slightly, intrigued. “Different how?”

I shrugged, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks. “Softer. Not as guarded. It’s... nice.”

Peter’s smirk softened into something else entirely—something warmer. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You have a way of seeing things others don’t, Nova.”

I leaned into his touch, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. “Maybe that’s because I’m not afraid to look.”

“You should be,” he responded, “I’m terrifying.” There was almost a sadness in his words. Subtle but I heard it.

I raised up, hovering over him eyes full of confidence as I straddled his hips, “You’re not so scary, Peter.”

Peter's hands instinctively moved to my thighs, his grip firm but gentle as his piercing blue eyes searched mine. The smirk he wore so often faltered, replaced by something deeper—something raw.

“You don’t know me as well as you think, Little Wolf,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “You should be afraid. Everyone else is.”

I leaned closer, my hair falling around us like a curtain, and cupped his face in my hands. “Maybe they don’t see what I see,” I whispered, my lips a breath away from his. “You’re not just the monster you want everyone to believe you are. I know you, Peter. The real you.”

His jaw tightened under my touch, and for a moment, I thought he might argue, might push me away. But instead, he closed his eyes, leaning into my palm as though he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice laced with both warning and surrender.

I tilted my head, a small, defiant smile curving my lips. “Maybe. But I’m not scared. Not of you.”

"An innocent young woman falling for the villain," he murmured, his lips grazing mine. "What could possibly go wrong?" In one fluid motion, he shifted us, pinning me beneath him.

“And yet, here you are,” I teased, my breath hitching as his weight pressed against me. “The villain falling for the innocent young woman.”

Peter chuckled, low and dangerous, his lips hovering just above mine. “Who said I’m falling?” he challenged, though the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

I smirked, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. “Your actions speak louder than your words, Peter.”

His lips captured mine, silencing any further teasing with a kiss that was both claiming and possessive. "Careful, Little Wolf," he murmured against my lips, his breath warm and intoxicating.

I smirked, meeting his gaze. "I'm stronger than I look," I shot back confidently.

"Good," he replied with a glint in his eye before pulling away and sliding off the bed. He extended a hand toward me, his voice light yet commanding. "Come on, let's get a shower, and then we can grab some breakfast."

—--

If the sight of Peter in a suit had stirred something in me last night, the sight of him naked this morning as he guided me into his bathroom did something else entirely. It was a new kind of awakening, one that left me breathless and captivated.

I had never given much thought to the concept of clothing before—to what humans chose to hide beneath it. In my world, my former world, there was no need for such concealment. It was natural, instinctive. But here, the act of revealing and being revealed held an intimacy I was only just beginning to understand.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Little Wolf,” Peter smirked as he turned on the shower, the sound of water filling the space between us, “we might not make it to breakfast.”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, but I didn’t look away. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, my gaze unwavering. “I just like looking at you.”

His smirk softened into something deeper, something that made my heart race. “You can look at me all you want,” he said, stepping closer, the steam from the shower swirling around us. “Though it might just lead to trouble.”

I wanted trouble, and Peter seemed to know it as he tugged me under the water with him. The warmth cascaded over us, steam curling around our bodies as if shielding us from the rest of the world.

His hands moved with purpose, lathered in soap, smoothing over my skin in slow, deliberate strokes. His touch wasn’t rushed or rough—it was gentle, reverent, as though he were memorizing every curve of me with his fingertips. Each glide of his palms was accompanied by a soft massage, kneading away tension I didn’t even realize I carried.

I closed my eyes, letting the sensations take over, the mix of water and Peter’s touch grounding me in the moment. The way he cared for me, even in something as simple as this, was unlike anything I had ever known.

I took the soap in my hands, the silky lather slipping between my fingers as I began to move them over his body. My touch was soft, deliberate, each motion unhurried as I mapped the topography of his chest and abs with my fingertips.

The ridges of muscle under his skin felt like stone—solid and unyielding—but warmed beneath my palms. I let my hands roam, tracing every curve and plane, memorizing him the way he had memorized me moments ago.

He groaned softly, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest as his body responded to my touch. I felt the subtle shift in his posture, the tension building beneath my fingertips as I continued my slow, deliberate exploration.

“Little Wolf,” he said, his voice strained but laced with amusement, “you’re making it very hard to focus on anything else right now.”

I smirked, emboldened by his reaction, my hands lingering a little longer as I let my fingers trace the sharp lines of his hipbones. “Was there something else you needed to focus on?” I whispered, leaning in closer, letting the water cascade between us like a veil.

Peter’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him, the heat between us mingling with the steam from the water. “Can’t think of a thing,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through me despite the warmth.

I tilted my head up, meeting his gaze, the intensity in his eyes making my heart race. “Good,” I replied, my voice soft but confident, “because I don’t plan on letting you.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips. “Little Wolf,” he said, brushing his nose against mine, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Fortunate for me death doesn’t keep you,” I teased, my lips hovering just a breath away from his. My hand slid between us feeling his growing response. 

His growl rumbled low in his chest, sending a delicious thrill through me. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

I smirked, leaning in until our foreheads touched, the steam swirling around us like a cocoon. “Fortunate for me, trouble seems to be your favorite thing.”

He groaned, his voice thick with restrained desire. “I suppose it is,” he muttered, his hands gripping my hips, “but that thing you’re doing with your hand is quickly moving to the top of the list.”

I bit my lip, my fingers continuing their teasing exploration.“Good to know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the water cascading around us. 

My hands continued their slow, deliberate movements, determined to give him as much pleasure as he’d given me. I watched his face closely, searching for every flicker of emotion—a tightening of his jaw, the hitch in his breath, the way his eyes darkened with every passing moment. I wanted to know if it was too much or not enough. His head falling back slightly as a low growl escaped his throat. His reaction sent a wave of confidence through me, and I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

His breathing grew ragged, and I could feel the tension building in his body, like a storm on the verge of breaking. His hands roamed my back, grounding himself in my presence, while his lips found mine in a desperate, consuming kiss.

As the kiss grew more heated, I felt him start to lose control. His grip on me tightened, and I could feel his hips pushing against me, urging me to go faster. But I didn’t. I wanted him to savor this, to feel every second of it, so I held firm, maintaining the same rhythm that had brought him to the edge.

“Fuck,” he growled as he released in white hot spurts over my stomach and hand. The suddenness of it caught me off guard, the heat of him hitting my skin like a brand. I felt a thrill of power and satisfaction at the raw, primal sound he made, the way his entire body tensed and shuddered with the force of his climax. 

The warmth of the water began to fade, cooling against my skin, but the heat between us lingered. Peter smirked, his hands still resting possessively on my hips. “Having you around is dangerous, Little Wolf,” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing, though his eyes held something deeper.

I tilted my head, matching his smirk. “Danger seems to follow you, Peter. Maybe I’m just keeping things interesting.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to my temple. “Interesting might be an understatement.”

As the last traces of warmth disappeared from the water, he reached over to turn it off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders before pulling me close again. “We should get dressed before we start another distraction.”

“I know how you hate distractions,” I smirked, following him back into the bedroom.

Peter shot me a knowing glance over his shoulder but didn’t say a word as he moved toward the closet. I expected to rummage through his drawer for a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt—my usual makeshift attire whenever I stayed over.

But when I glanced toward the bed, I froze. A small bag, filled with my clothes, sat neatly beside it.

“How’d you know I’d stay here with you last night?” I asked, turning to him, curiosity lacing my tone.

Peter pulled on a pair of jeans, the fabric sliding into place effortlessly, then reached for a fresh shirt, tugging it over his head. His lips quirked into a smug smile as he adjusted the hem. “I just had a sneaking suspicion.”

I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “A sneaking suspicion?”

He stepped closer, the teasing smirk still playing on his lips as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “Call it... experience. I know you better than you think, Little Wolf.”

His words sent a pleasant shiver down my spine, but I refused to let him see how easily he affected me. “Cocky much?”

“Always,” he said with a wink, brushing past me toward the door. “Now get dressed before I decide distractions aren’t so bad after all.”

I pulled on a pair of jeans from the bag—the ones Malia always said made my butt look good. Whatever that means. As I zipped them up and adjusted the waistband, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the memory of her unapologetic bluntness.

Reaching for the shirt, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The jeans fit snugly, hugging my curves in all the right places. Maybe Malia had a point. I tugged on the shirt, smoothing it down and taking a moment to study my reflection.

Peter’s voice called from the other room, pulling me from my thoughts. “You decent yet, Little Wolf, or should I come back and help?”

I smirked, grabbing a hair tie from the bag and pulling my damp hair into a loose ponytail. “I think I’ve got it covered, thanks.”

He appeared in the doorway anyway, leaning casually against the frame. His eyes swept over me, a slow, appreciative once-over that sent a wave of warmth up my neck.

“Not bad,” he said, his lips quirking into that familiar smirk. “Malia’s got good taste.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing a nearby pillow and throwing it at him. He caught it effortlessly, laughing as he straightened up.

“Come on,” he said, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “Let’s get you fed before you start glaring at me like a feral wolf again.”

I followed him out of the room, shaking my head but unable to suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. Peter Hale might be insufferable, but he had a way of making me feel like I belonged—and I wasn’t ready to let go of that just yet.

—

I was quiet in the car on the way back into town, my thoughts a whirlwind. Every mile seemed to stretch the silence between us, and the weight of my questions grew heavier with each passing moment.

How would everything that had happened change what I had with him? Was I fooling myself, letting my desires blind me to the truth? Peter had always been intense, but was there something more beneath that? What did he really want from me?

Lydia's words echoed in my mind. "He can get into your head, Nova. He wants power. You’ve got power."

Was that the reason he’d pursued me so relentlessly? Was it my strength he craved more than me?

