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januaryembrs · 4 months

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SWEET AND RIGHT AND MERCIFUL | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says: OMGGGG EM CONGRATS ON 3K !!! soooo deserved and i’m so so happy for you!!! please may i request tea for sunshine!reader 🥹🩷 maybe the moment when she realises just how much she likes him (perhaps she was in heavy denial beforehand)? I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOUUUUU 🩷🩷🩷

description: The Sunshine rookie Spencer had heard so much about is the first one to make him laugh since he got out of prison.

length: 4.1k

warnings: Lucky Strikes episode, talks of humans eating humans, cm gore, blood, violence etc. UnSub gets creepy with reader. sex jokes, spitting water.

author's note: dedicated to @avis-writeshq because she is my GIRL when it comes to Spencer Reid x Sunshine brain rot, and also because she requested a Drabble for them but I couldn't stop writing and here we are with a full ficlet.

It had been three weeks, three painfully long weeks since Spencer Reid had returned to the BAU, nearly ten years since she’d seen him lecturing at Pennsylvania. He looked different, but then Emily had said quite literally on her second day that their endgame was getting him out of prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it seemed only natural that being a fed in a foreign jail would knock someone around.

She’d been too nervous to speak to him on their first day working together, had stuck to Luke’s side like glue because he was closest in age to her and he didn’t seem to mind the way she could speak a hundred miles per hour. They had only really had any contact when she was chatting with Garcia in the kitchenette at lunch, when she was talking to the tech whizz about the crochet set she’d bought even though she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the way everything bobbed and weaved and bobbed again, and how the woman on youtube seemed to make the tiny bumblebee seem so achievable while hers looked like a yellow turd.

He’d come up behind the two of them, his footsteps deadly silent despite the fact he had sneakers on, and she wouldn’t have even known he was there had Penelope not lit up with glee at seeing Reid poking around their office again.

“Coffee, honey?” Penelope asked, looking over the girl’s shoulder, and it was only when he murmured a ‘mhm’ that the rookie noticed he’d crept up behind her, leaning over to grab his mug from the cupboard, and she hopped to the side immediately.

“S-sorry, just shove me out the way next time, my mom says I have zero spacial awareness.” She said with a nervous laugh, and he didn’t seem to care as he granted her a small glance, pushing the button on the coffee machine and clunking his mug beneath the tap.

“Have you met our newbie, Spence?” Penelope asked, friendly as ever even though the women caught the way his jaw seemed to feather with clenched muscle, like he was holding himself back from snapping, and his eyes were tired as he looked over at Garcia, barely flicking his gaze to the new face despite her prompt, “This is Y/N, she’s joined us from cold cases,”

“Hi,” The woman chirped with a quick wave, despite the fact he was stood only a foot away from her, “It’s nice to meet you after everyone’s spoken so highly about you, Penny said you like invented the term genius,”

Spencer pursed his lips, trying not to make a backhanded comment about how dumb that sounded because of course he didn’t invent it, of course it was coined in the mid seventeenth century from the latin gignere to mean ‘exceptional natural ability’, and the last time he checked he wasn’t even born then. But he stopped himself, because she was just being nice, and it wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t been sleeping or that he couldn’t eat dinner without waiting to hear a buzzer go off to let him know when it was meal time, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she was just a few decibels too loud with her cheerful tone and smile that he could hear in every syllable.

So he just gave her an awkward smile, and an acknowledging nod, the whir of effort from the coffee machine slowing down as his drink finished pouring, and he grabbed his mug, not even caring that the ceramic scolded his fingertips because he’d felt so much worse before and gotten through it.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” He said coldly, not returning the sentiment, and he’d turned before he could see the way her smile dropped, her brows creasing in worry as she watched him head back towards his desk.

“Did I say something wrong?” She asked with a small voice, and Penelope wrapped an arm around her shoulder giving her a kind squeeze and a sad smile.

“It’s not you, sweetie, he’s just-” Garcia swallowed, her own pout growing over her red painted lips, “He’s not like the Reid we used to know, he’s struggling,”

And so she nodded, chewing at the inside of her cheek with a frown. It felt silly to have her feelings hurt, except she’d been thinking about the day two agents from the BAU came to give her sociology class a talk on geographical and societal factors compelling crime, how she’d headed straight to her tutor that evening to swap her major to criminology. Because she’d hung on every word Agent Hotchner and Agent Reid had said, which definitely had nothing to do with the fact the younger of the two was so dreamy in his glasses and tweed jacket.

She’d been excited to meet him again after nearly ten years, maybe even thank him for changing the trajectory of her entire life. He was still handsome, and despite the fact she’d grown up since then, had only thought about him as that hot guy who gave a lecture in her class that one time, she still had felt that silly fluttering feeling in her chest the second she saw him talking with Emily in her office the morning he got back.

And he’d look at her like she was a girl scout selling cookies; a passing face, a summer temp, no one worth getting to know.

She pretended like she wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed, he’d been to prison for god sake. The guy had bigger problems than a little nobody girl from another department.

Things weren’t much better the day they got the case.

“You might want to cover your eyes for this bit, my little sugar plum,” Penelope said, looking at the rookie with soft eyes, and Emily smiled at her gently, knowing the girl had a bit of an innocent streak, not completely unlike Penny when she’d started the job.

“Why? I’m sure it’s nothing-” She cut herself off when Penelope clicked onto the next page, and the image of a woman who could only be described as utterly butchered flicked onto the screen in full size, “Oh,”

“Oh, indeed, rookie,” Rossi said with a wince, looking at the mulch of blood and muscle where her legs had been removed, and her fingers severed clean off as if with a carving knife.

Luke looked up at the girl, where she’d gone a little peaky, and he patted her back gently, sliding his bottle of water over to her without a word.

“All the telltale signs are here,” JJ said on a sighed breath, images of the rest of the crime scene flicking up on the screen.

“Pentagram, legs and fingers gone,” Rossi agreed, Luke and Matt looking between the team with a questioning glance, as she downed a sip of the water.

“There’s even one neat aspect right here,” Emily said, the tip of her finger pointing to one of the pictures of the floor outside the bathroom stall where the body was found, “Her earrings and jewellery are laid out equidistant on the floor,”

“Sure as hell looks like him,” Rossi said, and she cleared her throat, looking to the older man on her left.

“Like who?” She asked, her eyes snapping to Spencer who opened his mouth to speak, which seemed to be the only time he ever did bother making conversation; when there was a body on their hands.

“Floyd Feylnn Ferrell,” He said, as if the original case had only been wrapped up last week, but then with his memory she wasn’t exactly surprised, “A psychotic cannibal who’d been killing under the radar for years,”

“He killed ten prostitutes and then moved up to low risk victims,” Prentiss added, the rookie’s eyes wide. It wasn’t anything she’d never heard of, but it never made it easier knowing something even worse was coming after the murders.

“He kept slipping through the cracks and avoiding justice so people referred to him as ‘Lucky’” JJ said, her eyes darting over the crime scene photos that seemed to take her back ten years to when they’d seen almost an identical set of photos, like Hotch was about to call ‘Wheels up in twenty’ any minute now.

Rossi sighed, looking at the younger girl who watched him wide eyed, “Have you eaten today, rookie?”

She shook her head dumbly, “Why?”

“Because the worst of it was he owned a barbeque joint,” Her face dropped even more, if that was even possible, “And he fed one of the victims to the search party,”

Her hand flew to her mouth, blinking at the seasoned agent in terror, because that was something she hadn’t ever thought would enter someone’s mind until she heard it. As simple as it sounded, for someone who had seen cases going back twenty, thirty years, some particularly heinous in nature, there were new lengths she didn’t realise a human could ever go to, let alone would.

Penelope stopped, shutting her laptop lid and glancing at JJ in a plea for help, as the thought of what had happened after the Ferrell case rushed to the front of her mind, when the guy she’d thought wanted to take her out on a date shot her.

“I have a computer…” The blonde trailed off, heading for the door to the office room with a dazed look in her eyes, and the rookie watched her leave, her neck and palms clammy as she thought about what Rossi had just said.

“I think I have a computer too-” She rushed, and she bolted from her seat before she could think of anything else, dashing after the technical analyst because she feared she was going to throw up if she didn’t get a breath of fresh air.

Spencer watched her hair swish as she scurried out the room, and he wondered how long she would last if she couldn’t stomach just a few photos. He had struggled with the gore at first, sure, but he’d never ran. Maybe he was being cruel, but he couldn’t say that a girl like her exactly fit the part of an FBI agent, she seemed… pure, like driven snow, and if anything he’d hate for the bloodied parts of their job to stain a girl so squeaky clean.

Emily nudged his shoulder, nodding towards her retreating figure when he looked up at her questioningly, “You keep an eye on her in this case. She’s still learning,”

And Spencer grit his teeth, because he hated the idea of babysitting when he had a dozen of his own problems, but he nodded indignantly.

He just hoped she didn’t make things too hard for him.

–

The door swung open behind Ferrell, the UnSub’s sister, the midday Florida heat boring down on her back, Spencer bristling at her right as Luke pocketed his badge.

And then there he was. The guy from the photo, his thick, wiry glasses exact matches to the ones he’d been wearing the day he got caught, though she supposed a mental facility didn’t exactly have funds for replacements.

“It’s no problem, Lori, I’ll speak with them,” His voice was a strong southern twang, and almost chillingly calm. His sister looked over her shoulder at him, the woman fretful as she glanced between the four agents, ten years of troubles on her shoulders. She sighed, running a hand over her neck nervously and headed back inside to be with her son, leaving them alone with their suspect on the doorstep, “You’ll have to wait, I’m on my way to church. It’s right around the corner so I’m within the thousand permitted yards from the monitoring station,”

He quickly glanced at where Matt and Luke stood behind her, the former with his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed up the thin, twiggly guy who looked like the type to live in his mother’s basement until he died, not the type to cannibalise and murder.

His eyes darted over to where Reid towered over him, familiarity flicking in his face as he looked at the agent, and he smiled slowly, like something out of a horror, the uncanny valley of a face so normal when she knew he was so sick somewhat terrifying to her. He fed one of the victims to the search party. She heard it rattling around her skull as she saw the whites of his teeth, and she imagined him ripping into her then and there, her hands shaking.

“Hey, I remember you. Where’s your friend, Agent Morgan?” Floyd said, and she felt Spencer tense up beside her, which she guessed meant it was a sore subject as she jumped into the conversation, her lips moving before she could think better of it. She’d always had a habit of talking too much when she was nervous, or to fill gaps, or when she could tell someone was uncomfortable, she’d always been told it was one of her more irksome traits.

