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eunoiaastralwings · 9 months

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The Marriage Certificate

featuring bucky x wife!reader with their son

fandom mcu- tfatws era

a/n read alone - follow the James Bucky Jr / James 'Jay' Steven Barnes tag if you like more : mini series masterlist

warnings crack fluff but I blame @incorrectmarvelquotesss for this - at is all am saying XD - and dont try this at home kids ;D Baby Jay being a cutie to melt your hearts is a warning too

You were currently organizing all your documents in order – it was something you were putting off for so long, but now you finally pulled out all of them to organize them into files and statements.

They were piled across yours and Bucky’s bed. There was every thing there – except for your marriage certificate.

“Bucky?”

You called for your husband – who was in the living room or out in the back yard with your 2-month son.

You got up looking for your husband and baby.

“Bucky, honey? Have you seen. . .our. . .marriage. . . certificate. . .?”

Your eyes widened and bewildered – seeing Bucky just casually burning their marriage certificate on the barbeque outside as their 2-month laid on the play mat.

“BUCKY!”

Bucky flinches at your sudden exclamation – and looks up with frown.

He looks at his wife and the baby, then looks back at the barbecue, then back to his wife.

“What? – What’s the big deal? A piece of paper?”

Bucky shrugs.

“THAT’S OUR MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE YOU DUMBO!”

“So? – It means nothing. It’s just a piece of paper saying that I’m ‘yours’ or whatever.”

Bucky looks up at you again – a bit amused now.

Your jaw dropped as you looked from Bucky to your 2-month son who was blissfully unaware of what was happening, as he just laid on the play mate cooing, seemingly happy for the time being.

You had named your son James Steven Barnes together, after Bucky’s first name of James and of course Steve, or Cap’s name for his middle name– but you took the liberty of nicknaming your son Jay – while you were at it too.

“And how are you doing to prove to others we are married!?"

You asked incredulously.

“Why do we need to prove it to other people?”

Bucky looks at his wife again, utterly mystified.

“Does it matter? We know that we’re married. What do other people have to do with it?”

He said to you.

You facepalmed.

“Good Lord. . .”

You said but then tries to grab the reminder of the certificate.

“Either you’re incredibly dumb or I married a child!”

You said – even though technically speaking he was about 106 years old.

Bucky steps closer to you and taking the smoking remnants of the marriage certificate out of your hands, throwing it into the flames.

“We know we’re married, that’s enough. And if it matters that much – we can go get another copy at the courthouse or something. But let’s face it. . .you’d never divorce me, so good luck trying to return me without the receipt.”

He shrugged – as if were that casual.

“I wasn’t trying to divorce you.”

You rolled her eyes

“We have a child.”

You added – going over to Jay, who started to cry for attention and picked the tiny 2-month baby up into her arms.

Bucky follows you – watching you hold his and your son, and smiles for a moment. The baby seems so tiny and happy your arms.

“And that means we need to keep this stupid piece of paper?”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s not a stupid piece of paper Bucky and yes we need.”

Well, whatever was left of it...

Bucky wanted to respond but he got soon was in just awe watching his son and wife interact.

He watches with a soft smile as she cooed and kissed Jay’s tiny little nose.

Bucky gave you a kiss on the cheek.

You giggled smiled up at your husband and pecked his lips – then giggling more as Jay coos and chortles a few giggles, as he tried to kiss your cheek.

Bucky laughs at Jay's cuteness.

“He’s trying to kiss you, doll.”

He says – gently scooping Jay into his arms then leaned his little face closer to your cheek.

“Hey is my baby trying to kiss mommy?”

You cooed to your little 2-month baby leaning your cheek towards him.

They baby cooed chortling a few giggles, his mouth pressed to your cheek, not quite learned how to pucker his lips for a kiss yet but it was more than enough.

“Oh, I love you – you little munchkin!”

You cooed and kisses Jay’s cheek.

Bucky smiles – watching them interact happily.

“Isn'’t he just the sweetest little boy you’ve ever seen? No wonder we named him after the best man in the world.”

Bucky smirks; at the mention of Jay’s namesake, Bucky gives his wife a more passionate kiss, trying to catch his wife off guard.

You let out a quiet surprised yelp – giggling as you kiss your husband back. Jay did the same – his face and lips pressed to your cheek – but as if trying to eat you more like it.

Bucky wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him.

He gives Jay a little kiss on the head before turning his attention back to his wife – letting out a happy laughter and playfully biting her bottom lip.

“Did I finally manage to catch you off guard, love?”

“Bucky!”

You giggle blushing shaking her head and swatting his shoulder.

Bucky chuckles as he gets swatted.

“Worth a shot!”

He says to you with a smile – then looks over at Jay, who had stopped trying to kiss you and had gone back to babbling and squealing like a typical 2-month-old baby.

“Looks like someone is distracted from our romantic moment.”

Bucky says to you with a grin.

You smile at your baby.

Before soon, Jay tries to grab your hair and eat it.

“Oh no, you don't! Mommy’s hair is not for eating!”

You gently chide him.

Bucky laughs. He looks at Jay’s tiny little fingers wrapped around your hair.

“He sure likes that hair of yours, doll.”

He teases you.

“Can’t even leave you alone for one second. Just like me!”

Bucky smirks winking at his wife as you roll your eyes with a smile and gently tries to take your hair off his tiny hand.

Bucky let out a soft content sigh and presses another kiss Jay’s tiny head.

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year

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Exhausted - John Wick X Female (Wife) Reader - ft. Boy

Title: Exhausted

John Wick X Female (Wife) Reader - ft. Boy

Additional Characters: Boy the best Boi

Requested by @fujinswife!

WC: 1,713

Warnings: Hitman stuff mentioned, killing people insinuated, wounds mentioned, bullet grazes mentioned, blood, one curse word, Reader takes care of John after a long day sort of cute fluff, massages cause John deserves them, Donald Glover mentioned), slight angst like the tiniest of angst, and fluff

You watched the clock on the wall, sitting on your favorite chair with a book in your hands. Though you had originally been enraptured with the new romantic drama you bought at Barnes And Noble, your mind began to wander and your eyes landed on the clock on the wall; tick, tock, tick, tock. It was almost ten, pretty late for you, but not for your husband. While you would probably be in bed by now, snuggled up with Boy, and cuddled in the arms of your beloved, your husband, John was out on the job.

Being a Hitman was a hard and stressful job, going out to find your hit and, in better words, eliminate them. It was taxing on the body and mind, and it was for you also at times. You always became overwhelmingly worried whenever you found John gone from bed and a Post-It note on the fridge. The words, 'going to the store' in black ink. You knew by now that that was code, code for 'I'm going to go and fight people and possibly come home with a wound or two.'