I glanced at him, his eyes focused on the road, the usual quiet confidence in his expression. But I could sense the weight of the things he wasn’t saying, the things he was hiding. What did he know that I didn’t? How deep did this rabbit hole go?

I felt the tug of something darker pulling at the edges of our connection—something that made me hesitate. I had let him in so easily, allowed him to control the pace, the tension between us. But now... now I wasn’t sure if I could just give myself over to him without knowing if it was me he wanted, or just the power I held.

The questions clawed at me, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

“Peter,” I finally spoke, my voice soft, unsure. “What is it you really want from me?”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly. The silence between us was palpable as the car sped on, but I wasn’t sure if he was avoiding the question or if he simply didn’t have an answer.

“I wondered when the doubt would come creeping in, Little Wolf,” Peter’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, his tone almost amused, though there was something darker beneath it. “I’ve got a reputation.”

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of his words settle in the pit of my stomach. “What kind of reputation?”

He shifted slightly, his hand tightening on the wheel as though he was trying to keep control of something more than just the car. “The kind that makes people question my intentions. The kind that makes them think I’m after something… or someone. But you already know that, don’t you?”

My pulse quickened, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the silence between us thick with unspoken truths. I wanted to push him, to ask the questions that burned in my mind, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answers.

“Do you want me for my power, Peter?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, a mix of fear and curiosity lacing my voice. I turned to face him, watching the tension in his jaw.

He let out a low sigh, almost a growl, and for a moment, I thought he might ignore me. But then he spoke, his voice darker than before, like he was stepping into something more dangerous, something he had been avoiding. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” I admitted, the truth spilling from me before I could control it. “I trust you. Completely. But there’s a small part that feels off. Like there’s something you should be telling me.” 

The car sped on, but the words seemed to hang between us, heavy and unresolved. His gaze flickered to me briefly, but he didn’t say anything. The silence only made my doubts grow louder.

“I didn’t mean to make you doubt me,” Peter’s voice was soft now, almost pained, but there was still a coldness to it. “But I’m not the guy you want me to be, Little Wolf. I’m not… good. I’m not a hero. And maybe that’s what scares you.”

“I don’t need a hero,” I responded, “And I may be naive because I’m new to this human thing. But I’m not stupid. I don’t need anyone to treat me like I’m going to break. Or that I can’t handle things.” 

Peter’s lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile, but his eyes remained cold, distant. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Treating you like glass?”

I didn’t answer immediately, instead letting the silence fill the space between us. The weight of his words—the subtle challenge—hung in the air, and my chest tightened as I tried to untangle my feelings.

“Maybe not,” I finally said, my voice quieter now, the uncertainty creeping in. “But sometimes it feels like you’re holding something back. Like you’re afraid to let me in.”

Peter’s grip tightened on the steering wheel again, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I thought maybe he wasn’t going to. Then, as if the words had finally broken through the walls he kept up, he spoke.

“I don’t want to drag you into my mess, Little Wolf,” his voice was low, rough. “I’ve done things… things I can’t undo. And I don’t want to risk you getting caught up in it. This is who I am. And I’ve warned you before, there’s a dark side to me that not even you can handle.”

My breath caught in my throat as I processed what he said. The weight of it settled over me like a dark cloud. “And you think you can just keep me away from it? Keep me out of your life?”

He glanced at me, his gaze hard. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” I snapped, the edge of frustration creeping into my voice. “What I need is the truth, Peter. I need to know what’s going on with you. Who you really are. I can’t keep doing this... living in the dark.”

He seemed to consider this for a long moment before speaking again. “You really want to know, Little Wolf? All of it?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, like the weight of his next words was too much. “Then get ready. Because once you know, you can’t go back.”

I watched him closely as he spoke, every word unraveling darker truths. He told me how he manipulated Derek into turning his high school girlfriend, only for her to die because of it. He shared the torment he endured after the fire, how he killed his niece, Laura, and absorbed her Alpha spark. That’s when he turned Scott—only to torment him for months, forcing him into his pack for the sole purpose of gaining more power.

The air in the car grew thick with the weight of his words. Each confession seemed to slice through the silence, deepening the chasm between the person I thought Peter was and the truth that now stood before me.

I couldn’t look away as he spoke, his voice steady but the rawness behind it undeniable. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He was reliving the pain, the darkness, as he spoke about it—each memory, each sin that weighed on him like a chain. The silence that followed his last words seemed to swallow the space between us, and I could feel the heaviness of the truth pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe.

“You killed your niece?” I whispered, my voice cracking with disbelief. The image of the Peter I knew, the one who had held me in his arms and kissed me like I was everything to him, shattered in that instant. I couldn’t reconcile the man I trusted with the one he was describing.

Peter’s jaw clenched, and I could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin. He didn’t seem to want to say more, but the words kept pouring out of him, like a dam had broken.

“I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way,” he muttered, his voice raw, but there was no denying the truth in it. “The fire… the power I took, it twisted me. I couldn’t control it. Laura was just... there. And I couldn’t stop myself. I thought if I had her spark, I’d have enough to fix things. But all it did was make everything worse.”

“How could you do that?” The words left my lips before I could stop them, the shock and hurt radiating through my voice.

He didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, I thought he might never respond. But then he spoke, his voice quieter, but the regret was unmistakable. “I wasn’t the person I am now. I wasn’t... I was a monster, Nova. And I still am, in a lot of ways.”

I felt a pang of something sharp and painful twist in my chest, the pull of empathy I had always felt for him now tangled with the raw reality of his actions.

“I don’t know who you were back then,” I said softly, my voice trembling with uncertainty, “but I know the person I see now is still you. And I... I don’t want to believe you're just a monster.”

His eyes flicked to me for a moment, and the hurt in them was almost too much to bear. “I don’t deserve your trust. Or your forgiveness. I’m broken. And nothing I’ve done will ever change that.”

I swallowed hard, my heart aching for him despite the terror his actions stirred inside me. There was so much darkness inside him, I knew that wasn’t all of him. There was so much more to Peter that I didn’t fully understand. 

“What happens now?” I finally asked, my voice small.

Peter didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his face a mask of unreadable emotions. But when he spoke, his voice was low and filled with a kind of finality.

“Now you get to decide if you can handle all of me. If you can handle the parts of me that are still that monster... or if you’ll walk away.”

I sat silent thinking about what he’d said. Was he truly a monster? Did it even matter to me that he was? I didn’t know the answers to those questions. But I knew I couldn’t walk away. 

“I’m here,” I softly said, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Peter’s eyes flickered to mine for a moment, as though he was searching for something in my gaze. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease just slightly. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something close—an acknowledgment that I hadn’t run. That I wasn’t afraid to stand by him, even after all he had revealed. I wasn’t sure what would come next, but I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t leaving him.

The weight of his words lingered in the car, but the tension between us slowly started to ease. Peter’s grip on the wheel relaxed as he turned the corner, heading toward the town. My stomach let out a small growl, reminding me of the morning’s forgotten hunger.

Peter glanced at me, a sly grin forming on his lips. “You know, you can’t go on like this without eating.”

“I used to be able to eat a deer and not have to eat anything else for days,” I said. 

Peter’s eyes glinted with amusement as he continued driving, the light chatter easing the heaviness of the morning. “A deer, huh? I guess that’s one way to go about it.” He smirked, his focus still on the road, but his voice softening. “You’ll find human food isn’t as satisfying, but it does the job.”

I chuckled, leaning back in my seat. "I'll take whatever works." The familiar rumble of the car and the quiet between us gave me a moment to breathe. After everything Peter had shared, the last thing I wanted was to stay in the tension of it all.

The town was coming into view, and I could almost smell the coffee from here. "So, what's your go-to breakfast spot?" I asked, eager for a change of pace, even if just for a little while.

“Diner in town,” he said, “It’s quiet. But suited to people like us. The owner is an old wolf.”

“Diner in town,” he said, his tone casual but pointed. “It’s quiet. But suited to people like us. The owner is an old wolf.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “An old wolf? Like...how old are we talking?”

Peter smirked, glancing at me briefly. “Old enough to remember when this town was just a trading post. He’s been around for centuries but likes to keep things low-key. His pancakes, though? Legendary.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of an ancient werewolf flipping pancakes in a diner. “Now I’m really curious. Do I have to call him something special, like ‘Elder Flapjack?’”

Peter chuckled, the sound lighter than I expected after our earlier conversation. “He’d probably get a kick out of that, but no. Just call him Howard. He’s not much for formalities.”

The car slowed as we approached the small diner tucked along the main road, its neon sign flickering in the morning sunlight. I glanced at Peter as he parked. “Legendary pancakes better live up to the hype,” I teased.

Peter grinned, opening his door. “You’ll see. Howard’s got his secrets too. Just...less deadly than mine.”

I’d learned in the months I’d been here that Beacon Hills seemed to be a beacon in every sense of the word—a magnet for the supernatural. It wasn’t just wolves; it was coyotes, kanima, and creatures I’d only ever heard of in whispered tales. Every corner of the town held a shadowy secret, and every day, it felt like something new was drawn to the chaos. It was as if the very air here thrummed with energy, pulling the extraordinary and dangerous alike into its orbit.

But there were also ancient beings, like Peter’s diner buddy, who had long since carved out a place for themselves here. Creatures that had seen centuries pass, their existence woven into the fabric of this town in ways I was only beginning to understand.

I wondered if, one day, I would do the same—if Beacon Hills would become my home, a place where I could settle among the supernatural currents that ran beneath its surface. Or if, eventually, instinct would take over, pulling me back into the wild, shifting me into the wolf I once was—never to return.