“You wouldn’t mind if we took a look around, would you? Just while you’re gone?” She asked politely yet, for once, she regretted ever opening her mouth the second he turned his attention on her.

She felt something cold and dreadful run down her spine as he looked straight at her, his sepia eyes trailing down over her neck, running over her body and down to her hands that fidgeted at her sides.

They waited on baited breath, her stomach flipping with sickness as that manic smile drew even wider, trained solely on her, a thought privy only to himself somewhat amusing to him. She felt herself lean away without even meaning to, incidentally feeling Spencer’s arm bump into hers as she did, and the three men seemed to tense up as they watched Ferrell smell the air, savouring every second of it, his eyes blown wide with something unreadable. Lustful yet starved, like he was on a four day fast standing next to an open roast.

“You’re awful pretty for an agent,” Floyd said, that drawling accent of his turning her stomach, and his eyes trailed down over her calves, and she cursed herself for wearing a midi skirt. But she hated jeans on her thighs, hated the way Florida air clung humidly to her skin when she didn’t let it breathe, but she thought she might just hate the way his mouth filled with saliva more, “Do you like running, agent?”

“Sometimes,” She whispered, shrinking in on herself even more as he took a step out of the home.

And Spencer felt his chest drop at the sound of it. She sounded petrified. But then, he would be too if someone his size looked at him like he was a five-course banquet. And he regretted ever thinking of her as babysitting, as defective, because she was clearly trying her best, and this was where it had gotten her. Right on the UnSub’s menu.

“I bet you do a lot of running, chasing after bad guys, huh?” Floyd pushed, leering towards her with another smell of her perfume, and she could have sworn his smile only widened into something cheshire cat-esque. She nodded with a worried gulp, her breath picking up when his hand began moving up to where a rogue stray hair fell out of her bun, running over her collar bone, her heart beating so wild and heavy beneath it.

And it was enough for Spencer to act, because within the blink of an eye, he’d side stepped in front of the rookie who seemed frozen in her spot, and Floyd’s arm was shoved away where it hit Spencer’s bicep. Ferrell was forced to stop looking over her clammy skin with heavy swallows like he was imagining just how she would cut and marinate, and instead was confronted with a frown that could send any man scarpering, Spencer’s lips pressed into something furious, his shoulders seeming only more broad than they usually did when he purposely blocked Ferrell’s view from her.

“You’d better get going, Floyd,” Spencer said, his voice a deadly sort of calm, and his arm stuck out behind him to keep her where she was as he spoke, “You’re going to be late for church,”

And Floyd listened, despite his smarmy smile as he dared a look at her when he passed by, despite the fact his eyes trailed back down to her jugular like he was ready to sever it there and then to string her up and cure.

Spencer’s hand fished around his pocket, glaring at the back of Floyd’s head as he strolled down the street, tossing the keys to Alvez, “Take her back to the car, don’t let her out of your sight,”

And the two of them listened while he and Matt swept the house, because anyone would be insane not to when Spencer looked so angry he could have put a hole through Ferrell’s head without blinking an eye.

–

“Eating people, who eats people, what on earth is that all about,” She muttered, the four of them in the SUV heading back to the station. She sat at the front with Spencer where he drove because Luke and Matt were gentlemen and had offered her the extra leg room, and Spencer had zero qualms because he was under strict instruction to keep an eye on her.

She did that alot, he realised. Muttered when she was thinking about something. Where he went deadly silent when troubled, too focused on sorting through the mental files that seemed to be so resistant to organise these days, she was his entire opposite, always talking or humming a tune under her breath or playing an invisible set of piano notes on her knee, something to always keep the space filled.

He’d hated it the first few days, the sound like a blaring alarm coming from over by her desk, cutting through his limited attention span, grating on his nerves and making him have to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelling at her to shut the fuck up. But then, it wasn’t exactly personal to her, even the sound of the coffee machine had been enough to pull at his hair in frustration. At twelve years old, it spluttered and whirred and kicked back at every drink it made, every second of it winding Spencer’s patience up like a jack in the box.

But he found himself listening in on her mumbles, glancing over at how her frown screwed up her doe eyes, her lip pulling between her teeth whenever there was a tiny pause in between her words, before she started again. He’d quickly realised it was the easiest cheat in the book to know when something was bothering her, that she was so much of an open book, not at all cold and guarded like him or so many other profilers he knew, that he wouldn’t need to bother deducing her like she was his next UnSub to know what was wrong. She would just tell him as it was, wear everything vulnerable on her face.

“Something the matter?” He pressed, Luke also keeping a close watch on her from the back seat as she shook her head to herself, and her head snapped over to the driver’s side, her expression entirely caught even though she’d not exactly been subtle about her turmoil.

“M-me? “ She pointed to herself, and Spencer nodded, trying not to smile because sometimes she could be clueless, not the dumb kind but something sweet, naive, and he found himself somewhat jealous that she didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room to be worth something, she could just be herself, “Yeah, I guess I just,” She huffed, running her hands over her skirt, “I don’t get why anyone would want to eat someone else, it just-” She shivered, not in a theatrical or fake way but like a ghost had walked over her grave just thinking about Floyd smelling at her.

“Some cultures used to cannibalise other members of their society as funerary practices as early as twenty-four thousand years ago,” Spencer said, and she stopped fidgeting to listen to him, “There’s evidence that the Magdelanians in North Europe used to turn their dead’s skulls into cups they would then drink out of,”

“That I can understand, those guys were probably starving and it’s not like they can just chow down on a damn sabertooth as an easy lunch or something,” She said, and he bit his lip from stopping her to explain that the two of them were about four thousand years apart from one another, “But like, when there’s a burger king or taco bell on every corner, why are you eating women. Who eats women for breakfast lunch and dinner, like raise your hands which one of you would ever eat a woman,”

Luke sniggered, and Matt smirked at the innuendo of it, the double meaning of her words flying entirely over her head.

“I dunno, Alvez, do you like eating women?” Simmons asked, a smug grin in his words as the boys cackled childishly, and Spencer rolled his eyes with amusement.

“Pretty partial to it actually,” Luke chimed in, and she whirled in her seat to look behind her of scepticism, “How about you, Reid?”

“You guys are so weird,” She murmured, and Spencer took a quick glance off the road to see her looking entirely baffled, her feathers ruffled at the fact she was left out of the joke.

“They’re talking about oral sex,” He explained, because he remembered when that had been him for the longest time, and how it had made him feel like the butt of every punchline to not understand why everyone would smile at him knowingly, yet he found himself doing the exact same to her, his lips twitching at their corners.

Spencer watched her scoff, looking back at the two grown children in the back, “I take it back, you guys aren’t weird, your gross. Why can’t you be mature like Spencer?” She huffed, sitting back in her seat and fixing her skirt, “See if you were grownups like Agent Reid and I, you’d know the term isn’t eating a woman, it’s called focalratio,”

Matt pulled a face of confusion, flicking his eyes to her, “Isn’t that to do with a camera lens?”

“Do you mean fellatio?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest not to smirk because he didn’t want to make her feel stupid, except she just waved a hand at him.

“That’s what I said. I see why they call you Doctor Read and not Doctor Listen,” She giggled at her own words, watching the trees go by her passenger window, almost entirely oblivious to the way Spencer’s face cracked into a grin, something easy and charmed in his chest.

And for a moment, he saw exactly what Penelope had been talking about when she wouldn’t stop talking about how likeable she was and how it was harder to hate her than it was to love her.

Luke took a sip of his water, the bottle nearing the end as the Florida sun warmed it up, and he figured he might as well finish it before it became stagnant and undrinkable.

“Actually the term fellatio describes only male genitalia, the female equivalent would be cunnilingus-” Spencer explained, and he knew she was listening because he felt her eyes on the side of his face as he spoke, except he was cut off by the sound of her screaming so loud he nearly slammed on the breaks then and there.

“LUKE!” She yelled, and when Spencer looked, she had water dripping down the back of her hair, soaking her shirt to her skin, her black bra straps suddenly clear as day as they pressed against her dove white top. Alvez looked mortified, and he found himself apologising between coughs, water dribbling down his chin where he’d been so shocked to hear that word coming from Spencer’s mouth that he’d completely forgone swallowing and simply spat the whole thing out right through the gap between the headrest and the seat.

And Spencer laughed; it was quiet and foreign and nothing on the roaring cacophony coming from Matt in the back, as her and Luke descended into a squabble, her proclaiming him as a disgusting alpaca man as she tried to dry herself off with his jacket. But she caught it, the small chuckle coming from her left, and she looked at him, the sodden shirt almost forgotten when she saw him laugh.

She thought then that she wanted to make him laugh like that a million more times. And she knew she had it bad for Spencer Reid all over again.

#em’s inbox ᯓ★#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler x reader #sunshine!reader #post prison!spencer reid x reader

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winterarmyy · 1 year

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Welcome Home, Daddy

The aftermath of when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Bucky was over the moon when he discovered that Y/N was pregnant with his child. But, when the danger that lurks in dark threatened to steal his family away, a fellow soldier decided to come home.

Note: Highly recommend to read 《 Welcome Home... Soldat? 》 for backstory. But, you can also read this as a stand alone (though you might miss some call backs on the soldat's behaviour if you skip)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Words: 7.1k++ (bare with me, please)

Warnings: graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, sudden fluff, tiny bit of angst, google translated russian, and just so much detained anger exploding around, soldat is just deadly yet adorable in this one (i can't even handle it, and i'm the author), this event takes place far in the future after what happened in 《 Welcome Home...Soldat? 》

A/N: Looks like we have the winner for the poll 👀 Who's ready for our lovely soldat to make his appearance again? I know I'm not, but here we are. So, strap in and let's do this!

P/S: Also, I might as well make this as my submission for the seven writing event hosted by @nickfowlerrr 💌 Check out the event masterlist and support the writers by reading and reblogging their stories!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

They say the wrath of a fighter may threatened a heinous war but the wrath of a lover will let the earth drenched in bloody gore. And if a fool was daft enough to tore a lover from his other half, then they might just court themselves right into the hands of death.

And this couldn't be more true, especially if we consider the crime that the soldat was currently committing. Surely, the blood pooling on the floor will forever leave a grim mark that'll haunt the people who ever witness it.

"Where is she?" the soldat prompted the frail woman, limping on the chained chair. Despite the horrid situation, he sounded rather calm when he spoke.