Now you didn't mind taking care of your John. Cleaning his bloody knuckles and bullet grazes helped you rationalize with your brain that your Johnny was alive and with you. That he came back, somewhat safe, but he was there with you in the flesh. Though you had to admit, the blood on your hands after helping your husband haunted you and made your skin crawl. But no matter how many times John tried to let him clean his own wounds, knowing how much you hated the sight of his blood, you'd stop him. You didn't think your husband was a burden, you were beyond willing to take care of him. You'd do anything to make sure he was alright.

As your gaze broke from the clock, you tried to re-read the page that you were on, glancing up when you heard the pitter-patter of clawed paws, watching with a smile as Boy entered the room, making his way over to you and sitting at your feet. You hummed, leaning down and past your book to rub Boy's head, his eyes closing in bliss as you scratched behind his ears. You hummed again, leaning back against the back of your chair, and looking at the front door. "I bet," You began, glancing at Boy with a smile, "He'll be home in ten minutes." You finished before tilting your own head. "When do you think Dad will be home? Hmm? Soon, right?" You asked Boy, who only whined a bit before laying his head on his front paws, making you sigh, nodding knowingly. "Yeah, another thirty. You're right."

For the next forty-five minutes, you sat and read, periodically making sure Boy was alright or taking a bathroom break. The room around you was dim, only a few lamps lighting it as you listened to the owl occasionally hoot outside, and the constant sound of crickets chirping outside in the garden. The book in your hands was as anticlimactic as you thought it would be from the first sentence. You regretted giving it a chance, really. You thought it was going to be a heartfelt book, with drama but a happy ending, like Pride And Prejudice or something, but you felt extremely underwhelmed when the main character, Maryanne, ended up marrying Lord Leo after her childhood friend Steven confessed to her. After all they've been through!? You thought as you stared blankly at the page. Steven sacrificed everything for you, and this Lord Leo had been caught cheating on you with your cousin Claire! You couldn't find it in yourself to even finish the last two pages, tasting a sourness in your mouth.

"Should've called off the damn wedding." You muttered, earning a head raise from Boy as you shut the book and sat it aside, before you could say anything more to Boy, you watched as he looked over at the door suddenly, his tail wagging, and you smiled, staring at the door yourself as you felt your heart hammer in your chest. John was home. You watched as you heard the keys jingle in his hands before you jumped out of the chair and slid across the hardwood floor with your socks, almost hitting the door as you looked out the peephole just in case before hastily opening it. John stood there, blood on his bottom lip, hands, and dotting the collar of his white suit shirt, and yet, he still gave you a smile.

Entering, you closed the door behind him, instantly taking any weapons from him to put away in that safe of his, before rushing back to find him standing where you left him, shoulders slightly slouched as he stared down at Boy at his feet, still fiercely wagging his tail. Breaking their stare down, you took John's hand in yours, leading him to the bathroom. As John sat on the lid of the toilet, you grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink, and for the next half-and-hour, you cleaned any and all his wounds. It was silent as you worked, your tongue sticking out slightly from your mouth as you dabbed the cotton ball on his knuckles, cleaning off the blood. John just watched you, like he usually did, mesmerized by the thought of you caring for him, and just you in general. You were so careful when treating him. It warmed his heart, body, and soul.

After you finished cleaning his wounds, you helped John into the shower, before rushing off to find a new fresh pair of pajamas for him, throwing them, and his towel, in the dryer for a couple of minutes so they would be warm for John when he got out. For the rest, it was like clockwork, helping him out, giving him clothes, brushing his hair for him as he brushed his teeth slowly, and finally holding his freshly bandaged hand as you led him to the kitchen for some dinner.

Sometimes words were exchanged, but most of the time, there wasn't. The silence engulfed the two of you and it was nice, peaceful. You both basked in it. After you and John finished your food, you traveled to the couch where you turned on the tv, handing John the remote for him to browse through channels. Your hands then landed on his shoulders, gently putting pressure in all the right places, easing the tension in his muscles. You kissed his cheek softly, giving him what he needed to relax as he leaned further into you, sighing as your fingers trailed up his shoulders to his scalp, your fingernails scratching gently, running your fingers through his slightly damp hair.

Pulling away, you walked around the couch to sit beside John, smiling and chuckling lightly at the smile of content on his face. You sat down, leaning into his side as John's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. The two of you watched the TV for a good while, which ended up being a Donald Glover movie, before you felt John's head turn, the stubble of his beard softly grazing your cheek, causing you to giggle quietly, turning your head a little to meet his gaze. Before you could say anything, John leaned down to press his lips onto yours, You smiled against his lips as you placed your hands on his stubbly cheeks, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. His hands ran down your body until they reached your waist, gripping you tightly, protectively, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hips, sending tingly shivers throughout your entire being before you both pulled away.

You hummed, gazing lovingly at your husband, your eyes beholding the man's beauty, your fingers gently brushing against his cheeks, chin, and jaw. "What are you thinking about?" John mumbled, his voice husky with sleepiness. You opened your mouth to answer, but a yawn escaped you instead, shaking your head as you hid your face in his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Just you." You answered softly, snuggling further into his neck as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You smiled as you laid your hand against his chest, you could feel his heartbeat quicken, a soft chuckle escaping him. "I'm glad you're home." You told him as his hand cupped the nape of your neck, pulling you closer to his shoulder, his fingers running through the hair on the nape of your neck; kissing the top of your head.

"Me too. I missed you." He answered, kissing the top of your head.

You sighed contently, nestling your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent deeply. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy. "I missed you too." You muttered against his neck, closing your eyes as you fell asleep in his arms.

John sighed, holding you close as he watched Boy waddle over from his food bowl, looking up at him with big brown eyes. John took his time, scooping you up in his arms before standing up, grunting slightly as he strained his side a bit. Boy followed after you and John as he headed to the bedroom, hopping up on the bed as John laid you down gently in the bed, tucking you in the soft, fluffy covers. When he stood back up, he looked at Boy, staring at him for a moment before reaching down and petting the dog, smiling slightly as Boy leaned his head into his hand.

“Good Boy.” John muttered, not wanting to wake you, as he rubbed Boy’s ears before Boy moved to lay beside you, your arm subconsciously wrapping around the pup before going back to sleeping peacefully. John sighed slightly before he got in bed on his side, pulling the blankets over him before turning on his side to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling your back into his chest. The night went on peacefully like this, the three of you falling fast asleep and waking up to each other. This process continued like this, every day, for months and years to come. You wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Just you, John, and Boy, against the world.