“You’re getting quiet again, Little Wolf,” Peter took my hand and lead me to through the door. There wasn’t any point in hiding the connection we had anymore, not that we hid it very well to begin with. 

“Just thinking about things,” I responded. 

“Careful with that,” Peter smirked as he guided me to a booth near the back. “Too much thinking can be dangerous.”

I rolled my eyes but let him pull me along. The diner was dimly lit, the kind of place where conversations were kept low, secrets exchanged over coffee and eggs. The scent of bacon and beast filled my nose—humans wouldn’t notice the latter, but I could.

I glanced around, noting the few patrons scattered throughout. A couple of older men hunched over their meals, a waitress lazily refilling coffee, and behind the counter, a man who didn’t look up but whose presence thrummed with something ancient.

Peter slid into the booth across from me, his expression unreadable. “So, what exactly has you thinking so hard?”

“You…” I nodded as the waitress asked if I wanted coffee, “this place. And where I actually fit in it.”

Peter hummed in thought, watching me over the rim of his coffee cup as the waitress poured mine. “Big questions for someone who only just started walking on two legs.”

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers. “I don’t think shifting back into a wolf would make the questions go away.”

His smirk was small but knowing. “No, but it might make the answers easier to ignore.”

I exhaled, stirring my coffee though I didn’t really need to. “I don’t want to ignore them.”

“Good,” Peter leaned back in the booth, his piercing gaze settling on me. “Then let’s start with the easiest one—where you fit in.”

I swallowed, my heart picking up speed. “And where is that?”

His fingers tapped against the table. “Right here, with me.”

I quirked a brow, “So are you asking to be my mate? Or what is it humans call it… my boyfriend?” I smiled at the thought. Peter was definitely no boy. It was another human thing I didn’t fully understand. 

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. “Boyfriend sounds so... juvenile.” His fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup before his eyes flicked back to mine, sharp and unreadable. “Mate is more fitting, don’t you think?”

I tilted my head, considering his words. “Mates are for life.”

His smirk faltered just slightly, a flicker of something deeper passing over his face. “That they are.”

I leaned in, resting my chin on my hand. “And you think you’re ready for that?”

He didn’t hesitate. “The real question is—are you?”

Was I? I’m not sure but I couldn’t imagine being anywhere that Peter wasn’t. My thoughts were interrupted by a plate of food set down in front of me. And I couldn’t concentrate on anything else but the rumbling in my stomach. 

Peter chuckled softly, clearly amused by my sudden focus on the food. “I take it the deer diet is officially retired?” he teased, watching as I picked up a fork and dove into the plate of bacon and eggs.

I glanced up at him between bites, my lips quirking into a small smile. “Let’s just say this human metabolism thing has its perks. Like this.” I gestured to the plate before me, savoring the salty, savory flavors that grounded me in the moment.

Peter sipped his coffee, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Good. You’re going to need your strength.”

I paused mid-bite, narrowing my eyes. “Strength for what?”

A mischievous smirk spread across his face. “Life with me, Little Wolf. It’s never boring.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide my grin. “That’s an understatement.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on its end before I saw him standing at my side. He was a big burly wolf, eyes glowing red as he stared down at me. 

“That’s a sweet little Omega you have there, Hale. Haven’t seen her around here before,” he spat. 

 I heard a low growl echoing from the back of Peter’s throat. I shook my head. I knew this wasn’t the place for a fight. 

Peter’s fingers twitched around his coffee cup, his body going rigid beside me. “She’s not yours to notice,” he said coolly, voice edged with warning.

The Alpha chuckled, the sound rough and full of condescension. “Territorial, aren’t we? Just making conversation.” His gaze flickered back to me, his lips curling. “Omegas don’t last long without a pack. You should be careful who you run with.”

I met his glowing eyes, unflinching. “I do just fine on my own.”

Peter’s growl deepened, but I placed a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. Not here. Not now.

The Alpha’s smirk widened, sensing the tension. “We’ll see,” he said before turning and sauntering off, the air around us still thick with his presence.

Peter exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as he tracked the wolf’s retreat. “You’re attracting the wrong kind of attention, Little Wolf.”

I picked up my coffee and took a slow sip. “Maybe. Or maybe he just doesn’t know who he’s dealing with yet.”

I rolled the thought over in my mind, the lingering sensation of his presence still crawling over my skin. When he stood beside me, I felt it—that pressure, the weight of his will trying to sink into me, to make me yield.

But I didn’t.

I’d never felt that from Scott. His influence was different, a pull rather than a push. Scott didn’t need to impose his dominance; people followed him because they wanted to.

This Alpha, though—he was testing me. Seeing if I’d bow.

I wanted to know just how far I could resist an Alpha’s command. How much of my strength was my own.

Because if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that I didn’t bow for anyone.

“Can you call Scott?” I asked as we finished our meal. “On your phone. I want to test something.”

Peter arched a brow, clearly intrigued but not questioning me—yet. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before pressing the call button. The line rang a few times before Scott’s voice came through the speaker.

“Peter?” Scott sounded immediately suspicious. “What do you want?”

Peter smirked but handed me the phone. “Not me. She wants to talk to you.”

I took the phone, ignoring the way Peter’s fingers lingered against mine. “Scott, can you do something for me?”

There was a pause. “Uh… depends on what it is.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to ask him to try and dominate me without sounding off. Would it even work over the phone? 

“I want you to use your Alpha voice on me.” 

Another pause. Longer this time. “What? Why?”

“I just need to know if it works,” I said simply.

Scott sighed, clearly reluctant. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”

I glanced at Peter, then back at the phone. “Tell me to stay where I am.”

A beat of silence. Then Scott’s voice came through the speaker, low and firm.

“Stay where you are.”

Nothing, “Are you even trying? Maybe it’s this thing.” Motioning to the phone.

“Meet me at the high school. Lacrosse field.” 

I could feel the tension rising in my body as Scott’s command rang through the phone. This time, there was more weight to it, more authority. But once again, it didn’t take hold of me.

I shook my head, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Nope. Nothing."

Peter raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed but also a little confused. "You really didn’t feel that?"

I shrugged, still holding the phone. "Not even a little. It’s like he’s not even trying."

Scott’s voice came back through, more frustrated this time. "Are you messing with me? This isn’t funny."

“I’m not trying to be funny. I wouldn’t know how,” I responded, “Maybe we should try this in person.” 

Scott's voice crackled through the phone, confusion and frustration blending together. "In person? Are you serious right now?"

Peter gave me a knowing glance, clearly finding this whole situation amusing. I could feel his eyes on me, his confidence radiating through the air between us.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of challenge. "Let’s test it properly. Meet me at the high school, lacrosse field. I’ll be there."

There was a pause before Scott muttered, "Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you."

I hung up and looked at Peter, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. "Well, guess we’ll find out how much Scott’s really got to offer."

Peter’s grin deepened. "This should be interesting."

With a determined nod, I stood from the table. I didn’t know what the test would show, but one thing was for certain—I wasn’t about to back down. Not now. Not with this newfound power I didn’t fully understand.

—-

It wasn’t just Scott who met us at the high school, it was the whole pack. They wanted to see what kind of power I had, or if Scott’s True Alpha power would be able to match it. 

“So go in and just make her bend to your will,” Stiles said to Scott trying to amp him up. I knew even if Scott could push me, he wouldn’t try to control me. But I had to know. I had to be able to protect myself. I still couldn’t shake the ick the diner Alpha gave me. 

The air was thick with anticipation as we stood outside the high school, the moon just beginning to rise behind the trees. The pack had gathered, their eyes trained on me as if I were some kind of test subject. It made my skin prickle, but I wasn’t about to back down. This wasn’t about proving anything to them. This was for me.

Scott stood in the front, flanked by Stiles and the others, all of them looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and caution. I could feel the weight of their gazes, but my focus was on Scott. The weight of his presence was like a pulse in the air, the subtle command of an Alpha, even if it wasn’t the kind that would force me into submission.

"You ready?" Stiles asked, voice carrying a teasing tone, though I knew he was serious.

I nodded. "Let's see what happens."

Scott took a step forward, his eyes locking with mine. He took a deep breath, likely preparing himself to use his True Alpha power on me, the same power that had made him one of the most respected Alphas in Beacon Hills.

"Stay where you are," he commanded, his voice firm.

But I didn’t feel it. There was no pull, no pressure against my will. Instead, I crossed my arms, standing my ground, my feet planted firmly on the ground.

"I’m not moving," I said, my voice steady. There was no resistance in my words, no challenge, just simple certainty. I wasn’t going to let him push me, not without a fight.

Scott's eyes narrowed slightly, confusion flashing across his face. "What the hell?" he muttered, stepping closer, eyes burning red, trying again. "Stay."

Still nothing.

I held his gaze, my own determination rising as I felt a power deep inside me, unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I wasn’t some weak Omega to be controlled by anyone, not even by a True Alpha.

Stiles stepped forward, looking from me to Scott. "Uh... that’s... not supposed to happen."

I could feel the tension mounting in the air. The pack was watching closely, unsure of what was going on. Peter, who had been standing off to the side, leaned against the car with a smug look on his face, like he already knew the outcome.

"This is what you wanted, right?" I said to Scott, meeting his eyes. "Let’s see if your power’s enough to bend me."

Scott didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, his brows furrowed. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this, especially by someone he cared about. But this wasn’t about him. This was about me. My power. My ability to stand on my own.

The air between us crackled with unspoken words, and I could feel the pack’s unease shifting. Maybe they hadn’t expected me to be this strong, to be a force that could stand up to even the most powerful Alpha in the room.

Peter's voice finally cut through the silence, low and smooth. "Told you she was special."

And with that, everything changed.