How unfortunate it was for Elle to be associated with Hydra yet to also be so exposed to the dangers of the ghost himself, the Winter Soldier. Hydra may have their suspicion about the soldat making a move, but she didn't expect that she would be involved in the mess of this ordeal.

The cold metal of the soldat's vibranium fingers, particularly his index and thumb, latched themselves on another one of her nails. Her mouth slacked open but no sound was able to be formed when the soldat mercilessly ripped her nail right off her finger.

And oh, the pain was beyond any kind of injury that she had ever experienced, not a even a bullet through her flesh could be compared to this agony of a torture.

He harshly grabbed Elle by the back of her neck, forcing her to watch the blood leaking from the reddened flesh of her fingers, "I asked you a simple question, су́ка (bitch). Where the fuck is she?" The soldat's patience had been running thin and rage had clouded his judgements.

He needed to find her. His precious Родная (darling).

No matter whose neck he needed to slay or whose blood that have to be shed dry. He had to bring his darling home; no matter what it takes.

Unfortunately, it had been almost a month since he lost her.

And no one saw it coming.

Who would've thought that the old Hydra compound that the team raided were meant to be a part of a plan to weaken the Avengers. It was just a distraction filled with unexpected traps and triggers. By the time they flew home, the team were already tired and injured as the result of the raid.

So imagine the desperate struggle and utter panic that Bucky had to go through the moment he stepped his foot into the comfort of their home and had to witness Y/N's exhausted figure fighting for her life.

Hers and the baby's inside.

After hitting the 2 months mark of pregnancy, Bucky decided that Y/N shouldn't be involved in any high stake mission anymore. At first, she only laughed to his statement, thinking he was surely joking but when his stern expression didn't flatter, that was when she reliazed Bucky was not open for negotiation.

Y/N knew it was way too early to settle into her maternal leave but after having a long conversation with Bucky, they both agreed to keep her missions strictly on low-risk stakeouts and desk works at the tower.

It was supposedly be some kind of a precaution for her, to keep her and the baby safe, away from any type harm that might come their way. But, that certainly back fired.

When Bucky's burning anger had pumped him full with high stream of adrenaline, it was as if he went into an auto pilot; a murderous one at that. And soon enough he managed to take down half of Hydra's best agents that joined the mission of collecting Y/N from the tower.

For a moment, it seemed like luck was on their side, at least it felt like it.

It lasted only until Bucky saw how harsh the kick of the enemy landed on Y/N's hip, and how she managed to shield her stomach seconds before her body slammed down to the ground.

That was when fear crawled into his pumping nerves and the roots of it ran extremely cold.

And that was all it takes for Hydra to distract Bucky then immobilize him on the spot with a replica of the Sonic Taser developed by Stark Industries a few years back.

Bucky grunted painfully in protest of the high pitched sonic frequency from the device that overloads his nervous system. His body couldn't help but to slowly paralyzed its movements as his skin turned pale and the strain in his blood vessels became visible.

On the opposite side, Y/N could be seen being forcefully dragged away by a few of the Hydra agents that was left. There were couple of nasty injuries torn all over her body yet she was still stubborn on fighting back.

While she was being pulled farther away from him, she shouted his name loud and desprete, "Bucky!" Hot tears broke from the corner of her eyes as she desperately reach out her hand.

It felt as if she was right there when Bucky's hand was reaching back towards her. Like, a little bit of a push would've been enough to catch her but alas fate was not planning to be merciful.

Bucky's menancing eyes never left her wavering ones as Hydra tortured Bucky by stealing a part of his soul from him; and no one really knew how his heart clenched and torn to the fact that he was helplessly useless when Y/N needed him the most.

And when he only managed to scream back Y/N's name, he was forced to watch her wailed as she was unwillingly being taken away.

The moment when Bucky drowned himself in regret and rage, that was when the Winter Soldier took over his consciousness.

Unfortunately for the soldat, his mortal body was already worn out from all the intense fight that happened prior; he was knocked out right after he took over the body.

But in those few seconds before the darkness consumed him, the soldat managed to catch a glimpse of his darling. He saw the image of her; teary and bruised in the hands of those who created him. The very same monsters who uses him for despicable things.

That was all that he needed to see in order to break those chains around the dark pandora residing deep within his being.

The team was absolutely not ready to deal with the soldat again, this time without Y/N to tame him. Especially when his demands were unrealistic for them to fulfill.

It's been nearly 3 weeks since the incident and they had failed to locate Y/N; repeatedly. Even if they did manage to get some kind of an intel, all the of bases they had raided were basically bunch of abandoned spaces that Hydra used to occupy.

So of course the soldat was agitated. He had every right to be, more so when he thought of the increasing risk of his darling getting hurt in the hands of Hydra. And at this point, those scumbags were just messing with their minds. Especially with his.

"Listen, we're doing our best here, soldat." Steve tried to reason with him but it only fueled the burning flames within the soldat, "ты делаешь недостаточно! (You're not doing enough!)" He spat harshly that he didn't even noticed that he uses Russian language. It seemed like the unkempt irritation had conquered the chaos of his mind.

So that very night, the soldat decided to do this on his own; thus he ran away from the tower in search for his darling. He had to. Especially when he knew precisely why the Avenger was not able to find Y/N as quickly as they should be.

It was because they were the good guys. They were the heros, they were the light. And the soldat was not. In fact, he was the very opposite.

Unlike the Avengers, the soldat was not planning to play nice and soon enough he managed to find a lead.

Which bring us to this very moment in which he successfully snuck into a Hydra agent's home to interrogate her.

But, in contrast of those Hydra troops that attack the Avengers Tower a few weeks ago, Elle was not even involved in the mission of retrieving Y/N. She was actually on a solo mission to infiltrate a certain high school to collect informations on Peter Parker. Hydra suspected that he might be involved with the new hero appearing in Queens.

However, even if she was not a part of the team mission, she knew bits and pieces of the overall plan, especially the whereabout of the main character herself, Y/N.

However, the appearance of the Winter Soldier in her temporary house was completely unexpected.

It felt like it was just few moments ago that the intel on Y/N's location reached her ears. Then, she distinctly remember the glimpse of those murderous eyes glaring into her soul. Next thing she knew was everything went pitch black.

Even if it was temporary, however it felt so surreal.

The darkness surrounding her.

The bone rattling cold.

It felt like death itself.

But unfortunately for her, the soldat was far from stopping.

Elle was fraying at the edges while the soldat crouch to her level. Even if she could barely reconstruct the unclear and blurry images through her dazed eyes, however, that didn't stop the soldat from maiming the dying woman's soul through his unforgiving gaze.

"Wake up..." he growled as he yanked her face upwards, "...we're not done yet."

It took a while for Elle to finally adjust to the light, after being in the dark for – how she felt like – so long.

After the light hits her vision, the striking pain came next. The pulsing pain surrounding of her right eye, her broken nose, her busted lips, her bleeding skin; neck, chest, arms, and almost every part of her limbs.

Everything were – slowly but surely, in each cuts and bruises on her skin – blooming its pain into existence.

How can she skipped all of this when she lost her consciousness?

Perhaps that was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. By running away from the misery; from her reality.

Elle whined in pain but her voice suggested that she might already torn her throat apart when it sounded more like a broken grunt. Her disoriented gaze fell into her aching fingers, each were missing its nail; the tips of them was where the icky blood trickled from and had shaped a pool of blood on the floor where she rested.

The dim lighting from the room reflected on the surface of the deep-red puddle, revealing the resemblance of it to a mirror. And the blurry image looking back, was the soldat, with a sinister expression on his face.

This game, that they're playing.

It hardly seems fair to one of them. To be tortured if not speaking the truth? That's simply unjust; but if we're talking about fairness, then none of those injuries could ever be compared to the pain Y/N might be going through at this very moment. Every second of Elle's useless stubbornness was costing Y/N's safety.

And the soldat didn't like that. Not one bit.

"You mentioned Spain? Where exactly?" In one swift, harsh motion, the soldat thrust his knife through her thighs, "FUCK!"

The loud scream of pain that tore from Elle's throat was probably the last coherent word that she uttered as the torture continued.

The soldat pulled the knife out and stabbing it into the open wound, he listened to Elle's gasp for a moment, relishing her breathless pleading and the tears now openly streaming down her face.

He stabbed again, twice, each was quick and deep, not caring about the blood that spurted out across his face.

At this point Elle was just a puddle of blabbering mess; streams of saliva pouring out her mouth, sobbing, gasping for air; mixture of grunts, moans and whispers of curses and pleas were all spouted incoherently.

Anger.

Frustration.

Rage.

Wrath.

Even hatred.

The soldat was feeling it all.

It was consuming him, devouring any sanity that was left of Bucky's moral values. The eerie glint in the soldat eyes suggested that he was not planning to stop until she gave him what he wants.

God, if it wasn't for chilling atmosphere around her, Elle might just mistook that she was actually in hell.

"Pyrenees!" She cried out. The soldat instantly stopped when she confessed. He waited for an answer and right on cue, she spoke again, breathless and almost silent as the fear that engulfed her prior refused to release her from its haunting grip. And truthfully she doubt that it will ever let her go, "T-there a secret base n-near the Irati forest."

She exhaled a shaky breath as she pleaded, "S-so please. Please stop this." The was tired of the pain and the numbness that came after. And the soldat knows it.

The room was left silent momentarily, as if he was actually considering her plea but alas he already had plans for her all along, "Shame. You should've killed yourself before I came here."

As he finished the last word, the soldat viciously plunged his knife deep into her neck, digging the sharpness of it through the delicate flesh until it reach the base of the blade.

Elle gasped in response, her hands scrabbling around in effort to break free, to stop all of this. But considering the situation she was in, there was nothing she could do about it other than to take it as it was given to her.

When the motion finally stopped, the soldat simply walked away from the scene as if it was a complete norm for him to behave as he was. He didn't even thought of cleaning the mess he left behind. Or hide the corpse somewhere.

Isn't he afraid that he might leave his tracks for the police to find?

Why would he?

This has been his life for decades on end. His sole purpose of living was to kill. So best believe that the authorities will never be able to link the soldat or Bucky to this crime.

Not today, not ever.

Through the days that Y/N was locked deep within Hydra's base, she hadn't been treated the worst. In fact, the sick and twisted agents and residents in the facility was more than willing to care for her.

This was all because they wanted her baby.

It was always sickening to hear them referring her child as merely a tool for their success. And the way they worship Y/N like she was a gift from God to fulfill their purpose, was beyond insanity.