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jayke0 · 6 months

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Nicotine Lust

Pairing: Jake Lockley x afab reader

Summary: Your attempts to keep your smoking kink under wraps become futile once you're reassured that your boyfriends’ lungs aren't at stake.

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction 's smoking Steven, so i wanted to do smth from Jake's perspective ❤️.

Also if you know which tiktok lady Jake’s talking about then bonus points to you!

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: smoking, g/n nicknames, I've never smoked so forgive me if literally all of it is wrong, blowjob, face fucking, ‘fucktoy’ nickname, ‘slut’ nickname, Dom!Jake, Sub!Reader, p in v, unmentioned protection, riding, doggy style, creampie, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 4,020 (yeah… I'm pretty sure this is my longest fic yet.😅)

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily. And Fen ofc ofc.

…………………………………......................………….

You hate to admit it, but when Jake smokes, it's like an automatic switch is clicked in your brain; like you're literally being turned on.

It's wrong, so so wrong. You don't want to be getting turned on by something that is ultimately ruining your boyfriend's lungs, all three of your boyfriends’ lungs.

It's only when you mention it to him one day that he settles your worries.

“The suit heals ‘em.”

“What?? For real?”

“ ‘Course! That's the whole point of it.”

You raise a brow. “It's not for you to heal your black lung.”

“Well no, but it's for healin’, ain't it?” He pulls out his packet of tobacco and places it on the windowsill, along with his papers. His fingers work meticulously as he lays out the paper and lines up the tobacco, sprinkling it onto the paper like he's decorating fucking cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles.

“I thought ya liked it anyway.”

You have to drag your eyes away from the man's hands as he rolls the cylinder between his fingers. “What? No... that's weird.”

Your boyfriend cocks an eyebrow at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Really? So that look that ya give me, or the way ya watch my hands ain't got nothin’ to do with ya gettin’ all hot and bothered?” He brings it to his lips, running his tongue along the edge of the paper in a way that makes your cheeks heat up and your arms fold over your chest defensively.

Jake is easily the best at reading you and your body, especially when it comes to your not-so-subtle arousal.

Your eyes move back to his hand, watching him push the filter into the end with his middle finger before rolling the other end shut.

“No, I just find it interesting. It's good for me to know how to roll a cig… I guess.” Your words trail off as you realize how dumb that sounds; there's no way in hell that Jake lockley is going to believe that lie.

“For who? Ya side piece?” He jokes, the smirk turning into a full-grown grin while he brings the now formed cigarette to his lips. It's only when he flips open his lighter and the flame lights up the end that you come to the conclusion there's no point in hiding it… not now that you know they're safe.

“Alright!... I like it, is that what you wanted?”

“Show me.” His lips are pressed together tightly to keep the cigarette in place, but he's learnt how to talk out of the gap in his lips.

“Excuse me?”

“Show me how much ya like it.” The man's voice is deeper now as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke, considerately not blowing it in your direction; and fuck if it doesn't make you squirm.

You want to sink to your knees right there, rip his black jeans from his thick thighs and suck him dry, but your stubbornness stops you. “I'm not some kinda fuck toy, Jake!”

“Ya weren't sayin’ that last night, were ya?” The cigarette meets his lips again and his chest expands as he takes in a long drag, not being as considerate with where he blows it this time.

You irritatedly waft the smoke away from your face, but his gaze, oh lord the way his eyes glare at you, a dark stare that pushes you to your knees anyway as if he has the fucking force. Resting your hands on his knees, you part them slowly, keeping your eyes transfixed on his as you slide your hands up his bulky thighs and over his crotch, all while he takes another drag.

“Good fucktoy.” He says with a playful tone as he pets your head condescendingly, the name and gesture ultimately turning you on more while you toy with his belt buckle to pry his jeans open. “Eager, ain't we? I love it when you're this eager, mi vida.”

The smell of the smoke is starting to sting your nostrils, but all worries of second-hand smoke fade when you pull his boxers down his thighs and reveal his half hard cock. “I'm not the only eager one," you raise a brow at him, taking his hardening length in your hand to hear a soft groan from him.

“Oh c'mon, what guy doesn't love gettin’ his dick sucked? Especially from a slut as pretty as you, cariño.” His thumb runs over your cheek, and then your bottom lip. “Now, open up for me, okay?”

His hand replaces yours as you obediently open your mouth and lean forward, wanting to feel him grow hard in the heat of your mouth. His length is heavy on your tongue, the familiar tang of his skin and pre-cum making you hum softly to send vibrations through his cock, resulting in a pleasured grunt from the man.

“Mmm that's good… good angel…”

The calmness in his voice and the way his shoulders drop indicate that even his trusty old cigarettes can't relax him like you can. You always know exactly what makes him tick, what buttons to press to get him coming down your throat in minutes, but despite that, he continues to take drags from his damn deathstick.

Your eyes are fixated on his lips as he brings it to his mouth again, holding it loosely between his two fingers before inhaling the nicotine. He meets your gaze, a shallow thrust from his impatient hips making you pull back with an annoyed squeal; you're not willing to admit how turned on you also get when they're impatient with you, though you're like 90% sure that Jake has caught on anyway, as usual. A string of drool falls from your lips and lands on his head, spreading down the thick, tanned length before your lips follow.

“Thaaat’s it, just like that, darlin’.” He groans, feeling your lips stretch and the warmth of your mouth envelop him. His fingers caress your hair before his large hand eventually comes to rest on the back of your head; an exciting threat that he could push you down on his girth at any point.

Of course, though, he doesn't. He's more patient and collected than the other two, even when you manage to relax your throat and sink all the way down on him.

“Oooh cariño, that's new. Ya been practicin’?” Jake's back arches off of the window, his cigarette back between his lips so his hand can join the other on the back of your head. You pull off with a pant, nodding proudly, “Steven loved letting me practice on him, did you know he's into throat training?”

Your words warrant a growl from your boyfriend as he tightens his grip on your scalp. “C’mooon, stop teasin’ me,” his lip is cocked up in a scowl as he take another drag from his cig and blows it out.

You don't spend any more time fucking around, your own thighs pressing together just from the situation and sight in front of you. You lower your head on him, but don't take him fully, wrapping your hand around what you can't fit in your mouth so you can start bobbing your head. Your tongue glides over his slit each time you almost pull off, with just your lips wrapped around the blunt tip before you dive back down.

“Fuuuck, that's so good. Shit you're so good at that, mi vida.” His praises go straight to your core, making you speed up your actions.

The man tilts his head back and takes the cig out of his mouth, the end now getting dangerously close to his fingers, but he couldn't care less, all he cares about is the wet heat of your mouth already pushing him closer and closer to his orgasm. He takes one last drag and puts out the butt as it reaches his fingers, taking in a sharp inhale when you deepthroat him again just as it burns his finger tips. “Such a good fucktoy, goddamn angel…”

His groans get louder, your head now bobbing up and down on him rhythmically as you twist your fist around his throbbing length in just the right way.