[zeke-fanfucs]

@kitsprivatelair @solzticesoulz @reyousen I forgot who else wanted to be add. But I spent so so.. long on this. I swear, this is my longest work. So it’s Faith’s day-to-day, or my thoughts. Please, add me if you draw any of these ideas. So yeah.. happy!!!!!😆

Faithful’s Day-to-Day

Chronicles

🌷☀️🌷☀️🌷

Part One: The Quiet Hours

Characters: Faithful, Kerano, Devlin, Albus

———————————————————————-

The morning began, as always, with the scent of dust, heat, and love.

Faithful awoke before the suns rose, a habit born of necessity and honed by years of needing to be the first one awake and the last to sleep. The little house, nestled in the outer ridges of Springrock, was still. The only sound was the faint rustle of a blanket down the hall and a soft wheeze from the cracked window.

In the kitchen, the kettle hissed low as she scribbled in her journal. A habit she’d taken back up, one she swore helped her keep things stitched tight. She jotted down notes: “Kerano has been sleep-talking again. Something about Fluffle commanding the Bone Army. Must look into what kind of bone she brought home yesterday. Possibly a femur. Possibly not human. Devlin said he’d ‘take a look’ but then immediately gagged.”

Next came breakfast — simple porridge, dried fruit, and the last of the good tea. As she stirred, she glanced at the ring around her neck — polished nightly, never removed. She lifted it, cleaned it gently with cloth and oil. A symbol of a faith long gone. A reminder. A warning. A piece of herself still sharp.

She didn’t let herself linger there.

By the time Kerano stumbled in with her wild curls tangled and Fluffle trailing by one ear, Faith had already set the bowls.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Faith said with a fond smile.

Kerano grinned sleepily, holding up a very, very large and oddly shaped bone. “Look what I found! It was just… in the sand.”

Faith stared at it. “Sweetheart… where in the sand?”

Kerano shrugged. “By the buzzard skulls.”

“Of course.”

Later, while Kerano worked through her homework (or tried to, mostly drawing Fluffle in armor), Faith sat beside her with a half-finished embroidery hoop. She worked the needle slowly, thread gliding through the fabric. A chrysanthemum bloomed under her fingers — full of tangled strength for Albus.. To its side, a marigold: Devlin, creative, deliberate.

She’d just started on the lilac when Devlin came stumbling through the door with his commission papers bundled under his arm.

“Can’t read this one,” he muttered, dropping it with a thunk onto the table. Faithful smiled. “Hello to you too.”

He groaned. “Please don’t make me read aloud again. It’s like chewing metal.”

She scanned the note, translating the scribbled request. “They want a close-range pulse weapon, low recoil. Emphasis on stealth. Not your usual bang-bang.”

“That’s why I need you,” he said, sheepish. “You know what words mean.”

“You mean ‘literacy,’ Devlin.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a magic spell.”

They worked together, sketching rough blueprints as Kerano dramatically read her math questions aloud like a battlefield general. Devlin added mock commentary. Faithful gently corrected Kerano’s numbers and Devlin’s assumptions. It was… good.

When night settled over the dusty town, Faith sat alone on the porch. Her embroidery now held all four flowers. She’d just finished outlining the blue irises — delicate, unyielding. Her own flower.

Inside, Albus chased Kerano to bed. Devlin argued with Fluffle. Laughter rose from the windows. Warm, loud, messy.

Faithful let her eyes close, one hand resting on her embroidery.

“This is the kind of life I never thought I’d live,” she wrote in her journal that night.

“I’m afraid of losing it. But every day, I get up, and I try to uhold it close. That has to count for something.”

Part Two: Stew, Scoldings, and Sudden Disappearances

————————————————————————-

The pot bubbled gently, its savory scent floating through the sun-warmed kitchen as Faithful stirred the thickening stew. The ingredients were simple—root vegetables, dried meat, and wild herbs from the garden—but with patience and a quiet hand, she made it hearty and rich. Her hair was tied up with a soft scarf, sleeves rolled, and her apron bore smudges of flour and broth.

At the table, Kerano sat on her knees in the chair, Fluffle tucked under one arm, scribbling something in her notebook. Every so often, she’d glance up.

“Mama,” Kerano said, “did you know that if you put lizard bones in stew, it makes you stronger?”

Faithful didn’t even flinch, only paused to glance over her shoulder with a dry smile. “That why you came home with another bone yesterday?”

“It was shiny.” Kerano puffed her cheeks. “Could be magic. You don’t know.”

Faithful chuckled and returned to stirring. “Stick to your homework, baby. And no bones in the pot.”

Kerano huffed. “Fine.”

Outside, the desert wind blew lazily across the cracked glass window. The small home stood solid in the heart of Maya, their slice of peace. Mostly.

A sudden, distant boom rattled the cabinet doors. Faithful froze, spoon hovering mid-air. Then came the muffled sound of cursing.

She sighed, set down the spoon, and stepped outside to the small makeshift workshop beside the house.

“Devlin York,” she said, her voice steady but edged.

He stood with his back turned, tools scattered, a plume of smoke curling from a very charred hunk of metal on the bench. He was coughing, rubbing soot off his cheek.

“Hey, Faith. Uh. I was—testing.”

“Mm-hmm,” she crossed her arms. “You promised to follow the diagrams this time.”

“I was!” Devlin protested. “I just… added some ‘improvements.’”

“You almost blew the shed apart last week, and now you’re flirting with round two.”

Devlin pouted, soot-covered and pitiful. “It’s a good thing I’m cute.”

“Lucky for you, it is,” she muttered, grabbing a cloth and smacking the soot off his shoulder. “Get inside. Wash up. You’re setting the table.”

Behind them, a voice called lazily, “Hey! Anyone seen my left boot?”

Faithful closed her eyes briefly. “Albus.”

He wandered in shirtless, rubbing his face and looking vaguely confused. “It’s not where I left it. I think the sand ate it.”

“You said you were going to help Devlin,” she said flatly.

“I was. But then I fell asleep.” He yawned. “On the roof.”

“Again?” Devlin scoffed from behind her. “You do know that’s how you get heatstroke, right?”

“Heatstroke’s for cowards.”

Faithful turned back to the stew, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I swear you two will be the end of me.”

Kerano called from the kitchen. “Mama! I finished my math and gave Fluffle a bath! Can we eat yet?”

“In a minute, sweetpea.”

Dinner, once finally served, came with clatter and chatter. Kerano recounted the dramatic story of how she tamed a sand-frog (Faith strongly suspected this was a rock with legs), Devlin mumbled through theories of improved weapon airflow, and Albus disappears to gods knows where, with the same “I’ll be back”.

Afterward, with full bellies and laughter lingering in the air, Faithful carried the laundry outside. The basin was old, the soap was rough, and her back ached from the day—but it grounded her. The world could crumble. Explosions, chaos, arguments, and missing boots could rage around her—but here, scrubbing each shirt, folding Kerano’s little socks, and smelling the scent of desert-washed cotton—this was peace.

She glanced at the horizon, where the moons were just beginning to rise.

“Another day,” she whispered.

And still, despite everything, she smiled.

Part Three: Sand, Scripture, and Sorting Through the Chaos

————————————————————————

The stack of bounty commissions sat like an ominous mountain on the edge of Devlin’s desk. Each one stamped and sealed, a different promise of danger hiding behind formal language and reward numbers.

Faithful adjusted the lamp and pulled over the top few pages, carefully smoothing them with practiced hands. She dipped her pen in red ink—her system—and circled the ones with names that felt off. Too vague. Too eager. Too…bloodthirsty.

Devlin sat nearby, building something with half-finished tools and metal scraps, his left leg bouncing in nervous rhythm.

“Faith,” he said, rubbing his neck, “you know I trust you, right?”

She hummed softly. “That why you almost took a contract from a man who spelled his own name three different ways?”

Devlin groaned and dropped his wrench. “It was one time—”

She turned, arching a brow. “One time too many. I told you, these kinds? They’re looking to throw you into a trap, or worse.”

He sank lower in his chair. “I don’t read ‘em like you do. Mostly for the fact.. I can’t read still.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Her voice was warm. Steady. She reached across the desk and slid a smaller stack of three. “These ones are safer. Pay’s not as high, but they’re clean. Widow needing transport fixed. Missing farm animal, so the farmer wants some trap. One’s a repair job.”

He blinked. “A repair?”

“You’re a builder,” she said simply, “not a blade. Not first.”

“…Guess it’s easier to hammer nails than get stabbed.”

“There’s the wisdom.” She offered a small smile, and Devlin’s shoulders finally relaxed.

The next day dawned early, dry desert wind tugging at Faithful’s long shawl as she and Kerano stepped into the dusty market streets of Maya. The place buzzed with noise—haggling voices, metal clinks, and the heavy scent of spice and old machines.

Kerano walked beside her with a determined frown, arms stretched as she insisted, again, “I can carry them all, Mama.”

Faithful passed her the lightest bag—dried fruit and a spool of thread—and smiled. “You already are.”

“I can take the big one too,” Kerano said, eyes narrowing with fire. “Like you. I’m strong. Look!”

She flexed one arm dramatically, nearly dropping Fluffle in the process. A passerby chuckled, and Faithful’s heart tugged gently with pride.

They finished buying what Devlin needed—welding oil, copper wire, a replacement bolt-socket—before heading home under the rising sun.

That night, with the house quiet and the little ones fast asleep, Faithful sat at the small table by the window. The garden outside rustled softly in the breeze, the scent of herbs drifting in. On the table before her, a few faded pages rested open—handwritten scripture from her days in the Triad.

Her fingers traced a line that once brought her comfort:

“Strength is not in wrath, but in the hand that bears others without breaking.”