"Oh, to have the privilage of bearing the offspring of the Winter Soldier. To be able to create the perfect weapon, unlike the father. It is just honorable."

It made her stomach churned with pure disgust whenever she heard those types of comments floating around her.

Besides the eerily digusting behaviour of the agents, there was also the regular check-ups and the lab tests that she needed to attend. Out of all the things she had to endure these past few weeks, the medical check-up has always dreaded her the most.

There was this constant debate within her troubled mind; of the possibility of Hydra manipulating her baby's health and genes by inserting unknown substance into her.

"Come on, mama. On the bed." The doctor said as he patted his rubber gloved hand on the surface of the rigid single bed.

She always found it vile that the people here calling her by that nickname. It tickled her throat in a way that she wanted to puke all the tasteless gunk that they had fed her with.

As she laid on the bed and let the process went on as it usually do, the doctor suddenly stopped everything that he was doing. At first she was weirded out by the irregular act of the man, but when she felt the vibration on the ground and the rushing footsteps from the floor above her, she knew exactly why the doctor suddenly froze on his spot.

And the emergency siren that shortly blared after, had only confirmed her speculation.

But mostly, it was the panic in the doctor's eyes that gave him away; then when Y/N noticed the man scrambled to search the drawers from one of the cabinet, she knew that he was up to no good.

The second that the doctor's hurried his steps towards her with a syringe in his hand, Y/N's body immediately recoiled. She quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist and twisted it back until the syringe dropped from his hold.

The man cursed under his breath and decided to take her by force when he grabbed a handful of her hair, almost dragging her out of the bed. Y/N shrieked painfully while her hands blindly grabbing the silver tray by the bed next to her.

She then slammed it hard against his head, and watched the contents on the tray fell and scatter onto her. She took quick skim over all the tools and saw a potential weapon for her defence; a scissor.

"Stay still, mama. Or the baby will get hurt." The doctor foolishly threatened.

Maybe it was her defence mechanism or maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in but something just snapped inside of her when he said those words. There was this incredibly strong urge to either fight or take flight.

Of course she could easily slipped away and make a run for it but she just couldn't risk it. Especially when her baby's life was currently at stake. So, after a short moment of hesitation, she swiftly grabbed the scissors and surge it through his ribs. The man wailed in pain as he staggered off the bed and fell onto the floor.

You'd thought a single yet firm stab through the guts was enough to quench Y/N's need of fighting back but no. Apparently, the haywire of her nerves had drove her feral and she needed him to be soulless by the time she walk out the room.

That had forced her to nearly jumped on him like a predator pinning on a meek prey and the lack of struggling on the victim's side had only gave her full control to dominate him.

Then all of the sudden, the doctor felt another strike of the pain, digging into the flesh of his chest.

He woefully cried in extreme pain while Y/N did not utter a single word or let out any sound, she stayed silent as she thrusts the scissor in and out his flesh.

Each surge was vicious than the previous. Each stab was gradually speeding up as the motion increases it's number of repetition.

She completely let her emotions took over her sanity.

Until what's left in the room was only the sloshing and splashing sound of blood seeping through every thrust, as she continued to violate the body of the corpse.

Until the calm puddle of blood on floor rippled as the tears that broke from her eyes dropped on it's surface.

And when she realized that the doctor was long dead, that broke Y/N out from her feral state. Realizing what she had done; she shakily loosen her grip on the scissors and scrambled off from the lifeless body.

Her breath was near erratic; it was a chaos of unsteady rhythm as her words was lost at the tip of her tongue. She jolted in shock when the commotion in the facility got louder than before, reminding her that Bucky was there to save her.

Y/N felt a sob choking in her throat as her hands searched her stomach to coax the child in her womb, "It's okay sweet bean, daddy's here for us."

Have you ever heard how ear-ringingly loud it is when it's hailing? How the sounds of the frozen raindrops hitting – the top of your car or the roof of the shades of an outdoor café table – can completely mute your words for anyone to hear?

That has nothing compared to the thundering sounds that echoed throughout the whole facility. The shots were fired from multiple range of stolen guns, all were coming from one moving figure.

The once clean grey and white painted walls of the hallways, were now stained and splattered with the color of crimson. The usually empty hallways, were occupied by the dead bodies of fallen Hydra agents. And the distinct scent of well-kept lair, were effortlessly replaced by the unpleasant and pungent smell; a mixture of blood and sweat.

It was a clear trail of the Winter Soldier's deeds.

This place was supposed to be pristine, but now feels more like how it should be; hell.

While the enemies were roaring into their death, the soldat on the other hand was very much the opposite.

Unlike his foe, it took him very little work from the tips of his tongue and much more on the tips of his gun. When the enemies barked like a dog, the soldat pounced like a wolf; silent and resilient.

By nature, the soldat had never been a patient man, especially when it comes to people harming his darling.

Sure, maybe he can tolerate and play along with people who messed with him, but if one were to touch even a strand of hair of his beloved, then they practically reserving themselves a first class ticket of a one-way trip to hell.

And that unhinged tendencies of his only worsen when wrath was the one reigning his mind while hatred was its ruler. His mind was nothing but a chaos of rampage and vengeance. Seeking nothing but blood and death of his foolish foe.

At this point of time, with the amount of life he had taken from the moment he step foot into the gate of the base, to the very stairs he was currently climbing, one could probably matched his heart rate with the rhythm of the shots formed by the bullets he shot.

Magazine upon magazine he reloaded his gun and waste no less than zero bullet as every shot made was accurately deadly and terrifying fatal to his prey.

As the soldat's feet reached half way up the stairs, a Hydra agent's voice spoke from the lower level, "She's on the LG2, we need a team to come and collect her as soon as poss--" A bullet went straight through the top of his head before he could finish his sentence.

And that was the soldat's last ammo.

While he mentally took note on the intel, his feet was quick to jumped into action and made his way down to LG2. As he entered the hallway, his wild eyes wondered around to steal another gun from a dead man's body.

But he rose into a stand, he felt a tip of a cold steel nudged at the back of his head.

Some would call out the soldat's mistake for letting his guard down in the middle of a battle, but another would definitely ridicule the stupidity of that fool's guts for even thinking that the soldat couldn't counter-attack his weak threats.

However, none of the two man managed to made any move towards each other when there was a faster, more accurate trigger was pulled from someone else, from across the hallway.

And that action left an aftermath of the fool's body to drop flat on the floor, quickly finding it's perfect spot with between the other pile of corpses scattered around.

When the soldat turned around, the sharp of his gaze softened almost immediately.

There she was standing there, in the pastel blue of her 'prison' attire. Her hair was a bit messy even if it was tied, and her complexion looked slightly pale with fatigue but to the soldat, she was glowing like angel; despite the blood on her clothes or the gun in her hand.

She was right there.

His heart.

His love.

His darling.

Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. Her pouty lips trembled when the soldat stepped closer and closer towards her, tears threatening to fall as if she haven't done that during all the weeks that she had been here.

The soldat's steps grew faster.

So does Y/N's.

Tap taping until they were almost running towards each other.

Until the moment they reunited in the middle.

Catching each other's lips in a desperate and insatiable kiss, the soldat pulled her body tight around the waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Both whimpered in a yearning moan, both still had their guns hanging on one of their hands.

So many feelings at once, relief and grief, with each of them had a different story to tell.

The couple kept breaking and mending the kiss ever-so-passionately as if they weren't in the middle of the grave-less cemetery; as if they weren't in the center of the piling corpses.

Briefly opening his eyes, the soldat could see a shadow running towards them. When Y/N heard the footsteps from her back, she knew they need to pull away, but the soldat was firm and stubborn with his hold.

So instead of letting her break the kiss, he groaned in disapproval and pulled her lips back to his. An angry growl vibrated against her lips as he continued to explore her wet and warm mouth.

Caught off-guard she melted to his silent demand, almost forgot that the enemy was right behind her. But, she should've know better when the soldat loosen one of his arms from the embrace and pointed his gun towards the target.

His finger pulled the trigger almost as easily as his teeth tugging into the bottom of her lips. And suddenly the sound of a body collapsing behind didn't matter anymore.

When the soldat felt that he had enough of the sweetness of her kiss, he finally pulled away, at least for now. He whispered dearly, "Родная (darling)..." he cupped her face in his large hands and rested his forehead on hers.

She thought she heard it wrong, but did he just called her darling? It took her a few second to piece it together and realized that this man was not Bucky, that he had relapsed into the Winter Soldier again, "Soldat?"

The soldat smiled and leaned forward to steal a chaste kiss on her lips, "Yes, it's me, мое Родная (my darling)" he cooed as he swept her by her feet, off the bloody ground and carried her in his arm, "I got you, Куколка (little one). You can rest now."

"We're just wanted make sure she's alright."

"You can follow us if you want so just please--"

"Soldat! You're going to hurt her."

The familiar voices leaked through Y/N's ears as she was drifting through her dreamless slumber. Soon enough, the loud commotion of her surrounding woke her up from the deep sleep.

The words that the Avengers were yelling out became clearer as she gained her consciousness, and the ever-changing movements of the soldat, evading every step the Avengers made to get closer to him, made her aware of the way she was resting in his arms; perfectly cocooned in a form of a bridal carry style.

The soldat halted on his spot when Y/N opened her eyes to see what was going on, "Soldat?" She blinked multiple times as she adjusted to the lights. The menacing frown of the soldat melted into a much softer expression, "Родная(darling), you shouldn't be awake yet." He craddled her closer to him as he cooed.

Where is she? How long was she out? When did she changed her clothes?

"What is happening?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder to see Natasha sighing in relief, "Sweetheart, thank god you're awake."

Y/N then looked over to Steve, "You've been gone for weeks, y/n. We got news about your rescue yesterday, and you guys just arrived home. Now, if we could just to take you to the medbay and get you check-up, that'll be great." He briefly explained.

"Yeah, that's all we want isn't it? But, someone just had to be sappy and refuse to let anyone touch you. You know, how it is with the soldier." Tony quickly intercepted.

The soldat didn't pay them any attention now that his darling was awake. He was merely focusing on whispering the sweetest things as he traces delicate trails of kisses on her forehead, her nose, her cheek, basically all over her face.

Sam took it as opportunity to get closer when the soldat was distracted on suffocating Y/N with kisses. But he should learn by now how alert and agile the soldat can be, especially when he have Y/N close to his proximity.

So, when Sam took a step closer, the soldat recoiled almost immediately, putting quite of a distance between them.