Hand joining the other, he pushes you down once, then twice. “Just a little more darlin’, ya can do it, I know ya can—,” his pants are heavy, low moans cut off by gasps. “Gonna come down that pretty throat, just a little further, sweetheart.” You feel his hips lift off the window sill and towards your face, the gesture making you choke a bit before you take him fully again, fingernails digging into his plump thighs enough to leave marks as your face scrunches up.

It's only a few more seconds and he's coming down your throat, just as he said he would. You can barely taste the saltiness as he moans loudly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat with his back arched enough to feel his tummy on your forehead. You pull off after a few moments with gasps, your chest rising and falling quickly as you take in the air you'd briefly missed out on.

“Ay cariño… ‘m sorry, are ya ok?” Jake's gaze is still lidded and dopey, though a lot softer now, and you feel his thumb run over your cheek.

“Yes,” you say hoarsely, giggling afterwards at the sound of your voice while you wipe the spit from your chin. “It was hot. I liked it, honey, don't worry.”

He sighs, a smile replacing the worried frown his had on his face just seconds before. “Ah, good, angel,” he leans down and kisses you, not caring about the taste of himself on your lips. “You owe me an orgasm though.” You mumble on his lips, feeling the low chuckle rumble in his chest as he joins you on the floor without even pulling away from your plump lips.

”I can do that, cariño.”

+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+｡+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡

Jake hasn't been out since that morning, and now it's getting to 3 days, and you're worried.

Did your odd little kink freak him out? Maybe the thought that his lover gets off on him damaging his lungs made him uncomfortable.— No, that's not the sexy part, because that WOULD be weird. It's watching him carefully, masterfully, assemble the tobacco. Watching the way he rolls it between his thick digits and runs his tongue over the edge before lighting it. You'd noticed how his eyes close in satisfaction with that first drag, and how his eyelids lower to a more relaxed manner, giving him that deadly lidded gaze that is sure to be the death of you.

The presence creeping up behind you breaks your train of thought, and you sigh contentedly as you feel large, warm hands run over your shoulders tenderly. You drag your eyes away from the tv screen to tilt your head back and look at one of your boyfriends, whichever one it is.

Jake always insisted on growing his facial hair out, but Marc and Steven are so strongly against it that you'd think they have some kind of personal vendetta against it. That being said, it's hard to tell them apart sometimes, especially when you're looking at them upside down.

“Hello, handsome.”

“Hello, angel.”

Blood instantly rushes to your face, and you know Jake notices it, given the way his lips quirk into a grin.

“Took you long enough…” You mumble softly, lifting your head to avoid his burning gaze.

“Ay, I know I know. I ain't really got an excuse.” He gives your shoulder one last pat before moving around to the couch and placing himself down next to you, arm promptly resting on the couch behind your head. “Did ya miss me, though?” His fingers toy with your ear, a gesture that he'd quickly and delightedly learnt annoys you.

Your silence is met by a dark chuckle from the man. “Did ya miss these?” The sound of cardboard rustling grabs your attention, your head slowly turning towards him before your eyes focus on the box of cigarettes in front of you.

“I thought you didn't like ‘pre-rolled bullshit'.” You quote his words with a scoff to hide the excitement already bubbling up inside you.

“I don't, but they come in handy, don't they? ‘Specially if I'm tryna rile ya up again.”

His left leg is crossed over the other in a casual sitting position, body angled towards you invitingly with his arms spread wide enough to make his t-shirt stretch across his toned chest.

“So… you didn't find it weird then?” Voice tentative, you shuffle over to him, having missed his tight bear hugs and calming tone of voice… even if his cockiness does get on your nerves sometimes.

A small frown replaces the grin that almost constantly adorned his face. “No, mi vida, ‘course not.” His hand reaches towards your face, calloused thumb running under your eyes softly. “I'm just as into it as you are, hell, I thought that was obvious.” His low chuckle makes your chest warm and a smile break the pouty look you had plastered across your face, especially when he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Thank fucking god.”

A deep laugh from your boyfriend only makes your face and body grow warmer, the smile widening before you lean into his lips to place a kiss on them.

“Ya could've spoken to the other two.” He says, hands resting on your waist to pull you closer for a cuddle.

“Didn't wanna worry them.” It's almost remarkable how quickly you melt into their arms, quicker than you have with any other person… ever, really.

Jake's fingers trace your face gently, eyes roaming all over your features and drinking them in as if he hasn't seen you in years. “Ay cariño, you're too kind for ya own good.” He chuckles softly, pressing another, slightly longer kiss on your lips.

That slightly longer turns into much longer, which then turns into you panting into eachothers's mouth, craving one another as if it's integral to your survival.

“Please do it again, honey, wanna see you do it again.”

The friction from your bodies grinding relentlessly together has him dazed, his brain taking a few seconds to compute.

“Oh, angel, so impatient,” he teases as he grabs the box of cigs from the table and pulls one out. He runs it under his nose and takes a big whiff, letting out a loud, pleasured groan afterwards to make you giggle at his silliness, which you do.

You bite your lip, and he puts the stick between his rosy lips, looking up at you hungrily. “This what ya wanted, darlin’? ‘S this what you've been waitin’ for?” His tone is almost condescending, but his words roll off of his tongue in such a smooth way that you're quick to forgive him.

Your hips automatically grind down on him as you nod, biting your lip hard, before you feel his hands land on your waist again, traveling underneath your shirt and over your warm skin until you feel his fingers just brush over your left nipple. The hem of your shirt moves past your face before you can even think about it, your eyes still glued to his pretty mouth as you roll your hips on him to pull those soft grunts from his throat.

“Look at ya, I've barely touched ya and you're all worked up.” He grins as he brings his hand down to the waistband of your sweats to slide them lovingly down your thighs. It's a little mortifying how you don't even question him, how you don't even need anymore working up thanks to a heated make-out session and the sight of the cig hanging from his lips loosely. You lift your ass to help him pull them down, your underwear following suit.

That's when you realize he hasn't even taken his grey t-shirt off, and you're stark naked in his lap.

“This has got to have a name...” You rest your hands on his chest, the feeling of your bare cunt grinding against his jeans making you tilt your head back.

“Hmm?” He asks, undoing his belt buckle and fly.

“Your thing for having me completely naked while you can't even be bothered to take your shirt off.”