She closed her eyes. The church had betrayed so many. Hurt even more. But the core of the teachings—the good parts—still nestled in her spirit like seeds. They guided her, even now.

She set the pages down and opened her journal, beginning to map out the next day: clean the back garden, water the rosemary, maybe try to patch the broken step. Devlin’s boots needed new soles. Albus’s laundry needed a miracle. Kerano had outgrown her shoes too.

And maybe, she mused, if the weather stayed kind, they could all go down to that little creek they found last week. Kerano had called it their secret world.

She’d bring snacks. A blanket. Let the her splash.

She finished the entry with a final line:

Let tomorrow be simple. And enough.

Then she looked over at the embroidery hoop sitting on the shelf. Her work-in-progress: soft fabric, familiar threads, each flower slowly blooming beneath her needle.

Chrysanthemum for Albus. Marigold for Devlin. Lilac for Kerano. Blue iris for herself.

It would be finished, one day.

But for now, she rested.

And she was content.

Epilogue: The Blowtorch Incident

————————————————————————_

It started innocently. It always did.

Devlin was out back, welding something for a client—one of the commissions Faithful had deemed “low risk” (thank gods)—and as usual, Kerano trailed behind him like a shadow made of determination and boundless curiosity. Faithful was in the garden, elbow-deep in mint and rosemary, trusting that her daughter wouldn’t get into anything too dangerous with Devlin nearby.

That trust lasted exactly three minutes.

“Dadddd,” Kerano asked sweetly, “can I hold that fire spitter thing?”

Devlin, sweaty, distracted, and half-blind from the sparks, grunted. “The what now?”

“The fire spitter!” she chirped, pointing to the active blowtorch with the unholy delight of a child who had zero concept of mortality. “I just wanna see it!”

“Oh,” Devlin said, glancing over his shoulder. “Just for a second, but don’t—”

She’d already grabbed the handle.

The torch flared.

Kerano’s eyes widened with pure chaos-hunger. “IT’S LIKE A DRAGON!”

Devlin practically tackled it out of her hands. “GODS ABOVE—Faith’s gonna kill me.”

And then, as if summoned by prophecy, Faithful appeared.

She walked around the corner with a basket of fresh herbs and froze. There was Devlin, crouched beside a lit blowtorch. There was her nine-year-old daughter. There was Fluffle… almost halfway melted. Probably tried to shield her. Probably not.

Her expression didn’t change.

She handed the basket to Devlin, calmly turned off the torch, then punched his shoulder hard enough that he nearly fell into the rosemary.

“Ow!” Devlin yelped, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?!”

“For trusting a child with fire, you thick-skulled idiot.”

Kerano gulped as Faithful turned her calm wrath in her direction. “You’re in timeout. Two hours”

“Two hours?!” Kerano shrieked from inside the house five minutes later. “That’s like—days in kid time!”

She sat dramatically at the base of the hallway, arms crossed, glaring at the ceiling as if it had wronged her. Fluffle, singed and missing an ear, leaned against her side.

“I didn’t mean to,” she mumbled. “It was Fluffle’s idea. He told me to grab it…”

From the kitchen, Faithful’s voice called, “I don’t care what Fluffle said. Two hours.”

Fluffle remained silent, guilty by association.

Kerano scowled. “Snitch.”

[ hey, Zeke here, just wanted to show all how much i actually wrote look. See, i work and slave for yall!!!! I love you, each one. Thank you for pushing me to do better. Thank you, now I need to cry over anime and tacos]

[jazzythursday]

Handy links for all my wesper fics:

Everyday, Just a Little or a Little Bit (42K, T) - the scenic route to the Van Eck reveal (multi-chap Wylan character study)

Heart Of The Country (ongoing, T) - a series of happenings at the Fahey family farm, one year post-Crooked Kingdom.

No Right Way for the Blue or Black Days (4K, T) - Jesper has a run in with some debt collectors after a solo job, and comes back to the Slat bruised, bloody, embarrassed and, despite all insistence to the contrary, not fine. Neither of them take it well.

Fashionably Late (1K, T) - Date night, or the precursor to it. Jesper has certain thoughts about punctuality and surprises, and Wylan has thoughts about Jesper. Themes of identity and self acceptance.

Aubade, in Bed (1K, T) - Jesper wakes up to Wylan tapping silent melodies against the ridges of his ribs, over the apex of his heart. Geldstraat fluff.

Call and Response (1K, T) - A night out in the Barrel. Clubs are loud, and Wylan is quiet. Neither of these things are a problem.

Cutting Losses (1K, T) - obligatory Wylan leaving the morning after meeting Jesper fic. Stroopwafels meet-cute backstory with a side of angst.

Questions, Unasked (396 words, G) - short drabble about Jesper listening to Wylan ramble and noticing how he puts himself down.

Science and Magic (2K, G) - s2 filler, Wylan falls asleep in Jesper’s lap post-adrenaline crash after the battle in Ravka. Vaguely hurt/comfort adjacent but mostly just fluff. Hair petting.

In careful moderation (of all good things) (2K, G) - post-s2, Nina talks to Wylan about the importance of cake, and accepting love without fear. Jesper cameo at the end.

Call to Rest/Call to Wake (3K, T) - post-s2 soft mornings at the Slat. Jesper wants to go out for breakfast and Wylan is not a morning person.

I Need to Leave (Please Stay) (1K, T) - a short Wylan character study on leaving and being left, struggling through his first year in the Barrel, and meeting Jesper. Light angst with a happy ending.

Careless Is the Fall (3K, T) - Wylan character study about perfectionism and making mistakes. Chemistry accidents and hurt/comfort.

When I Try to Find My Way (4K, G) - show!wesper post-ck. Jesper goes up to the roof of the mansion for some air, Wylan goes up to the roof of the mansion for Jesper. Wishing on shooting stars and talking about feelings ensues.

Taste of Home (3K, T) - show!wesper Geldstraat years. Wylan comes home from a council meeting and Jesper has taken up baking. Dancing in the kitchen and fluff ensues.

Flight of the Butterfly / Symbiosis (3K, T) - s2 filler. Travel time between Shu Han and Ravka. Nighttime conversations on the deck of the Hummingbird.

Familiar Strangers (2K, T) - s2 filler. Jesper’s pov of the night the Crow Club blows up, and what happens after.

Gifts Wretched and Devine (815 words) - short ficlet about Wylan’s feelings on receiving gifts. Domestic fluff with the slightest tinge of backstory angst.

From the Moment I Opened My Eyes (2K, T) - tipsy kisses in the workshop. Jesper’s having feelings and Wylan’s coat has too many buckles.

List of my GO fics here

My drabbles on here can also be found under #a drabble for your troubles?

[sp00kymulderr]

Gideon. I love you. HBD baby. Here’s some Dieter birthday head for you 😘😘😘😘😘

—

You woke blearily, confused by the immediate overload of sensations. Blinking your eyes into focus as the cobwebs of sleep cleared, you took a second to take stock of what was happening. Hot, damp breath between your legs. Scruff against your inner thighs. Thick fingers wrapped around the bend of your knees pressing slowly up and out. A suspiciously Dieter-shaped lump under the covers, halfway down the mattress.

“Dee? What time is it?”

“Party time!” came the bass-y muffled voice from the pile of sheets, before the strong ridge of a familiar nose nudged into your thatch of hair and a warm wet tongue dragged indulgently over your center.

Sloppy open-mouth kisses, slurping and sucking up and down the split of you, punctuated by satisfied hums and indecipherable intimate murmurs, had you writhing and groaning against your pillows in the soft morning light that filtered through the bedroom. Your muscles clenched and quivered in anticipation of a desperate release, and your legs trembled with effort as you tried to clamp them around Dieter’s head despite his hands’ insistent spread of them.

When his tongue’s prodding tip circled your tight, tensing hole, you went careening over the cliff with a guttural shout. He licked and stroked you through the fall, running his broad palms soothingly up and down your legs and hips. You could feel the crooked smile on his lips as he rubbed his face against your lower half like a pleased house cat, and you giggled breathlessly.

“Is this my birthday present?” you chuckled, reaching down to tangle your fingers in the messy curls and pull gently up.

Dieter let himself be yanked from his hiding place, grinning and slick-faced when he emerged from under the soft blue duvet, leaving it draped over his head like a tousled, debauched Madonna. You cupped his cheek and ran your index finger over the thin hoop that hugged his earlobe, and his big brown eyes went wide and serious with warm devotion as he nodded fervently. “I personally believe that all birthdays should start with breakfast in bed, and that was fucking delicious.”

💕

@yopossum

My possum love!!! ahhhhh. Did you pluck this directly from my brain? This is like everything I want ever omg 😍😍😍

‘Like a tousled, debauched Madonna’ made me giggle, I can see him like that so clearly.

Oh lord I’m melting he’s so hot and earnest and this is so lovely thank you so muuuch 🥺

[whateveryouiguess]

four letter word.