"Man, if Bucky has a staring problem, then the winter soldier over here has a hogging problem." Sam accusingly pointed at the soldat, only getting grunts as a reply.

Looking at the current situation, Y/N pondered for awhile. As much as she wanted to get herself check-up, it was also wise to not pressure the soldat to give her away.

Considering what she witnessed at the Hydra base, Y/N knew the risk that comes when we let the soldat dwell in anger for too long.

So she consulted the rest of the team to back down for now, and let the soldat do what he wants. Y/N promised them that she will conviced the soldat to let her get a check-up as soon as possible. But for now, they really need to trust her words.

At first every one of them was reluctant to let her go but in the end they agreed to her suggestion.

When the team spread out and gave some space for the soldat, he didn't waste any time and marched straight to where their bedroom supposed to be. As soon as they arrived at their safe space, the soldat almost threw Y/N onto the bed and swiftly drew a knife from the holster of his thigh as his predatory eyes searched the room.

He refused to move even an inch away from where he stood and remained close to Y/N; shielding her figure with his own.

It was very faint, but the soldat could sensed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Y/N eyed him curiously, wondering why the soldat was still on edge when he wasn't supposed to. So, she hopped off from the bed and stood on her feet before reaching out to hug the soldat from behind.

"You can put the knife down, soldat. It's just us here." She coaxed but the soldat refused to believe her. He pulled her by the arms, breaking her hug in the process and hold her close to his chest, "There's someone else here."

His actions was rather rougher than he intended it to be; even Y/N was startled by the sudden movement, "Oooff, careful there, soldat. You might give the little one a fright." She chuckled softly as she give her belly a loving rub.

And suddenly his attention was completely focused on Y/N now. Usually his frown symbolized irritation, but this time there was a clear confusion in his eyes. The amount of appalled blinking of his eyes increases when the puzzle pieces in his head started to merge.

The soldat knew that he heard a third heartbeat in the room; that was why he was on alert for threats but apparently he had been closer to the source than he thought was.

In fact, it was right his arms. Or maybe a little bit lower, somewhere around his torso.

Y/N didn't say anything, she simply nodded and smiled up to him as she continued to rub her belly.

When the conclusion finally hits him, the soldat dropped the knife in his hand at the same time he fell on his knees. His gaze never broke from hers, not even a split second, until he was face to face with her tummy.

The soldat leaned one side of his ear closer to her and the thumping sound of the third heartbeat got louder. The discovery had caused him to jolt away as shock decorated his features. He titled his head upwards to Y/N with the same wide, confused look in his blue eyes.

"It's okay, love." She giggled amusingly when the soldat repeated his previous actions. He leaned in and jolted back again as if he couldn't believe what he just heard was real, "Is it... his?" The soldat asked as he implied his existance to be separated from Bucky.

There was a hint of sadness in Y/N's expression when he said it like that. There's been many long conversations that she and Bucky had about the soldat after his first relapse.

Though Bucky was still unsure of his own dissociating self, Y/N on other hand believed that the soldat, this particular man whose drenched the earth with blood just to save her, the same man whose currently on his knees to hear a heartbeat of an unborn child; he deserved a little kindness in his life.

"Yes..." Y/N answered truthfully before she continued, "...and he's yours too."

And that surely knocked the air out of the soldat's lungs, he couldn't tell if she was telling him the truth or was just trying to kill him; either way the butterflies in his chest was suffocating him from the inside.

The soldat couldn't speak a single word; because he didn't know what to say. But there was this beam on his features, light in his eyes, softness on his smile when he dreamily stared at her growing belly.

Y/N took him by his flesh hand and place his palm on her stomach, then she spoke tenderly to the baby inside her, "Wanna say hi to daddy, sweet bean? Say, 'Welcome home, daddy.' "

She knew it was silly, because obviously the child in her womb shouldn't be able to speak, and he was not yet developed enough to be kicking his feet. Hell, they don't even know his gender yet.

But how could she not say it when the soldat looked so damn happy when she did. He looked so peaceful and has this daze and some of those twinkling hearts in those steel-blue eyes of. The soldat sighed in pure joy before he leaned to kiss her stomach.

And as it turns out that was all she needed to do to persuade the soldat to letting her see the doctors. He was there through the whole process, refusing to let go of her hand. It was such a good news to hear that the baby was healthy and there wasn't any foreign substance that might contaminated her during her times in Hydra.

After getting proper medical care and some food in her system, the soldat immediately carry her back to their room to settle down. While she laid on the bed, making up for the lost time to finally get the mental rest she desperately needed, the soldat on the other hand, had made himself comfortable by lying his head on her stomach.

He just couldn't stop; as if he was hypnotised by the melody of the baby's heartbeat. His hand snuck under her shirt, lifting the fabric up to reveal the belly where their miracle resides.

Y/N's droopy eyes followed his actions as she watched how carefully the soldat approached her. Out of habit, her hands absentmindedly rake through the softness of his hair as she held him by the head.

The soldat dotingly caressed the child's sleeping chambers as he leaned closer to it, "...Hi there, little one." he greeted with a quiet and loving whisper.

Immediately, a smile beamed brightly on Y/N's face when the soldat proceed to pamper her belly with countless of tender kisses, "...it's daddy." he introduced himself, as if the baby was able to understand him.

The silence that came after was so sweet and comfortable. And Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to have this without the soldat. She tucked a piece of his loose strand of hair behind his ear when she spoke gently, "Thank you for saving me, soldat."

He briefly lifted his head and smiled up at her, "You know I can't live without you Родная (darling). I will always need you." He declared a truthful confession before turning his attention away. His lips grazed on the skin of her belly as he mumbled against it, "And you too, little one."

Y/N could burst into tears just from this interaction alone but she try not to. She doesn't want to look back at this moment and remember how much she wept, so she blinked her tears away while she watched the soldat spoiled the little buddle of joy inside her with so much endearments.

Even though it was always a happy memory for the soldat when he spend time with his darling, but this... this was rare. And he wanted to cherish it for as long as he could.

The soldat laid on his ears again when he peered from where he had his head rested, his deep gaze captured her attention, "Has he been taking care of you good, darling?" He asked.

The soldat probably had no idea how Bucky adored her; if anyone paid enough attention they might even caught him worshipping the very ground she stepped on.

A breathy chuckle escaped from her mouth as nodded with a drunken grin, "He's the best." She hummed approvingly, "Best husband, and best daddy too." She exclaimed brightly as she glanced at the ring on her finger; it was barely visible through the thick of the soldat's hair.

Surprisingly, the soldat didn't react negatively to her remarks, instead, a proud smile curved on his lips as the pride in his chest overflowed and leaked all through his very being, "Good." He simply said.

The smile lines on the corner of his eyes didn't flatten even when he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to silenced everything else around him and focused on the fluttering sounds of the baby's tiny heart.

It might have been the thick haze of lavender smoke in their head or the swarming butterflies in their chest, that they didn't even notice the fatigue that had been slowly taking over them, until the tenderness of their caresses were barely moving.

When the heaviness of her eyes weighted the lids, she sleepily asked the soldat, "Will you still be here when I wake up?" Truth to be told, she was afraid that all of this was just a dream; an escape from reality of the cruel captivity.

The soldat briefly opened his own tired eyes and cooed softly, "I'm always with you, Родная (darling)." And Y/N took it as a promise for her desprete soul to cling on; a ray of hope for her to hold onto, if she ever wakes up in that cell again.

Not long after, both of them lost to the lure of somnolent and their soul quickly drifted into the peaceful dreamland. Soft snores were filling the quiet of the room as their mortal body continued to entangled themselves with each other.

It was safe to say that if Steve would ever barge into the room, he'd probably maxed the storage of his phone with photos of the soldat smushing his face on Y/N's belly as she perfectly curled around him.

Maybe it was the sunlight leaking through the window or maybe it was the intense gaze she felt burning on the skin of her face. Eitherway, it certainly disturbed her from her sleep.

When her body stirred, Y/N realized that she didn't need to open her eyes to know that last night was not a dream, especially when she can feel a pair of familiar arms wrapping around her waist under her shirt.

Y/N slowly peeled her eyes open to see a recognizable ceiling. Her eyes then trailed to her side and met a pair of blue of eyes staring back at her. Her gaze searched for the soul within him and found the semblance of Bucky reflected in his eyes.

Still dazed from sleep, she continued to watch him blinking at her, slowly and silently, like a cat declaring their love to their human. But even then, he couldn't hide the afterglow of the tears on his face.

"Bucky, honey. Have you been crying?" Her voice rasped from lack of use, yet her tender fingers find themselves crawling across his wet cheeks.

It was as if her voice was a trigger, and tears quickly reformed in Bucky's eyes again. Y/N gently pulled him to her chest, one hand threading his hair and another rubbing his back as he sobbed in her arms, "It's okay, Bucky. We're okay." She continued to coax him lovingly.

They spend most of the early morning holding each other close and dear. Then when the tears started to lessen, Bucky finally pulled himself away from her. Y/N wiped the excess tears on his cheeks but he caught her hand underneath his; he relished in the relief of her presence when he sighed to her touch.

Bucky's gaze wobbled in the pool of tears in his eyes but he was still determined to speak his mind "I'm so sorry, doll." He apologized, "I couldn't stop them. Even with this damned serum in me, I still couldn't protect you; both of you." If his defeated voice didn't convey his truth, then the tremble of his touch should be enough.

And Y/N's heart simply shattered for him; what did he meant by that? He did save her though. The winter soldier or Bucky. It didn't matter who but she was here now because of him. She was safe; they both were, "But you saved me, did you not?"

"But, I didn't. The sol--" Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, Y/N quickly cuts in, "The soldat is always going to be a part of you, Bucky. And if he saved me, that means you saved me too." She reassured him.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she continued to persuade him, "And if I could speak for our child, which I absolutely can because I'm his mother, then he would say that he is proud that his strong daddy managed to beat the absolute shit out of those bad guys."

Bucky blurted out a hearty laugh, "I don't think it's good to teach our baby to curse when he is still in your womb, mama." His laugh gradually reduced to a chuckle when he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

Y/N simply shrugged to his suggestion, "It's not like he wouldn remember this anyway." She smirked playfully.

Another chuckle managed to slip through Bucky's lips before he lowered his face to her tummy, "And you? How's your play date with Winter, hmm sweet bean?" He mumbled as his lips planted on her skin.