He laughs at that. “Maybe, ya should look it up later. See if it's on that woman's TikTok page.” He pulls his twitching cock out of the confines of his boxers, running his thumb over the ruddy tip. The gesture makes you take in a soft inhale, inching your hips closer to him so you can let his cock slide between your folds and through your arousal.

You both groan at the movement, and you watch Jake shuffle in his pocket for his lighter moments later, bringing the small flame to the end of the cig to light it. His chest expands, and then deflates as he blows the smoke away.

“You're so gorgeous, mi vida.” He says softly, two fingers holding the cigarette tightly as he runs them across your flesh to make goosebumps prickle across your arms and your cheeks heat up.

“And you're so handsome, Jakey.” You moan softly as he brings his mouth close to your chest and places kisses all over the expanse of skin, guiding your hand down between your bodies to help him slide inside you.

He pulls away and places the stick between his lips again to take in another drag and admire the picture in front of him. “Such a pretty angel,” he reiterates, feeling your warmth envelop his aching length as you sink down on him.

Your thighs shudder just a little, a pant escaping your lips as your hole stretches around him with ease, used to their girth by now.

“Love the dumb little look on ya face when ya take it, cariño. Ya like havin’ me stretch ya open like this?” Jake's words travel straight to your core, fueling the fire in your tummy as you lift your hips just to sink back down on him.

“Yes, baby, I love the way you stretch me open.”

The moan that comes from his lips is wonderful, and it's followed by another billow of smoke, the cig back in the corner of his mouth so he can guide your hips. You can see him already gritting his teeth around it, taking in sharp inhales as you start a deep rhythm on him.

“Oh baby…” You moan. You desperately want to close your eyes to enjoy the feeling, but the sight of him fucking you with that deathstick between his teeth is too glorious, penance for the time you spent worrying. “Shit, you look so hot, Jake. So fucking sexy…” You groan as he grasps your ass, gripping the flesh and dragging you down on his cock with growls.

“Ya look even better takin’ it, darlin’, ya take it so well; my pretty slut.”

You grip his shoulders, cursing him for being able to push your buttons and make you whine at the most humiliating of names. Your body always tells him different, though, especially as you start bouncing faster on his cock, feeling it hit that fucking sweet spot each time you come down on him.

Jake is panting too now, and he has to hold the cig between his fingers again to stop it from dropping on you. “Ya feel so good squeezin’ me like that, cariño… Fuck this cunt is magical–.” He still has a grip on your hip, and uses it as leverage so that he can start bucking his hips into your wet heat.

Needless to say, you aren't going to last much longer.

“J-ake! Honey… Fuck I'm so close–agh!-.” Your walls clench around him while your hand slips between your legs to circle your clit, eyes opening briefly to get a glimpse at the sight you'd been waiting to see for what felt like weeks.

That's it, that's all you needed as you sink down on him and grind your cunt against your hand, panting and moaning with your head thrown back. Waves of pleasure rush over you and soak through your bones entirely, your toes clenching like your walls.

You release the grip you had on his shoulders, not that he seemed to mind, that is, before leaning forward to kiss him. You don't care about the smokey taste on his tongue because all you want is him, his taste.

“Mmnnn… We ain't done yet, darlin’,” Jake pulls from the kiss and gestures to the half burnt cigarette as he places it back between his lips.

He gropes your waist and pulls you off of his cock with a soft yelp from you, instead pressing you down into the couch, face turned outwards so he can lean down and look at your face. This position always makes you whine, always makes your legs shake as you try to keep yourself up, and Jake never goes easy on you. He likes seeing the way your ass and thighs bounce as he brings you back on him, and loves hearing the filthy noises that are produced in the process.

The feeling of him splitting you open again has you biting on the cushion, your thoughts from before being true as he ruthlessly fucks into you, loud growls and grunts rumbling in his chest and ringing in your ears.

It's hard to ignore how good it makes you feel when he uses you like this. Sure you love the soft and tender moments you get with the three of them, but once you'd felt what they can really do to you, there was no going back.

You're surprised you haven't ripped the cushion cover from how hard you're gripping it, dumb, cock drunk whines and whimpers falling from your lips as the man fucks you closer and closer to another orgasm.

He leans over you, cigarette barely staying between his lips as he watches your eyes screw shut and random gibberish fall from your mouth.

“Ay, my pretty little fucktoy. Ya love it when I'm rough with ya, don't ya?” He pants and strokes his hand down your chest, running all the way down your tummy till he reaches your swollen clit. “Love it when I… when I use ya.”

His strong and composed facade is faltering, just as it usually does when he's getting close, sitting up again to throw his head back and take puffs of his almost completely gone cigarette.

You can see colours dancing behind your eyelids with how tightly they're screwed shut, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit being almost unbearable as you let out cries and pleas to come again.

“Yeah cariño, that's it, cum all over my cock, lemme feel ya twitch.”

An even stronger wave than before crashes over you and wracks your whole body. Your moans get stuck in your throat as you milk Jake of all he has, his own orgasm having hit him after you'd shrieked his name.

Thankfully, he's quick to remove his fingers from your throbbing clit, knowing it gets a little too sensitive after two mind-blowing orgasms.

”AH FUCK-”

Your post-nut bliss is interrupted by a pained yelp from the man, making you crane your neck to look back at him frantically pulling the cigarette butt from his lips and putting it out in the ashtray.

You laugh, albeit sleepily, and watch his dopey gaze drift to yours as he chuckles lowly. “Fuckin’ cigarettes… maybe next time I should get some of those fake ones.” He jokes as he pulls out of you and touches his sore lips.

You giggle and sit up wobbly, turning to wrap your arms around his neck. “I did think when we started that it was a little dangerous.”

“Ay, ya live and ya learn.”

You both laugh and Jake presses his face into your neck, placing soft kisses as he falls back against the couch with a thump, taking you with him.

...........................................................................

Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @rinverse

#moon knight #moon knight system #moon boys #jake lockley #moon knight smut #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac characters

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 5

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m trying something new here—been reading The Shining by Steven King and I like how the “thoughts” are presented :)

warnings: general angst

word count: 5,414

-Part 4- -Part 6-

Sharp, caramel eyes latch to your own from across the room.

Beneath his fingertips rest the planets of your solar system, whirring softly as they rotate, cogs clicking together. Your orrery.

Shoulders tense—it’s fine machinery, incredibly delicate. You don’t like the idea of him being so close to something so dear to you. He hasn’t proven to be particularly caring, or thoughtful. Anxiety closes around your throat. “Eris,” you greet, moving forward stiffly. “What are you doing here?” Why is he in the House of Wind, in the heart of the Night Court. Why is he in Velaris.