Miguel O’ Hara x Reader, 1k+ words

Warnings: None i don’t think, mentions of Miguel’s comic origin along w his movie lore, she/her pronouns r used in this one, mostly sentimental ramblings abt everyone’s favorite problematic bb girl, improper punctuation and capitalization bc i’m a poet and i simply cant be bothered LMAOOO. lmk whatcha think :)

last night, miguel told her he hated her.

at least, that’s how he heard it. with her hand in his hair and his head nestled between the ridges of her collarbone and the crook of her neck, his eyes closed as every bit of the days worries seemed to float away, just as they always did when he was in her arms. craning his neck up to see the edge of her face backlit by the lamp light, the gentle contours of her face illuminated like a Rembrandt painting. the crest of dawn was creeping, seeping through the cracks in the windowsill, the green blue sky still freckled with stars as the world stay asleep. universes laid to rest in their cozy beds, minds at ease, all shrouded in blankets and carpeted by dreams: all but him. he never slept very much anyway; if there wasn’t a pressing mission keeping him awake, it was the ghosts that waited for him behind his eyes.

the compilation of all his hardest, worst moments, playing on a loop in the empty theatre of his hippocampus. the icy sensation of a rapture high, the white hot pain of withdrawal. the strands of spider dna that launched a foot race through him as he injected himself with nothing but a hope and a prayer. the stretching of his jaw, the razor sharp fangs that grew onto his incisors, the indicators that he would forever be other. though the coercive whispers of his addiction had grown quiet, the blood curdling screams of his wife and child still echoed through him, day by day, night by night, every hour on the hour. it was years before he could look at happy families without the urge to scratch at his leg with one of his talons. that should’ve been us. that would’ve been us if I hadn’t fucked it up so badly. he’d learned to let the ghosts just float by, a technique begrudgingly introduced into his life once it was recommended by jess, practically his therapist (and a mind reader, as he hadn’t once asked for her help). part of him—a stupid, naive, part—hoped that they would never truly go away. in his mind, in the absence of them, it was as though their screams were close enough to their laughter that he could pretend he still heard them, that when he rose from his bedroom each morning, he would still find them laughing and carrying on as they made sunday breakfast, or that when he woke up to an empty house, there they would be, playing in the soil and pruning the rose bushes out back, but at the end of the day, he knew they wouldn’t be. there was no stove for them to warm tortillas on for breakfast tacos. and there was no garden of roses to prune on the cold, lawn-less patio of his high rise apartment. it was just him and his grief.

but miguel didn’t believe in that “five stages” bullshit. just another myth of psychology constructed by scientists to put the suffering at ease, he thought. to give them a timeline of their hurting, to provide them not with a date or location of when, but a clear indicator that the dust of hurting would one day settle, and that the war inside their head would one day be over. he thought they’d figured that was a good enough bandage for the gash of death. but no one talks about the scar that comes once that gash is healed. no one talks about the ripping of the stitches, or the blinding pain that follows when the wounds reopen and clot and scab over and over and over again, never quite sealing shut. miguel knew in his head that he would never heal, and part of him was grateful. if he never healed, he never had to let them go. THAT was why he hated her.

he hated her because the very second he first saw her, he could hear the bells. she smiled at no one and nothing in particular, and his national anthem blared on speakers through the streets, the song he hadn’t heard since the day he lost the first loves of his life. she said hello, and flags were raised once again, she waved goodbye and the city streets, littered in bombshells and empty magazines swept themselves clean, a cold rain poured down from the sky and civilians left their homes for the first time in days to watch the downpour, to dance in it. war was over, whether he liked it or not.

and now, with his head on her chest and her heartbeat in his ear, the ghosts have found their final resting place and kissed his cheeks goodbye, one last time. and though he never loses sight of them, they don’t scream his name from the rubble anymore. they whisper to him, egging him on, encouraging him on days when he can’t find the strength in himself to keep going. the specters are like saints to him now, a crutch to lean on when he wants her so badly it makes him miss them. he kneels at their gravestone and weeps, just for them to rest on his shoulder and sigh. and they forgive him. they let him go. free him into the expanses of the wild with the knowledge that he’s ready to survive on his own, and they cheer jubilantly when he runs straight to her, as if there were anywhere else for him to go.

miguel hates her. he hates the way her laughter makes his stomach bubble, he detests the sweet, potent smell of the still-steamy bathroom as she exits the shower (he also hates the little messages she leaves for him in the fogged up mirror—finger traced transmissions reading “hi, handsome!” and “we’re out of toilet paper <3”). and he hates, most of all, that she doesn’t have to try. she never once forced him to open up to her, starting the game and waiting till he was comfortable enough to lay out his cards. he was guarded as all get out before he met her, but he broke down brick walls to let her in, not because she asked him to, or even because she said she requested entry. because he knew it was time to open. it was time for the eastern and western regions of himself to meet and rejoice once again, to end the era of his solitude and self pity, and to allow the soft smiles and crows feet to return to his face again.

he hates how easy it was to fall apart in her arms, and how easily she puts him back to together. he hates how she never needed him, but wanted him more than anything, he hates how she made an effort for him, because no one else ever had, and he hates most of all that there isn’t a single fiber of his being that could ever, in any fraction of the multiverse, bring the whole of him to truly and earnestly detest her. he hates her because he doesn’t hate her. not one bit at all.

so, in the present moment, when he cranes his neck up to see her, eyes only half open in the wee, small, hours of the morning, he traces a hand down her jaw and rests his palm behind her ear and strokes his thumb across her cheek. the sleepy smile that pulls from her entraps him, the feeling of her nails scratching at the nape off his entombs him, he knows he is royally and utterly screwed, tortured by the mere experience of her. so he licks his cracked lips and elects to give her a piece of his mind.

but when he opens his mouth to tell her how much he hates her, hate doesn’t end up being the four letter word he uses.

.

ty for reading <3 if ya have any requests send em my way and maybe i’ll do em who knows. take it easy :)

[joandavisscott]

hey, isn’t that JOAN DAVIS-SCOTT, who looks a little like KATHERYN WINNICK? i hear SHE is a FORTY-SIX year old CIS WOMAN who works as a VETERINARIAN & OWNER @ ASPEN CREEK’S VET CLINIC who has been in town for HER ENTIRE LIFE. they ARE a member of one of aspen creek’s founding families. you can usually find them at CLOVERFIELD LANE or CRYSTAL RIDGE WINERY. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of EYES AS BLUE AS THE OCEAN, A KIND HEART HIDDEN UNDER A TOUGH EXTERIOR, UNWAVERING LOVE FOR HER CHILDREN, A FANCY BOTTLE OF WINE, CHERRY-LIKE PERFUME IN THE AIR. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through!

tw for divorce, pregnancy.

FULL NAME: joan elise davis-scott. NICKNAMES: joey, jo, joanie ( by family only ). FAMILY: evelyn davis-scott ( mother ), james davis-scott ( father ). harold finch ( ex-husband ). jennifer carroll ( older sister ), three younger siblings.  CHILDREN: jasper finch ( oldest child ), matilda finch ( 12 year old daughter ). PETS: bambi & benson ( australian shepherds ), winnie ( orange tabby cat ). AGE: forty-six. DATE OF BIRTH: april 28th. ZODIAC: taurus. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual, biromantic. OCCUPATION: veterinarian & owner of aspen creek's vet clinic.

about joan.

Joan Elise was born and raised in Aspen Creek, North Carolina — the second of five children but she had a pretty easygoing childhood. Her parents were already the owners of the bustling bed-and-breakfast, inherited from her grandfather, and the halls were always filled with the children of the couple. Joan was and still is somewhat of a daddy’s girl, following James around from the moment she could walk and that’s how she became sort of a ‘tomboy’ growing up. Whilst her mom was the face of the bed-and-breakfast and the one the guests usually spoke to, her dad was the one behind the scenes making sure things were in order. And so Joan ended up picking up and learning most of the activities he did around the place, from changing a light bulb to assembling furniture to fixing leaky faucets. From a young age, she learned how to be independent, and James was extremely proud too.

Joan would come home from school and help out her dad in anyway she could, building a strong relationship with the older man. But she had other interests of her own as well, things that her parents didn’t really understand but helped in any way they could. She was the Davis-Scott that would bring wounded animals home, from birds to dogs, and nurture them back to health. She’d volunteer at nearby shelters and, when her teenage years rolled in, her parents would send her to the stables for classes. 

She grew up a very independent young woman, usually pushing away possible suitors in order to focus on herself. When graduation was fast approaching, Joan already knew what her future would look like — she’d leave Aspen Creek for college, become a veterinarian, return home and open her own clinic. It was a crystal clear vision, but it all changed when she met the man who’d be the father of her children. She couldn’t imagine it at the time, couldn’t even imagine herself as a mother, but she fell in love deeply with him and there was no denying that they would go the distance. Harry had dreams of his own, he was ambitious, charming, the kind of man that takes your breath away within minutes and leaves you wanting more. Joan stood no chance against him. They started to date and even make plans to move away together, chase after their dreams, but before they could, Joan found out that she was pregnant at twenty-one.

The news came as a shock to the couple, her family and to everyone who knew her. Joan felt devastated but only until her bump started to show, and that feeling was quickly replaced by one of adoration she had never felt before. Plans change, she accepted that, and became excited about being a mother. Joan and Harry married a few months before their first child was born, barely in their twenties, but planning for a lifetime ahead of them.

Joan became a mother and she had the dream support system, a loving husband, but her dreams wouldn’t be put to rest. When their child was around four years old, Joan and Harry then decided to pursue their college degrees together and moved out of Aspen Creek. They found a good balance between them, neither was ever overwhelmed, and their child was able to grow in a loving and nurturing environment. They spent ten years away from home, in between earning their degrees and internships, and then eventually decided to return home.

Joan returned to Aspen Creek as a mother of two, their youngest daughter having been born only a year prior, and a professional veterinarian. The family bought a home in Cloverfield Lane, thinking about the schools and how safe the neighborhood has always been. Plus, Joan was only a few minutes away from where her parents and siblings lived. And they lived happily ever after. Until she felt a shift in the relationship with her husband. They became distant, perhaps engulfed by routine or just grew bored of each other. Perhaps they were too young when they married and both started to slowly realize that they had missed out on things, despite being very much happy with how their lives had turned. Joan already worked at the clinic, and what little time she had outside of work, was usually spent with her children. Maybe it had been her own workaholic nature that drove her husband away but alas, they decided that they would be better off as friends and co-parents. The love they had for one another wasn’t enough anymore.