Besides the heartbeat of his child, he could also hear the tiny twitching of the baby's limbs moving ever-so-slightly, "Yeah, I bet he spoiled you with lots of kisses and cuddles, huh? Like he did your mommy?" He continued to coo against her belly, unaware of the shock on his wife's face.

"Winter?" A small smile cracked from the corner of her lips. Yes, she was shocked but that doesn't mean she wasn't pleasantly surprised by it.

Bucky didn't even bother to look up at Y/N's face as he was busy blowing raspberries on her stomach, "If he's going to keep popping up in our lives then we might as well call him something else other than 'soldat', don't you think?" He simply said, marking one last kiss on the small growing bulge on her belly, before working his way back up to her face.

Y/N's heart swelled to his gesture and when he laid his head next to hers, she carefully took him by his cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, "I think he'd love that, Bucky." She whispered against his lips, feeling his smile in return.

Bucky nudges forward to catch her lips again; kissing her slow and sweet as if his whole world has been waiting for this moment. And when the kiss naturally broke, he tempted her with something he knew she couldn't resist, "Now, how about we grab you both something to bite, hmm?"

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The use of the title in the fic is suprisingly wholesome despite the insinuation of it, don't you think? Lol. Btw, thank you so much for stopping by and read my work. Leave your thoughts behind for me, I'd love to hear from you!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #the seven writing event #nickfowlerrr’s writing event #winter soldier!bucky #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fluff #bucky fluff #nickfowlerrr's writing event

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forlix · 9 months

Text

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways.

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it.

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him.

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige.

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter.

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds.

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—”

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.”

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year.

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen.

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia.

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt.

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds.

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds.

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds.

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through?

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills.

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.”

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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slut4thebroken · 7 months

Text

Needs

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary | Tommy’s been so busy with work that he’s been neglecting your needs… So you come up with a plan to finally get some attention.

Warnings | Smut, semi public sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, degradation, humiliation, praise, brat taming, gunplay, established relationship.

Words | 2.3 k

Notes | I feel like I still don’t really have his characterization down tbh :/ oh well😭

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Smut prompts 4. "what would they think if they saw you right now?" 36. “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.” 48. “no panties. you need me that bad?” 50. “i bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. we’ll see how cute you look later when i get you home” 52. “you keep acting like a brat and i’ll take you over my knee right here. i don’t care how many people are watching” 75. "You wanted this. You can take it."

This definitely was not your proudest moment… but you’re pent up and Tommy has been too busy to take care of you for almost two weeks now. You’re desperately craving some rough, hard fucking. And you know exactly how to get it.

Placing your hand on the man’s bicep, you laughed along with his “joke” and glanced at Tommy from across the room. He still hadn’t noticed you yet and you prayed he would soon because you’ve never met a man more bland and boring than the one in front of you. He’s also either completely stupid, or just doesn’t know that you’re with Tommy since he’s openly flirting with you.

“You know, you truly are very beautiful.” He said, the joking tone now completely gone.

“Oh- thank you..” You smiled, trying not to cringe.

“May I dance with you?” You glanced at Tommy again— still nothing.

“Sure.” He led you over to the center of the room and grabbed your hand, placing his other hand on your back, far too low. He started up another conversation and all you could do was nod or hum in agreement, too focused on looking at Tommy every chance you had.

When you finally, finally met his gaze.. you immediately recognized his expression. You forced your eyes back on the man in front of you and smiled, trusting that Tommy would be over here any second now.

“Hello, darling.” You stopped and tried not to smirk as you turned around. Tommy was looking between you and the man who quickly let go of you and stepped back.

“Mr. Shelby.” He greeted, giving an awkward smile. He looked between the two of you and seemed to suddenly understand the situation. His smile slowly dropped as he took another step back. “I- I’m going to..”

“Yeah, you do that.” Tommy sneered, waiting until the man scurried away before turning to you. He didn’t bother asking before grabbing your hand and pulling you into him by your lower back.

“I bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you…” He murmured, making you smile a little. “We’ll see how cute you look later when we’re home.”

“We were just dancing.” You said, in a tone that implied that you weren’t just dancing.

“Right.” He scoffed.

“There’s no need to get insecure, Tommy.” You said innocently, watching as his cheeks tensed when he clenched his jaw. His piercing blue eyes practically stared through you and if it were anyone else, they would’ve backed down immediately.

“You keep acting like a brat and I'll take you over my knee right here. I don’t care how many people are watching.” He spoke in a low, menacing voice, making your stomach flutter.

“Really? You’re not too busy for that?” You snarked and his expression shifted into one of realization, then amusement.

“Is that what this is about? My girl is a bit needy so she turns into a whore?” As soon as he started teasing, you knew you had to do more for this plan to actually work.

“Screw you.” You spat, pushing him back by his chest. His eyes darkened and without paying any attention to the people who were now watching this encounter, he grabbed your wrist and started dragging you somewhere. “Let go!” You tried yanking yourself free, but his grip wouldn’t budge. He pulled you through a few hallways until you reached the kitchen, then shoved you into the room and slammed the door shut.

“Quit it. I won’t tell you again.” He warned.

“I didn’t even do anything! You’re the one who made a scene and dragged me away from the party.”

“Oh, I made a scene?” He chuckled and you clenched your jaw, letting out a heavy breath through your nose. “Does no cock for less than two weeks really turn you into a complete brat?” He was still so fucking amused, so you shoved his chest again. He suddenly gripped your neck and pushed you back a few steps until you hit the counter. “I said quit it.” He growled, tightening his grip on your neck.

“Fucking make me, Thomas.” You spat, purposefully using his full name.

“You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter right now… Don’t push your luck.”

“Oh, are you? Do you even have time for that?” You don’t think you’ve ever sounded more bratty before in your life.

“Fine. You want to be fucked?” He quickly spun you around and pushed your chest down onto the counter, then bunched your dress up, letting it rest on your back. “Really, no panties? You need it that bad?” He snickered, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You don’t regret your decision to go without them though.

The sound of clothes rustling as he opened his pants had you squeezing your thighs together, eager for what was to come. Without any warning he fully sheathed himself inside you, making you cry out and scramble for purchase on the counter.

“Fuck! Tommy— what the hell?” He didn’t even give you a second to adjust before starting a brutal pace. Grabbing your hips tight enough to bruise, he bucked into you wildly with little care for your own pleasure. But for some pathetic reason that only made all of this hotter. “God- Tommy, slow down.” You whined, trying to squirm away.

“You wanted this. You can take it." He gruffed, letting out quiet grunts now. Honestly, you’ve been a little horny since the moment you decided not to wear any underwear, but it’s been longer than usual since he’s been inside you and he didn’t do anything else to prep you, so the stretch burned a little. It was quickly turning into overwhelming pleasure though. When you reached a hand down to rub your clit, he twisted your arm behind your back almost painfully.

“Brats don’t get to touch. You’ll be lucky if I decide to let you come at all.” You cursed under your breath and closed your eyes, only getting more worked up by his words and the way he said them.

“Fine. When we’re done, we’ll go back out there and I’ll tell everyone about how Tommy Shelby can’t make a girl come.” You snarked. He pulled out with a low growl, making you smirk a little. You watched him walk across the kitchen, opening and closing drawers quickly. When he picked up a wooden spoon and started walking back over, you smirk dropped and you lifted yourself off the counter. “Tommy… Not here.” You warned, stepping away from him when he approached.

“Get the fuck over the counter or I’ll make you.” When you didn’t move, he unholstered his gun and pointed it at you lazily. “Now.” Your eyes widened and you swallowed thickly, glancing between the weapon, the spoon, and his face. Even though you knew he’d never actually shoot you, the fear was still there. So you tentatively walked back over and leaned on the counter again. He lifted your dress, then immediately resumed fucking you, dragging the spoon over your ass to make you tense up.

“I have responsibilities other than satisfying your needs.” He started, placing a firm smack on your ass with the spoon, making you curse loudly. “I run a business,” another smack, this one even harder, “I have a family…” The third hit brought tears to your eyes. “You are not my only priority, you understand?” You whimpered at the fourth smack, but even through all of this, he never stopped fucking you.

“Answer me.” He growled, and this hit forced a choked sob out of you.

“Yes! I- I understand.” You cried, clinging to the counter to ground yourself a little.

“Your libido is inconsequential,” He continued, landing another hit on your already burning ass, “and I will not tolerate my woman acting like a whore because of it.”

“Tommy..” You whimpered pathetically.

“Do you have anything you want to say for yourself?” He spanked you twice in quick succession and you let your head fall onto the counter as a tear finally escaped your waterline.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed out, only crying harder when he hit you again.

“Try again.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” You whimpered.

“Last fucking chance.” He spat, spanking you again.

“I’m sorry for… acting like a whore.” You choked out and he landed one more hit on each cheek before dropping the spoon onto the counter.

“There you go.” He cooed, rapidly snapping his hips into you, adding more pain to your already burning ass. “What would they think if they saw you right now?" He asked amusedly and you whined as your cheeks heated up. “Bent over some random rich asshole’s kitchen counter, getting spanked and fucked stupid…”

“Tommy…” You whimpered, voice barely audible. Your hips were digging into the edge of the counter painfully and your legs were trembling from the intensity of the pain and pleasure. With each thrust, his balls were smacking your clit, teasing you with the slightest amount of touch where you really needed it.

“From now on, when this cunt is needy, you come to me before whoring yourself around, got it?” You nodded desperately, feeling so close to pleasure that was just out of reach.

“Yes— yes.” You choked out. “Please, Tommy, I can’t take this.” Your voice was a weak whimper and you hoped it’d be enough to get him to cave.

“Do you need to come, darling?” He cooed mockingly, making you frown a little.

“Yes! Please make me come,”

“You can come. But you’re not using your hands.” He said cruelly.

“Tommy, please..” You whined, needing more. You knew he wouldn’t give it to you though.

“Better hurry too cause I’m getting close.” He chuckled quietly, obviously enjoying your suffering.

“I can’t! Please!” You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve been able to come from penetration alone.

“Do you need help, my love?” He asked softly, voice contrasting his actions as he fisted your hair and yanked your body up until your back was against his chest. The cold barrel of his gun dragged down your cheek, making you stiffen and close your eyes with a strangled whimper. “Is this better?” You let out a choked sob even though, yes, it was helping you get closer to the edge. “You’re trembling… Like a little lamb.” He murmured against your ear, sounding uncharacteristically endeared.

“Tommy..” You whispered, unconsciously flinching away from the gun.