He taps against your world, the mechanical clicking coming to a stop, the system halting to his will. Retracts his hand. “You’re really kept out of the loop, aren’t you?” He asks, eyes gleaming, fingertips grazing the blade at his hip. Your brow narrows, “that’s not an answer.” You eye him warily, how close he is to that precious gift your sister had given you.

Lips lift into that familiar viper’s smile, “I’m here to have a meeting with your High Lord and Lady. I’m surprised they didn’t tell you. Surprised too you’re allowed near me at all after our last encounter—do they not particularly mind your safety?” He inquires, moving around the kitchen table. You shift in response, mirroring his movements, the opening steps to a dance you’re uninterested in.

“I live here,” you counter, “why should I yield my ground to you. It’s my home.” He quirks a neatly groomed brow, taking another step around the table, so you’ve switched positions. “You don’t live with the rest of your lovely family? Your younger sister has a home deeper within this city, but you choose to stay here, in this lonely place?”

“It’s my home,” you repeat, “and I like the quiet. Can you understand that?”

Eris’ brow narrows at the perceived insult, and you move closer to the table, to your orrery. “What sort of nonsense question is that?” He asks sharply.

“You live in a palace, don’t you? Big; spacious? Filled with people and riches?” You ask, narrowing your eyes on the male. His lips quirk, “more riches than you can even comprehend.” Eyes run over you, judgementally, “more beauty, too.”

“Filled with people, I’ll bet,” you say, ignoring the comment with practiced ease. At least Azriel’s helped with desensitising you to such things. “Servants, courtiers, maids. Does your home— Does your father’s palace ever sleep? Do you ever get any peace?”

“If you’re prying to see if there’s a single moment I might be vulnerable to an assassination attempt, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. There isn’t a single person who steps foot in my palace without authorisation.” He replies smoothly, caramel eyes gleaming.

Your lips tilt quietly, “what a lovely cage you live in, Eris.”

He stiffens, then his mouth twists itself into something resembling a smile—too serpentine. “Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare? You’re quite talented at it.” You don’t mistake it for a compliment. “Tell me: which of them taught you to speak like that?”

Your brow dips in confusion. “It’s not warfare—It’s observation. There’s nothing aggressive about it.”

“No? No animosity in your prying? I could have sworn I detected a bite back by the river. Where have your claws gone? Were they clipped just like the hell-cat’s were?” He smiles—unnerving to be faced with it. “Bring them out. We can have ourselves a sparring match.” A hand raises in mocking challenge, beckoning you forward.

Hairs raise at the back of your neck, skin prickling with that itch that lies just below the scratch of your nails. Burning your fingertips. Dangerous. Manipulative. Manipulative.

“And where did you learn?” You fire back. “Who taught you to be so insidious? Or do you know no different?”

Caramel burns into you, charring your insides. “An answer for an answer.”

He’s got you. Knows you won’t rise to his challenge. So you switch methods.

Eyes flick down to the machinery on the table, “it’s very beautiful, isn’t it?”

If he’s caught off guard, he doesn’t show it. Well-accustomed to being on the constant edge. “A waste of time. The tinkerer has simply welded a few cogs and screws together—basic metal work.”

Your gaze rises to his, a hint of amusement within as you take a seat to better peer at the orrery. “You’re trying so hard to make it seem insignificant, yet you were studying our planet, so you’re clearly familiar with its structure.” Fingertips graze across the gilded metal of the sphere, the only one occupying the habitable zone. “I doubt you’ll answer my question, so I can only presume you’re used to hiding your interests.”

“Presume away,” he drawls, “it’s no bother to me.”

“No bother,” you echo, spinning the orrery, cogs ticking, globes rotating smoothly. “You hide like there’s something to be embarrassed about. What’s wrong with being fascinated by the world?” You play with the system, again falling under its spell, admiring the intricate carvings, how the tinkerer has rendered texture into metal—made it appear soft.

“You speak as if you’re knowledgeable of it. How much can you know having only spent two years in our land, feeding off our history?” He counters, stepping toward the table, eyes flicking carelessly over the mechanism. With forced lightness. Your brow furrows as you peer at him, “what’s the meaning of having endless time to discover if you don’t use it? I know about the world because I’ve read about it, and I’ve read about it because I want to know. Two years isn’t long to study something as vast as this, but unlike you, I have time to myself, to do things for myself that I want. And this—” you gesture to the small solar system, “—is what I’m interested in.”

The corners of Eris’ mouth tilt down, stepping finally closer to the table, as if accepting a conversation is inevitable. “And you think it is wise to invest your time in something as academic as this? You think you’ll be allowed to study it? Pursue your interest in it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You counter, absently tracing the rings of one of the planets—how beautiful they are! “I’m immortal now. Why shouldn’t I spend it doing things I like? Not all of us want to be sour and miserable.”

His lips quirk, “you maybe immortal, but you’re also detrimentally female. If you think your sex will not be an obstacle in your study, then you’re much more naive than I thought.”

Your brow dips, “and you’re awfully cynical. The library is filled with books, and is run by females, so no—I don’t think my sex will be an obstacle,” you snap. Take a breath in. He’s good at getting under your skin. You have to remember that’s his game. And you can’t fall for it. Otherwise Azriel will be right.

Eris opens his mouth, and you just know you don’t want to hear whatever rubbish he’s about to spit out. So you divert by returning to your wonderful orrery, “if you had to choose between these two planets to stand on for five minutes—” you point to the globes either side of your own, “—which would you go for? Air shortage aside?”

He rolls his eyes, irritated. “I do not have an interest in your childish device, and I did not come here to be lectured on how great the world is, nor anything beyond it. I have much more pressing things to concern myself with. The fact alone you choose to entertain yourself with knowledge that will never impact anyone is proof of your naiveté.”

You ignore the jab, even if it scratches its nails down your mental walls. “If you set foot on this one—” point to the one further from the centre, “—you would be crushed in seconds. Do you know why?”

The viper’s smile again, “as I have already said, I have no childish infatuation with things beyond my control. You’re wasting your time.”

“This planet,” you carry on, pointedly ignoring him, “spins nearly five times faster than our own, meaning gravity—the stuff that holds us to the—”

“I know what gravity is,” he snaps, fire lighting in his eyes.

You blink, startled by the outburst. He watches you silently. Doesn’t make a move to interrupt you again.

“Meaning the gravity,” you say slowly, waiting for him to jump again. He doesn’t. “…is stronger.” You blink again, but he makes no comment. “As a result, the days there last mere hours. How can that not fascinate you? How many other quirks are out there? Even limiting it to our own planet?”

His caramel eyes narrow. “Careful,” he warns. “People have been put to death for talking as you are.”

You look at him, confused. “People in your court? Why on earth would anyone be killed for this?”