She wasn’t as sad as she thought she’d be when the divorce was finalized. Of course, it had been a tough decision to make, especially when they had two kids involved, but she wanted to see Harry thrive and wanted happiness for herself as well. With a fresh start ahead of her, Joan decided to take the plunge and buy the vet clinic. It has been five years since the divorce and Joan has dipped her toes into the dating game, becoming increasingly disappointed by the amount of failed dates she’s been to. She’s regaining her confidence and figuring out how to be a single woman again, and despite it all, she’s enjoying it. Harry has since moved away from Aspen Creek but she keeps in touch, and their kids are always welcome to come and go as they please — she also realized that their camaraderie has gotten much better since the separation. 

She’s just a forty-something single mom enjoying the ups and downs of life, whilst maintaining her unique nature and relishing in her newfound freedom. 

[writingsofwerewolves]

I mentioned that I had a rough outline written for a story featuring my dragon character B.D. I figured I might as well post it. Just keep in mind, it's really rough and short and meant more to be a summary of events.

~

I was cleaning the castle with my roommate when he saw me. The dragon prince. Without a word to me, he ordered the castle guards to not let me leave. I’d spotted him across the way and was instantly intrigued. He was in his humanoid form. Human-like arms and legs. His torso was hidden by his clothing but it was similar enough to human. No one could confuse him, or the king and queen, for human though. Their skin, or perhaps scales, were very distinctly dragon. The prince was mostly a dark grey, with crimson around his eyes. Small horns protruded from the bridge of his nose and where his hairline would be if he were human. I hadn’t seen the king or queen up close, but they had much larger horns from what I could tell. I guessed it was the prince’s age that caused the smaller horns.

It was terrifying when the guards told me to remain at the castle while my roommate returned home. She shrugged and wished me luck before abandoning me. I waited anxiously for quite a while before the prince arrived. I hadn’t seen him up close, or any of the royal dragon family, so it was a bit disconcerting at first.

He explained very shortly that I would be moving into the castle. Into his quarters. I didn’t dare ask why. I was scared of the answer and knew it wouldn’t change anything regardless. I didn’t have a choice. A castle guard escorted me home to collect my things. I told my roommate and she was furious. She was upset the prince hadn’t picked her. Did she really want to be the prince’s prisoner as I was to be? I was certainly willing to trade places with her, but that likely wasn’t an option.

When I returned to the castle, I was brought up to the prince’s quarters. It was high up in a tower. While climbing the stairs, my fear of heights hit me. But I pressed on.

The room was large and spacious, with a balcony. There was no door to the balcony. It was just a large opening with a ledge. No railing. I froze, scared to move any closer to it, despite being an entire room away.

The prince was there and greeted me kindly. He gave me a tour of the room, though I kept a good distance from the open ledge. The bed was giant. Big enough for him in his dragon form, I imagined. Then I realized, of course the balcony was so he could fly to and from his room easily. I had seen dragons flying around the castle before.

When he said I was to sleep in his bed with him, I thought my worst fears were confirmed. But that night, he slept far from me in the bed. Not touching me at all. I didn’t sleep for even a moment.

The next day, he walked me down to the dining hall for breakfast. He ate and spoke with other castle residents. His parents, the king and queen, were nowhere to be seen. I was grateful for that. I didn’t know if it really mattered, but I wasn’t ready to meet them.

I didn’t eat, but I didn’t think the prince noticed.

On our way back to his quarters, we came across the queen. She was extremely tall and elegant. Her frill of horns looked like a crown. Her coloring was a mix of pinks, purples, and blues. She greeted me warmly, though I found myself unable to respond, and gave the prince a task.

The prince and I returned to his quarters and he informed me he would have to leave for a while. He said I could go anywhere in the castle, within reason. The guards would tell me if a place was off limits and would escort me back to the bedroom if I got lost.

The prince disrobed. I tried not to look, but modesty didn’t seem a concern for him. I was able to catch a little bit of a glance of his back. He had red ridges down his spine. Then he transformed into his full dragon form. Wings and a tail sprouting from his body. He looked back at me briefly before flying off the ledge.

I of course didn’t roam the castle. I stayed in bed. Tired and hungry. I hadn’t slept or eaten since arriving.

At some point, I must have either fallen asleep or passed out because it was dark when the flapping of wings woke me. At least, I heard the wings and knew it was dark. I wasn’t exactly conscious though.

Then I felt hands shaking me and heard the prince’s voice calling my name in concern. I blinked my eyes open. He asked me if I’d eaten and I told him no. He demanded to know why and I explained, as best I could, that I had allergies. He didn’t know what the word meant so I said certain things could kill me if I ate them. Or if they didn’t kill me, I would suffer so much I’d wish I were dead.

I told him what I was allergic to and he promised to find food that was safe for me.

A short while later he returned, his arms laden with fruits and meats. Though I was weak, with his help I was able to sit up and drink water and eat a little bit. I told him it was far too much for me and with a smile and chuckle, he assured me that most was for him.

When I was feeling better, I realized we had bonded a little. And I realized that he likely didn’t want me for what I first assumed. I didn’t have any clue why he wanted me, but it wasn’t for sex as far as I could tell.

We started to speak more. I was a little less afraid to talk.

Over the next few days, I started to worry more that I’d been wrong. That he did want me for sex. Because he spooned me during the night. His snout pressed into the back of my neck and his hand rested on my middle. I found, however, I didn’t mind it. In fact, his warmth felt comforting and I slept better when we were touching.

A few nights of that and I realized what was happening. At least, I hoped that’s what it was. It would explain why he randomly decided to take me over anyone else. It would explain why he didn’t even seem to know why he wanted me. The warmth of his touch was likely due to him being a dragon, but the comfort it brought me… surely our connection was why.

He asked me if I wanted to meet his father and sister. I nervously agreed and he brought me to a far part of the castle I hadn’t been. It was a large room, though it was mostly taken up by a giant dragon. He was mainly a deep brown but had dark green markings.

I froze, fearful when I saw the large dragon but the prince took my hand and led me inside. He introduced me to the king and a much smaller dragon interrupted. She was the size of a Labrador and just as energetic. She bounced around the large room and greeted me excitedly.

She was adorable. The prince explained, as the king couldn’t talk in his dragon form, that she was too young to shift so the kingdom didn’t know about her yet. When she gained the ability to shift, she would be introduced as the princess.

I hesitantly asked questions. Like how old she was. Ten years old, they explained. Still just a baby in dragon years. That led me to ask the prince’s age. Two hundred and thirty four. My jaw dropped. I didn’t dare ask the king’s age.

Over time, I came to learn a lot about dragons. I learned that for them, sex and gender didn’t influence each other. In fact, dragons had no concept of gender themselves! They only identified with human genders so humans would accept them. After learning that, I came out as nonbinary to the prince and he and the queen used they/them pronouns for me without issue.

At night, the prince occasionally slept as a dragon in the bed. It seemed that he tried to keep his distance on those nights, but as we slept, we would always migrate towards each other.

One night, when he was in his humanoid form, he was spooning me and suddenly nipped the back of my neck. I was surprised but instantly aroused. To further my surprise, he pulled away, his head in his hands as if he were ashamed.

He apologized and I assured him it was fine. He explained that neck biting was something dragon mates did. I wasn’t surprised by that, but I did ask if he viewed me as his mate. He wanted me to be, he said. But he wasn’t sure how I would respond to that, as a human. I told him that I was very interested and very attracted to him. If he wanted me as his mate, I had no objections.

After all… we were already mates. He just didn’t know that.

He explained that barring anything unforeseen, dragons mated for the long term. Like humans, except dragons lived much much longer.

I should have told him then, as I agreed to be his mate. He deserved to know. But I wasn’t even really thinking about what would happened. I should have, but I was too happy.

We explored our sexual relationship. A few times, he bit me a little too hard but I really didn’t have any complaints. I didn’t know how to have sex with a dragon and he didn’t know how to have sex with a human, so we agreed to learn together.

He told me that under normal circumstances, such a relationship with a human would likely be frowned upon in dragon culture but dragons were nearly extinct. He and his family knew of no other dragons in the world. For all they knew, they were the last four.

The prince told me that if another dragon was found, it would be his duty to attempt to reproduce with them. He assured me his heart would belong to me, but he needed to do what he could to insure his species’ survival.

We hadn’t delved too deeply into our sexual relationship when I asked what sex he was. I already knew the king likely had birthed both offspring and the queen had sired them. So I was curious as to what the prince was packing, so to speak. I assured him that if it was too personal, I was sorry and it was fine. I didn’t need to know.

He chuckled and said “you always say that when you ask questions.” Then his expression darkened. It was clear he was worried about my reaction.

I told him it didn’t matter. We couldn’t reproduce anyways and gender and sex had no impact on my attraction to him.

But that wasn’t the issue, he said. It wasn’t about which sex he was… because he was both.

He tentatively explained that some dragons had the ability to both lay eggs and sire offspring. And he was one such dragon. I assured him that it didn’t bother me. He knew that humans with such conditions were looked down upon and worried I would think that way. I told him my knowledge of human biology. That more humans than we even knew had aspects believed to belong to the opposite sex. Of course, few if any humans could produce children both ways but such a state was much more natural to humans than humans liked to think. And his state of being had no impact on how I thought of him.

I loved him. And his reproductive possibilities didn’t make a difference.

I also learned that day that they didn’t know what sex his sister was yet. It was impossible to tell, without being very invasive, until they were fifty or so years old. Which was equivalent to an eleven or twelve year old human. They reached puberty, or sexual maturity, but were still considered children and far too young to actually reproduce. While technically they could, dragon culture considered them too physically and mentally immature to do so. I found that oddly to be a big comfort.