“Are you scared?” He whispered back and you just barely nodded in response. “Good girl. I like you like this.” He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek and you mewled, feeling your orgasm barreling toward you. He never stopped thrusting, but based on his breathing and the quiet sounds he was making, you knew he was close. Which meant that if you wanted to come, you had to do it now. His lips moved down to your neck and began kissing and licking the sensitive skin, occasionally sucking it into his mouth to leave a mark.

“Come on, love. Drench my fucking cock, I know you can do it.” The gun brushed over your trembling lips teasingly. “This cunt isn't useful to me if it can’t come.” The degrading words forced a strangled moan out of you. When he cocked the gun, your body immediately went completely rigid. “If it’s not useful, then I don’t need it...” He said coyly and you whimpered in response, feeling so incredibly close to release.

“So be a good toy and let that cunt show me why I should keep you around.” That was all you needed to finally fall over the edge. You sobbed out a moan and your whole body tensed up, then started almost shaking as all of the tension was finally released. This was your first orgasm in almost two weeks and it had you struggling to breathe properly and keep yourself up with the way your legs were beginning to feel like jelly.

“Good girl.. I got you.” He cooed, holding you in his arms but never faltering in the movements of his hips. “Let it all out, darling.”

“Tommy.” You whimpered through all of the moaning.

“I know. I know, love.” He whispered, holding you tightly. “Ready for my come?” His words made another strong wave of pleasure roll through you and you were mumbling out incoherent pleas before you could stop yourself. You probably missed the feeling of him coming inside you the most out of everything.

Without another word, his hips stuttered, then he bottomed out, pushing you almost painfully into the edge of the counter with a low groan. You whined at the faint feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he painted your walls with his come. He was grunting quietly, his breathing growing ragged and fanning your neck, getting you worked up again. But he was done far too soon.

Panting quietly, he set his gun down on the counter, then kissed the crook of your neck, filling your stomach with butterflies. You loved his soft moments like this, especially after how rough and mean he was being.

“Good girl…” He whispered. “So good for me.” Your cheeks heated up at the praise.

“Don’t let me go, I’ll fall.” You warned quietly and he released of soft chuckle in response.

“Lean over the counter, darling.” He murmured, giving one last kiss on your neck before letting you lean back down, resting most of your weight on it. He dragged out slowly, making both of you hiss at the sensitivity. “Fuck… I missed seeing this.” He groaned, enjoying the sight of your walls wrapped around his length.

You whimpered in pain when he grabbed your sore ass and pulled you open to get a better view of your fluttering holes and his come leaking out. At the first sight of it though, he kicked your legs together, making it drip down your thighs instead.

“Tommy...” You whined and he gave a teasing slap to your ass as he let out a half hearted chuckle, then pulled your dress back down.

“Try not to leak all over the floor, love. I’m not sure how you’ll be able to explain that.”

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#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby

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ceilidho · 8 months

Text

take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself.

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity.

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come.

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building.

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do.

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.”

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you.

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light.

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again.

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks.

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer.

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west.

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.”

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk.

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone.

“Family.”

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.”

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.”

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out.

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle.

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty.

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office.

“No.”

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm.

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door.

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm.

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing.

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now.

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake.

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion.

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention.

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship.

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair.

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife.

His wife.

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband.

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank.

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves.

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his.

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors.

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond.

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment.

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with.

No chance of that now.

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes.

“Let’s go home.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain john price #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #cod price #price/reader #price x you

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friday411 · 4 months

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Thank you Fearless Leader!

@CalaisReno once said in a chat That "Just writing at random's old hat! Join our May prompt, It'll be a great romp!". I accept your challenge - that's that!

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See what you've done @CalaisReno? You rallied us 'round and said "Go!" I've been blown away By these Prompts of May Thank you so much for running the show!

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A big bouquet of thank yous to all the other writers and our faithful readers! You guys are awesome!!

----- See them all on AO3 ----

Thanks for reading, reposting & leaving the love!

Tags in the comments as well. Please LMK if you want on or off the list! @stellacartography @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear

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sassypossumm · 30 days

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Whatever You Decide

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader • Fluff

“What are you thinking?” You moved to stand behind him, resting your hands on his shoulders. Feeling the tension in his muscles, you began gently massaging out the tight spots. With a sigh, Aemond reached over his shoulder and rested his hand on one of yours. “Darling?” Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your chin on his shoulder, resting your head against his.

“I don’t know what to do.” Closing his eye, he leaned further into your touch. You hummed quietly, waiting for him to work through his thoughts. “What’s the right choice?” Turning your head slightly, you looked at your husband’s profile. His frown lines were deeper than usual, and as he furrowed his brow the creases in his forehead were more prominent. As he silently worked his jaw, you could practically see the gears turning in his head. “I don’t want to jeopardize what we have here.” He turned to look into your eyes. “I don’t want to jeopardize your safety.” Pulling back, you took the seat next to him and reached for his hand.

“But,” you prompted.

“But I want to do the right thing.” Looking down at their hands, he heaved a sigh. You ran a hand over his jaw and brought his face back up.

“Aemond,” He looked up at you. “I’m going to tell you what you told me at the start of this cursed business.” Pausing, you searched his eye to make sure he was listening. He inclined his head for you to continue. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support your decision. We’re a team now. As long as you’re not taking reckless chances just for the hell of it, I’m with you in it.” Giving him a smile, you ran your hand over his jaw again. He closed his eye, and his jaw flexed against your fingers. Opening his eye, he gave you a small smile. “Oh!” Your hand flew to your stomach.

“Our little dragon seems to agree.” You chuckled, looked at your husband with a warm smile. His eye was trained on your stomach, a look of awe filling his eye. Reaching between you, Aemond spread his hands over your growing stomach and placed a reverent kiss over the gentle movement.

“Thank you.” He looked up at you. You threaded your fingers through his hair, and gently brushed towards his scalp. “Both.” Looking back at your stomach he ran his thumbs over the growing bump.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with us now, husband.” He met your impish expression with a sly smile of his own.

“I wasn’t planning on letting you go, wife.” He growled, possessively gripping you around the waist and hoisting you into his lap.

“Aemond, really.” Giggling, you wound your arms around his neck.

“I love you.” Sobering, he looked up at you and ran a finger along your cheekbone.

“Well, as shocking as it may seem, I love you too, Aemond Targaryen.”

“I’d hope so.” Aemond hummed, poking your sides until you dissolved into laughter.

#prince aemond targaryen #prince regent aemond #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you

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champagnefountains · 7 months

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LUCIFER MAGNE – H.H

CHAPTER III (Finale) - Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Previous chapters: I [x], II [x] Word count: 2.6k+ words (unedited) Genre/other tags: Angst with comfort. Good ending. Jealousy. Warnings: Cursing (of course). Gets a little bit heated towards the end, but nothing too explicit. Alastor being an asshole.

Much to your surprise, you found yourself enjoying Alastor’s company. When he wasn’t being the maddening person that he can be, he was actually quite pleasant to be around. After grabbing the items that Charlie had requested (which had all been teleported back to the hotel), Alastor convinced you to have a leisurely stroll around the outskirts of town. There, he introduced you to the many places he frequented, from the small, homey cafe he would always go to, to even the butchers where he purchases his premium meats. All the while, you tried to ignore the looks that you got from the surrounding residents – a mixture of fear and distaste were sent towards the radio-demon, whilst others stared at you in question, wondering who you may be and what you were doing with the Overlord.

Even though you weren’t in the mood to chat, Alastor was more than happy to fill in the silence, sharing a couple stories and cracking corny jokes here and there, which you had to admit were pretty funny. After an exhausting week, it made you realise how nice it was to actually smile and laugh again.

After a couple hours, you both made your way back to the hotel. All the while, Alastor had been recounting a narrative from his times in the living world which had taken a particularly hilarious turn, causing you both to chuckle aloud. You wiped the amused tear that escaped your eye as Alastor pushed through the front doors of the establishment.

“Oh, fuck no!” A familiar voice shouted from the distance, startling and causing you to flinch on the spot. Swiftly turning your head to the source of the ruckus, you were dumbfounded to see Lucifer himself, stomping his way towards your direction with a vexed expression. Behind him, you saw a distressed Charlie staggering towards him as Vaggie followed suit.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you asshole!?” Lucifer growled, getting up close and personal with Alastor, whilst poking an accusatory finger against his chest. Before you could’ve reacted, you were then pulled back by the deer-demon, who draped an arm around your shoulders.

“Now, now, why the sudden hostility? I was only taking my darling [Name] out for a much needed breath of fresh air!” Alastor chimes, feigning innocence and batting his lashes. “I took it upon myself to look after her wellbeing. We’ve all been so worried since she’s just been so, so dispirited and blue lately…and I’m sure you know why that is, your highness.” The backhanded comment caused you to swiftly peer up at the Overlord, baffled by the harshness of his remark. But as you observe his ever-growing grin, it only then struck you, the sole purpose behind his kind display towards you.

Meanwhile, it had Lucifer fuming. Literally. “Why you little, piece of shit–” The King then grabbed Alastor by his dress-shirt, the fabric scorching under his touch, “who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that?” Seeing the growing tension between the two men, Charlie immediately stepped forward. “Dad, stop it,” she sternly said, grabbing his wrist in warning. Lucifer was quick to shake the girl’s hand off, tightening his grip on Alastor’s shirt, “No, Charlie, I need to put this pompous asshole back in his place! It seems he doesn’t know basic courtesy, and how to keep out of other people’s business.”

Alastor chortles mockingly in response. “Oh, hoh? You speak of courtesy? I believe you should take your own advice, your highness, as you seem to lack consideration to those around you,” he pushed even further, all the while peering down at you from the corner of his eyes. Lucifer follows his line of sight, his eyes landing on the troubled expression etched on your face. His gaze softened for a brief moment, before hardening once more as he fixed his attention back to the Overlord.

“You better shut that damn trap of yours if you know what’s good for you,” Lucifer warns deeply. “Now, I’m merely sticking up for a dear pal of mine. So tell me, what exactly is so wrong about that?” Alastor shoots back, harshly flicking the man’s hand away. Tutting, he patted down his now-tattered suit, an eye twitching in mild annoyance.

“It is when you decide to overstep boundaries.” With a blink of an eye, Lucifer’s scleras suddenly switched over to a red hue, sending you into sudden caution. Alastor’s grin turned almost sinister at the challenging tone. “Perhaps it’s necessary to do so. After all, dear [Name] over here had a pleasant time. There was no harm done.”