“Regardless of court,” he drawls, as if it’s obvious. “For suggesting something other than the Mother. On grounds of blasphemy. The study of science is inherently rooted against her.”

Eyes widen as you stare at him.

“Is that what’s stopping you?” You ask, incredulously. “You’re a favoured heir to the throne, aren’t you? What good is that title if you’re unable to benefit from it?”

His brow narrows, “there are infinite ways I benefit from it. If you’re too ignorant to figure them out, then it speaks volumes to your wisdom.”

You ignore that, pushing forward. “But Rhys has one in his study—an orrery. It can’t be that serious?” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re doubting yourself. “Is it?”

“Hasn’t your sister witnessed first-hand how selective the world can be in who it favours? Did you not listen when I told you your sex would present difficulties?” He says sharply. “If you’re set on remaining ignorant, I see no point in continuing this conversation.”

Spine straightens as you stare at him, surprised.

“If I don’t know something, then explain it to me,” you say quietly. “How can I learn if I don’t know where I’m lacking?”

“It is not my responsibility to educate you,” he snaps. “Neither my responsibility to entertain you with conversation. If you prove to be dull, I have no reason to waste my time on you.”

“I agree it’s not your responsibility to educate me,” you say, frowning, “but if you have knowledge of something I don’t, and refuse to share it, how can you stand there and remain irritated with me? When you have the ability to change that?”

Eris’ lips twist again. “Like I said: it’s a waste of time.”

Your brows curve in frustration and disappointment. “You’d rather allow your irritation to fester than do something to prevent it? If you have a problem, and the means to repair it, but choose not to… Well, it speaks volumes to what sort of High Lord you might be.” As soon as the title leaves your tongue, it smacks back into you, the weight registering in your mind. The male before you really might become High Lord—inherit the power and responsibility that comes with it.

He’ll become responsible for his whole Court—yet prefers inactivity when faced with a problem that does not directly impact him.

“Why spend my energy on something so useless? You are only one person—why should I waste my breath? You clearly have no concept of how important and limited time is to someone in my position, in spite of immortality,” he states coldly, caramel darkening to something icy. “I prioritise matters I deem to be important; you waste your time flicking through old books that would better serve a fire.”

“I’m wasting my time on something I love.” You reply sharply, skin itching again, prickling at your fingertips. Sick of having it looked down on. Of being looked down on.

Lips twist in a faint, serpentine smile, eyes gleaming with predatory focus. He descends into the seat opposite you, moving with the grace of a spider, spiralling down into the centre of his web to meet his prey. Suck it dry; liquidate its insides. “Now that piques my interest.”

You don’t need to look down to know the colour your skin has changed to. You do anyway, eyes widening as you take in the faint, radiant green of your fingertips. You stare silently, noting the iridescence.

“I gather my brother’s mate is a seer, while the hell-cat yielded her power,” his smile is one crafted from centuries of cultivated misery, sharp edges created to keep himself safe. Carving his own bones into weaponry. “Could Rhysand have kept you secret because you have no control over it? Even after all this time?”

You bite down on the fear—it’s the second time it’s sparked up in broad daylight. Out in the open. Where anyone can see. “So persistent with the theory of secrecy,” you manage, voice coming out smooth, for the most part. “Maybe you didn’t know, because my power is nothing. It doesn’t heal, doesn’t hurt—nothing besides a dim light in the dark. It’s utterly useless.”

Eris doesn’t look convinced. “The cauldron wouldn’t give you a meaningless power. You haven’t tried hard enough.”

“Why is it so unbelievable?” You counter, in a hurry to end the conversation so you can return to the cover of your room. “Elain is the only one gifted with a real power. Nesta—” Are you allowed to tell him? He already knows she yielded it, so you see no point in hiding it. “Nesta took something. Ripped it away from the cauldron. Why would I be given anything meaningful?” You ask, and see the interest drain from his eyes. “Out of the four of us, Elain’s the only one with a working power.”

“And that’s why you’ve had so much time to yourself,” he drawls, malice again swimming in his whiskey eyes. “No training to do, nothing useful to preoccupy yourself with. Just steadily draining resources, and researching nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” you fire back weakly. “And it’s not heresy either. —nor blasphemy, or whatever name you want to give it to try and convince me it’s wrong.”

His eyes harden, “it denies the power of the Mother. Everything was made when she tipped out the cauldron. Science seeks to disprove that.”

“It shows the beauty of the world!” You insist, vaguely aware of the colour growing more intense as you press your hands into the surface of the table, rising to your feet. “It shows how intricate, and delicately woven it is! The only thing it does is prove there is something out there. How can you look up into the night sky, or gaze across the world, filled with magic, and life, and think any other way?” You argue, pushing the orrery across the table. “There are patterns in our world. Strange, and wonderful patterns, if you know how to spot them. The perfect rotations of our world around the great star, how everything intertwines with one another, like those cogs and screws you were trying to make light of. How can a world be so intricately faceted by chance? There has to be a designer—a creator. The one who set everything in motion to become as it is now.”

Your heart spikes as you think about it—how great she must be. The vastness of her capabilities.

“Science does not deny the existence of the Mother—it allows us to study the depth of her. Or something close to it.”

Eris’ eyes flick down to the solar system that you’ve pushed between his hands—now studying the details. His attention drags back up to you, noting how your pupils have dilated, heart beating quickly, nails digging into the surface of the table, gleaming with iridescence. A slow smile as he makes the connection between your emotions and the glow.

It would be a shame to tell you.

He’ll watch you figure it out for yourself—even if you have to stumble your way to the end.

“You’re skilled with words,” he says at last. “Has anyone told you that?”

You regard him silently, a little taken aback. Almost exhausted from the output of energy. Who knew it could be so tiring sharing an interest. How draining excitement is. “You’re just saying that,” you murmur quietly, fatigue weighing on your tongue from the outburst. You know he’s manipulative. You won’t fall for it.

His smile grows a little wider, into something vaguely normal. “You might even have avoided execution with a speech like that.”

Strangely, it doesn’t feel like he’s lying. It’s not much to go off, not much to rely on. He’s had centuries to perfect this act, would be flawless at it by now. And yet…

And yet. It’s enough for you to believe him. Trust your gut, and it’s telling you he’s being sincere.

Strange indeed.

————

Mor had interrupted almost immediately after, making you spring back from the table, seeing her blonde head appear in the kitchen, eyes hard when they landed on the Autumn Court male.

She’d promptly whisked him away to whichever room they were having their meeting in, and you’d hastily tucked your hands at your back, concealing glowing fingertips from her sharp gaze. You’d hated yourself a little in that moment, for hiding it from her. For not being brave enough to face them head on.