In addition, the prince told me that they chose their human genders based on their colorations. His colors were more muted, as were the king’s, so they chose to pass as male. The queen’s and his sister’s were brighter, more vivid colors, so they thought female was better for them. Gender had no meaning to the family outside of what it meant to the humans they ruled.

I could have told him the truth anytime in the year we had together. It was a beautiful year. Full of love and laughter. Earth quaking sex with a dragon. And sweet peaceful nights of sleep. I’d never been so happy in my life.

But I’d forgotten it wasn’t going to last.

When I was taken away from that world, I cried. I cried so hard and for so long, I never thought I would stop. But I had to. Because I was going to get back there.

~

Dragons watched me approach from the distance. I carefully examined each one for my beloved’s crimson markings. Some looked similar, making my heart skip a beat, but I knew it wasn’t him. When I got closer to the nest, the dragons became more bold. They got closer.

How I knew exactly where to go up the mountain, I wasn’t sure. But I knew he was there.

When I reached the nest, a large cream colored dragon stood there. Beautiful and elegant, much like the queen had been. Then behind that dragon, I saw him.

But… he looked so different, if that really was him. The horns framing his face were much larger. What had been a little nub on his nose was now a full horn stretching up to his forehead. His coloring had dulled and darkened. What had been a distinct crimson around his eyes and down his spine was barely recognizable as a shade of red. Where he previously had been silvery grey, he was a smoky black with a tint of blue.

Most importantly, he was huge. As a dragon, he previously was perhaps a bit larger than a Clydesdale but after so long apart, he had at least tripled in size. I stumbled backwards a step at the sight of him.

I greeted him shyly as he approached. His expression was hard to read as a dragon, but there was no doubt he recognized me. I asked if we could speak in private and he nodded.

As he neared, I fought the urge to back away further. He was massive and it scared me.

He led the way to a private area. On the way, a small dragon, about the size of his sister when I met her, bounded up to him. They rubbed muzzles affectionately and the prince spoke in dragon tongue to the youngster.

We arrived to a private area and he began to shift into his humanoid form, but it seemed difficult to him. He explained that he had been a very long time since he shifted, so it was hard and even painful. I apologized and said I didn’t want to cause him pain.

“Seeing you again is worth any amount of pain,” he told me.

He hugged me tightly. He was much larger, even in his humanoid form, so at first I was frightened. But it was him. My love.

I told him that I never intended to leave him. That I had so much I should have told him to start with. I explained everything. Well… half of everything. I told him my story. Reincarnations, dimension travel, and so on. I didn’t tell him his story. I couldn’t. I told him how hard I worked to get back to him and I learned that two thousand years had passed.

I asked if the young dragons were his children and he confirmed it. Ten offspring. I made a comment about his ‘mate’ and he interrupted.

“No,” he said firmly, “They are not my mate. You are. Only you. They are my reproductive partner. Together we are attempting to save our species. We care for each other deeply, but they have a mate with whom they cannot reproduce. And I do as well. You. My heart has always belonged to you.”

[xunandran]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday (Firepilot Edition)

Here's a bit of mild NSFW Bucktommy from my current project. The project itself is Buddie endgame, but at this point in the story, Buck and Tommy are married and heading toward finalizing their divorce. Buck got some bad news the night before and ends up in Tommy's bed. This is that next morning.

===== From "Trouble in Shangri-La" (763 words) =====

Evan is still clinging to him as morning streams through the east facing windows. Tommy has almost forgotten how comforting it is to have the weight of the other man against his side. He shifts, more to prompt blood flow into his shoulder than anything else. Evan follows suit, his low chainsaw snore interrupted ever so briefly as he reorients himself, slackened lips loose against Tommy’s chest just below his collar bone. 

He knows the smart thing is to extricate himself from the situation; pull himself from the clinging grasp of his soon-to-be ex-husband. But morning looks so good on Evan, from his mussed curls to the fields of stubble and the twinned pink dots framing his brow that Tommy’s traced untold times. Waking him means one day closer to never again, and when Evan’s at an arm’s distance, that’s easy to remember. Right now? Not so much. 

It’s not that he wants never again. He wants happily ever after. He wants lazy mornings and breakfast and Evan’s silly jokes and infodumping. He wants dinner and commiserating about their days and celebrating the victories where they can. He wants never ending nights and endless kisses, twinned hearts pounding together until the blush of morning exposes them. He wants everything. It’s been what he’s always wanted, ever since he met the man. 

Evan can’t give him everything though. It’s taken him years of hoping and wishing to realize that. As much as Evan loves him, and he knows that Evan loves him, it can’t fill the need inside Tommy. It can’t salve the knowing that there is and would always be someone higher on Evan’s list than he could ever be. It can’t quench the jealous heart that beats in him that needs to be the most important person in someone’s life. 

For right now though, it’s nice to pretend. It’s nice to once again trace along Evan’s birthmark and smile at the way his brows crinkle in protest even as he sleeps. It’s nice to pretend there isn’t a looming appointment to dissolve all of this. It’s nice to imagine that the simple band still on Evan’s finger means that Tommy really is the one, the most important. 

Evan stretches, fingers slinking over Tommy’s bare stomach. Tommy swallows the hitch in his throat as his skin inflames under Evan’s touch. The younger man’s hand stops, but his thumb lazily traces circles against the ridges of muscle surrounding Tommy’s navel. It’s the motion of someone conscious and aware of their actions. Tommy should say something. He shouldn’t let his silence encourage Evan. But it’s been weeks since he’s been touched by a hand other than his own and he can’t help but whine softly, logic warring against desires. 

If he looks down, he’ll see Evan’s blue eyes focused on him, which is why he doesn’t. His is a sharp intake of air in beat to the first of the trail of light kisses against his chest. Against better judgements, he slides his thumb lightly along the peaks and valleys of Evan’s spine, the motion stilling the smaller man before he decides to interpret Tommy’s caress as permission. Evan wastes no time making good on Tommy’s assent, slithering his lips upward against Tommy’s skin until they’re trading breaths in an epic, unfettered catastrophe.  

Tommy leans into their sweet disaster, losing himself in the crush of lips, teeth, and tongues. With little effort, he pulls Evan onto his lap, rough hands reminding his saturated senses of the majestic ridges and valleys of the body that he’s spent years committing to memory. Even after weeks of no contact, he could still navigate Evan’s body in the dark, but the light filtering through the sheers lets him burn Evan’s beauty against his retinas one last time. 

They’re reckless and fast, each refusing to give their brains time to stop them. There’s a small moment of separation as Evan reaches into Tommy’s end table for supplies. He knows he should stop, but he aches to feel everything Evan’s willing to give him one more time. He can’t call what they’re doing making love. It’s too raw and charged to be love. Not anymore. They’re a pair of panting, desperate messes, riding the cusp of the memories of a happier time. Evan’s rooted, knees braced against Tommy’s sides and his palm against the headboard for leverage as he pulls Tommy apart inch by inch. 

Theirs is the morning, the rattle and creak of wood and springs blending with desperate moans and Tommy’s name on Evan’s lips, a forlorn, whispered prayer.

[cdcottam]

Tabletop Inn- Marion, North Carolina

The Tabletop Inn is a board game themed bed and breakfast nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains that was created by owners (and board game designers!) Grace Kendall and Mike Belsole. Located just about an hour from the Asheville Airport, the Tabletop Inn combines the convenience of being near an airport and a city with small town charm. You can visit their website at…

[thecazagroup]

➡️#OPENHOUSE

3/30 Sun 12-1PM

🏠in #Bentonville VA 22610

5865 Gooney Manor Loop

6🛏 5.5🛁

$ 724,900

Gooney Creek Manor stands as one of Virginia’s most distinctive and historic properties. Tucked away in the picturesque upper Shenandoah Valley, the estate is enveloped by the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah National Park, with the Shenandoah River just five miles to the west. From the moment you approach Gooney Creek Manor, with the creek and bridge on your right and the stunning mountains on your left, you immediately feel you are about to experience something truly exceptional. This mid-renovation treasure offers boundless possibilities and is an incredible opportunity for a discerning investor seeking a short-term rental or event space. Perfect for an AirBnB, retreats, or a variety of other purposes, the property also features Comcast Xfinity high-speed internet and WiFi— perfect for working remotely. Featured on the 2005 Virginia State Garden Tour and highlighted in several local tours, including Browntown’s Redbud Festival, this exquisite estate spans 4,000 square feet of living space. It includes the circa 1876 manor house and a pre-Civil War guest cottage connected to the main house by a breezeway. Gooney Creek Manor is listed on the Virginia Landmark Register and lies within the newly designated Browntown historic district. Additional structures on the property include a spacious two-story barn and a charming restored chicken coop. Panoramic views of the mountains, extensive creek frontage, an inground pool, and nearly 4 acres of grounds can be enjoyed from any of the estate’s 26 windows. The pre-Civil War guest cottage, once a summer kitchen, features a striking floor-to-ceiling double-sided stone fireplace and a full bath. Previously operated as a bed and breakfast, the guest cottage offers significant income potential today. As-is, Cash, Hard Money, or construction Loan or creative financing. ***Attention Investors *** The renovation still needs to be finished, and seller is willing to consider creative finance options. Subject-to and seller finance are both on the table. More details upon serious inquiries. Once work is completed this will be a 6 bed 5.5 bath that can sleep 14.

☎️703.337.3699 #TheCAZAGroup creates #RavingFans by helping our community make smarter #HomeBuying and #HomeSelling decisions with less hassle and better service. We're serious about helping you make excellent and informed decisions. ⭐️#SatisfactionGuarantee #RealEstate Click here for details 👉http://thecazagroup.com