The King gritted his teeth, his horns threatening to reveal themselves, “Oh, but that’s what you think. ‘Cause someone will be harmed if you decide to keep this shit up–”

“Lucifer, stop.” Almost instantaneously, the King’s fumes were extinguished as he turned his gaze towards you. He felt shame fill him to the core at the sight of your disappointed expression, glaring at him in disapproval. Baffled, he opened his mouth to speak, “[Name], I–”

“Don’t,” you sternly intervene, raising a hand to silence him. You then send a critical glance back at Alastor, forcibly pushing his arm off of you, “And you. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking of, pulling a stunt like this and using my vulnerability for your sick entertainment, but I expect you to apologise to Charlie and everyone else here for causing all this ruckus.” You ignored the way the radio-demon’s eyes rolled as you pushed through, stepping forward to grab Lucifer by the wrist, before dragging him along towards the staircase leading to your rooms. In doing so, you offer an apologetic look to your friends as you pass by the bar, who nodded back in silent understanding and awe.

The walk towards your shared room was painfully silent as the both of you dreaded the upcoming confrontation. As the number of your shared room came into view, you let go of Lucifer to wordlessly invite yourself inside. The King followed suit with hesitant steps, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Rubbing his arms self-consciously, his downcast eyes trailed up to you. You had plopped yourself down on the furthest side of the bed across the room, your back facing towards him and posture slumped over. Lucifer let out a shaky breath.

“...[Name], darling. I’m sorry,” he starts softly, nervously squeezing his hands into fists, “I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin. It was–It was childish of me. I didn’t mean to upset you–“

“Y’know, you’ve got some nerve acting the way you did…” you suddenly cut in, voice surprisingly faint but filled with melancholy, “...acting all resentful and jealous towards Alastor–who mind you, was actually just taking me out for a walk–when you yourself still seem to be preoccupied with your ex.” Lucifer grimaced at the venom laced in your tone. Ouch. Though it was deserving, he dejectedly thinks to himself.

“[Name], please, I-I can explain everything. I didn’t mean for tonight to go the way it did,” Lucifer pleaded whilst staring at the back of your head. He didn’t know whether his sincerity was effectively making its way through to you.

“Then what were you planning?” You say sharply, your voice raising a bit, “I…Lucifer, just please tell me what’s going on. Just tell me the truth.” Your eyes started to blur as a sob threatened to escape your throat. “Because I’m tired of this. I-I’m so tired of feeling so insecure, confused and lost, and I...I-I don’t even know what you want from me anymore.” You hang your head down low, hugging yourself tightly as the tears begin to pour out uncontrollably, “If…if you’re planning on breaking up with me, just go ahead and say it! I-I don't want to be waddling 'round like some–some idiot, waiting for you to–”

“No. Wha–[Name], no. Don’t even go there.” Lucifer said incredulously, immediately marching towards your side of the bed. He kneels down in front of you, reaching out to grab at your shaking hands. “That’s not why I’m here, okay? It’s not even remotely close to what I have to say. So please get that idea out of your head,” he reaffirms, while rubbing his thumbs against your hands in a reassuring manner. You decided to keep your gaze down, having no strength to look Lucifer in the eye, knowing fully well that you’d break even more if you were to do so. Your tiny gasps and hiccups were what filled the room, tearing the King’s heart bit by bit, with every second that passed. With no words spoken on your behalf, Lucifer took this as a cue to continue.

“[Name]…I’m sorry for upsetting you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. I-I know I’ve got a lot of baggage, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for making you carry that burden with me. I…I did a lot of thinking during our time apart, and it made me realise how much of a fool I was–of how blind I was to what was in front of me. I took for granted your love and kindness. I-It wasn’t fair to you, and you didn’t deserve that. I-I truly didn't know what I was thinking, continuing to wear that ring. I came to terms and knew deep down for so long, even before we got together, that there wasn’t a possibility that Lilith and I would ever get together again. And yes, I do love Lilith. She’s been with me since the beginning of time and for most of eternity, and is the mother of my only child. Perhaps it was the memories that we shared that kept me hanging on for so long, I thought. She didn’t do anything wrong by me either…we just…sort of grew apart after a while. I-I don’t know why, but regardless…it hurt a lot. And even despite her absence now, I still do love her.”

At that, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. His words were like a harsh punch to the gut. It was nauseating, and the room felt like it was caving in on you. Devastated, you attempted to pull yourself away to leave the room, but was forced to still as Lucifer reached up to cup a hand over your dampened cheek. He gently tugs your face upward, his eyes softening and staring deep into your crestfallen, reddened ones.

“But darling, it’s not the same anymore. It’s different now. And it’s because you changed that. Yes, Lilith will continue to be an important person in my life, there’s no doubt about it. But…it’s you, darling. I choose you. You mended and opened up my heart when I was a hundred-percent certain that I couldn’t for another soul again. Each second and moment I spent with you made me become so hopeful and excited for the future and whatever lies ahead of us. Alongside Charlie, you've made me the happiest I’ve ever been in so, so long. And it’s you who fortunately gave me a second chance in this life. I'm so grateful for you, and words can’t even express how much you mean to me. A-And I’m sorry it took a while for me to realise that, and for hurting you in the process.” Eyes closing, he leans in to press his forehead against yours.

“And yes, it might take a bit more time to put this all behind me, and I-I apologise. But…I’m finally ready to take that leap with you. My heart is yours for the taking–as long as you’ll have me, that is. And I-I don’t expect you to forgive me now–I wouldn’t even forgive myself either. But, if it’s space that you want and need, I’ll respect that. But just know that I love you. And I’m sorry if I made it seem that I don’t, or don’t show it enough. But believe me…I love you. I love you so damn much.”

The sincere confession left you speechless, feeling yourself practically melt into his hands like pudding. A sensation akin to relief crashed over you like a wave, finally hearing the words that you longed for, for over a week. With a broken sigh, you cupped a hand over his own, leaning in to bask in his touch. Your breath then hitched at the realisation that he had taken off his wedding ring, no longer feeling the cold metal against your skin – it was only his warmth alone that welcomed you. Your chest suddenly felt immensely full, overwhelmed by his love and affection, but also by the guilt that came for your previous words and actions that night. Your furrowed your brows, your tears clouding your vision once more, “Luci, I…I’m so sorry. I-I’m sorry for pushing you too much. I was being too selfish a-and I didn’t even stop to think about how you felt. I-I should’ve been more understanding and–”

Lucifer was quick to hush you, wiping your tears and shaking his head. “Darling, no. There’s no need for you to apologise, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one in the wrong. And if anything, I needed that push.” He then leans in to press a lingering smooch on your forehead, “But I truly mean it when I say it, though. I do really love you. Being without you these past few days drove me insane–it’s crazy how much of an effect you have on me.” He tearfully chuckles.

A smile made its way up to your quivering lips, a blush dusting your cheeks from the sweet remark, “I love you too, Luci.”

Despite the wide grin that erupted on his face, it was humbled down by a tentative guise. “...Are we going to be okay?” He quietly asks, his eyes peering up at you in a hopeful manner. Your eyes softened at his uncertainty. Sniffling, you reach out and pull him into a hug, your face huddled into the crook of his neck. Lucifer was quick to return the gesture, holding you close and breathing in your comforting scent. Mumbling a response into his neck, you say something incomprehensible, causing the man to chuckle softly into your hair. “Come on. Use your words, love,” he teased against your ear. You giggled, all the while nodding your head, “Y-Yeah…we’ll be okay.”

At that, Lucifer gently slowly pulled away, before leaning in to close the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours. The King inhaled your whimpers as the kiss grew increasingly sensual and near-desperate, his hands beginning to wander down your waist. Lucifer then stood up from the ground, your lips remaining connected as he pushed you flat against the bed. Straddling your hips between his legs, his lips began to trail down your neck, biting and pecking at your feverish skin, all the while dragging his hands up your sides to pin your hands beside either side of your head. "Luci, please," you whined, feeling his sharp teeth graze above your pulse. He slowly made his way back up to meet you once more, pushing his tongue inside your mouth.

Eventually, the both of you unwillingly parted for air, foreheads pressed together as you both took a brief moment to catch your breath. You both stared at each other lovingly, basking in each others' presence. “You’re perfect for me, my angel,” Lucifer whispers, softly pecking both your cheeks, your nose, then at your lips, “never forget that.”

It was clear that the both of you had some work to do, there was no question about that. He wasn’t as perfect as he made out to be, but neither were you. But since you have each other’s company, and with your newfound reconnection, you both knew that things will eventually turn out okay.

A/N: And that brings us to the very end! Thank you for reading and all the support you've shown for this mini-series! I'll now be focusing on requests~

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar

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supernaturalfreewill · 11 days

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Sam sank down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't resist gently running his hand over your shoulder in a loving gesture and smiling at your tousled hair on the pillow. You immediately stirred at his touch and blinked awake, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

"Hi," he whispered, smiling.

You stretched a little and snuggled back under the covers, not tearing your eyes from him. "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?" you said, pouting.

He laughed lightly. "I was gone two days," he said.

"Yeah. So long," you repeated.

"I'm so sorry. Let me try again." Sam cleared his throat dramatically and affected a bad British accent. "My love, my darling, my dearest, I missed you so much I thought I would die. May I please come to bed so I can hold you all night? You are the wind beneath my wings and the sugar in my tea!"

You couldn't help giggling a little. "I guess so," you sighed.

"You guess so?!" he laughed. "I just did all that and I get an 'I guess so'?!"

"I'm sorry, my love, my darling, my dearest," you responded, laughing.

"Alright," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Move over." You obliged and he slipped in under the covers with you, immediately pulling you into him and wrapping his arm around you.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"I really did miss you."

He smiled and planted a kiss on your forehead, holding you more tightly. "I missed you too." Prompt: "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?"

#sam winchester imagines #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester drabbles #sam winchester x reader #reader insert #supernatural #spn fics

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year

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BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response.

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.”

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest.

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face.

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response.

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes.

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context.

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes.

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.”

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles.

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in.

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over.

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone.

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you.

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief.

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food.

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase.

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are.

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink.

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.”

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?”

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.”

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.”

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line.

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack.

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open.

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.”

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies.

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.”

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now.

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly.

“You fear me, don’t you?”

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills.

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.”

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear.

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire.

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you.

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in.

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross.

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold.

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open.

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull.

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood.

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare.

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.”

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?”

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close.

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code.

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over.

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought.

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away.

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