It was nothing compared to the sharp, stabbing laceration in your gut when Eris noted the movement. Offered you a slow, vulpine smile.

It’s been days since then, and every step seems to echo your doom. Every footfall in the hallway, every chirp of voices—you’re convinced they know. Because how much longer is he going to keep it a secret? How long before he asks something from you? Something you can’t give, because you don’t have access to them. To any of them. Not in the way he would like.

A series of knocks is landed to you door, and the book slides from your hands. Yelp when it nearly hits your foot. Feyre really needs to start walking a little louder so things like that don’t happen. You sigh heavily.

“Come in,” you call, hastily collecting up the book, plonking it down atop the precarious stack at your bedside. A small gust of dust motes shoot out from the pages, and you cough, turning to the window. Opening it to invite in the crisp, midday air. Open the curtains a little wider, too.

You turn to face her, here probably to ask you to another dinner. It’s been nearly a fortnight since the last one, when Elain had invited you to the…mortal lands. You really don’t know what to call that part, now.

Hazel cuts into you, air catches in your lungs—maybe it’s the dust.

You stare. Stare, and stare, but he doesn’t morph, or transfigure into your sister. Shadows crawl at his feet, slink over his wings, kept tight to his body. It’s strange to see him so tense.

“What are you…” you trail off, shaking your head slowly. “No.”

Azriel’s mouth purses. Remains in the doorway, not even one step away from the threshold. “We should— I would like to speak with you.” You stare longer; shake your head again.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

“I don’t… No. I don’t want to,” you manage. “I’m in the middle of something right now.” His eyes flick about the room, and you shift to conceal the books at your bedside. “You don’t look busy,” he says slowly, aware how quickly things can turn sour. “That’s because I’m talking to you,” you reply, equally carefully.

He pauses, eyes once again scanning your room, then, “may I come in?”

Spine goes rigid; his pupils dilate. “I want to clear the air between us,” he supplies. “It would be better to do so in private.” He has a point. Feyre’s added a sound barrier to your room after the mess of last time, but… It’s midday, no one should be here. The only people who occasionally dip in are Elain and Feyre. Nesta doesn’t really…the two of you aren’t as close. “Okay,” you find yourself saying, dipping your head, “but I need to—” you gesture to the clothes on your floor. The general mess.

He nods, throat bobbing before he steps inside, the door clicking behind him as he keeps to the clear spaces on the floor. Few and far between.

You swallow, prying your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “What did you want to… Where do you want to start?” You ask, returning to the far end of your room to push the windows wider—as far as they can go. The breeze plays with strands of your hair, cleaning out the stuffy room, smelling slightly of mildew and parchment. Mostly dust, though.

“Your feelings for me…” he begins quietly, the words blaring throughout the room. “How long have you—”

“You know. Start somewhere else,” you interrupt, nails digging into the wooden frame, nudging the fabric of the curtains with your foot. He pauses, and you remain turned away from him, heart spiking. But he acquiesces.

“Okay…” he breathes heavily, followed by the faint stretch of leather as he folds his arms. Flexes his fingers before doing so. Still, you don’t look at him. “The talk with Eris.” It’s your turn to sigh, shifting on your feet to face him, wind blowing in gently from behind, soothing the heat between your shoulder blades, wrapping your cardigan a little tighter.

You don’t question how he knows about that short chat. Maybe Mor mentioned it—she’s the only one who saw, anyway. And you can’t imagine Azriel would have allowed it to go on that long if his shadows were aware. There’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

“He just asked why I lived up here, instead of with the rest of you,” you mumble, scanning hastily for something to do. “I just said I liked the quiet, and that’s it.” Fingers grip the hem of a top, carrying it to your bed to fold away. The first of many.

Silence stretches between you, taut and tenuous. Hairs rise at the back of your neck, skin prickling.

“You didn’t mention that last time,” he says slowly, neutrally. Too controlled to be calm.

Your brows draw together. “I didn’t,” you confirm, picking up another top, folding it. It’s slightly out of place, the seams not lining up, and you redo it. Set it above the other. “Why not?” He asks tentatively. “It helps to know exactly things like that.” You stand straighter, looking at him—he does indeed have his arms crossed. Uncrosses them when you face him. Also straightens.

“We haven’t spoken since then,” you say slowly.

Eyes lock briefly when you both connect the dots.

“You’ve spoken with him since?” It’s phrased as a question, but…

Throat rolls, eyes turn away, body following shortly after, grabbing a pile of three garments. Set them on the bed. Hands moving like clockwork.

Head dips in confirmation.

Silence digs deeper. A shovel in a grave mound.

“When we had a meeting?” He asks, voice again taking on that controlled tone. Body coiled tight. Features neutral. “Yeah,” you murmur, “when you had that meeting.” Set the skirt atop the pile.

“And he asked why you live alone?” There’s an implication there. What is it? So many different angles to study it from—not a pleasing thought. “Not directly,” you mumble, “he said it was interesting I chose to live here when Feyre had a house deeper in the city. I think.”

“What you do you mean, you think?” He asks steadily, remaining statue-like in your peripherals.

“It was a few days ago,” you supply. “It didn’t stick with me.” That part didn’t, at least. He nods, reasoning it out in his head. Understandable.

“Was there anything else?” He asks instead. You know he marks the way your shoulders tense, even if you operate otherwise normally. “No,” you mumble, turning away from him, “nothing important.”

“We’ve been over this,” he reminds. “You don’t—…” Sighs. “Just tell me everything, and I’ll decide what’s important.” Why does this keep happening?

“You can’t trust him,” he adds gently, a touch softer than before.

You nod your head quickly, “I know.” Quiet reigns again, and he’s debating something. “Just say it,” you murmur, straightening the stack of books, skittish fingers fumbling with some of the loose papers. You should probably separate them out into a neater pile—they’ll only get more crinkled otherwise.

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” he supplies carefully.

“Okay.” Nod once. “I won’t.”

Picture the way his throat rolls, fingers flex at his sides. “Do you really understand why you can’t trust him?”

You pick up a few books from the stack, depositing them on your desk, moving to sort through which ones can be returned to the library. Mentally cataloguing their numbers and titles that correlate with set aisles. “I do,” you say, seeing how that would have been misinterpreted. He does you the courtesy of not asking you to explain it. “So you understand why you have to be careful about what you say. What you let him know,” he reasons softly.

Something heavy settles in your gut at the reminder, but you keep your lips shut.

“Eris is a snake,” he continues. “I can’t stress enough how wary you should be around him. And certainly never by yourself.” Eyes briefly meet over that last part, then your own dart away, returning to organising the catastrophe on your desk. Shifting through papers and diagrams. Charts and catalogues. Star formations and little doodles. “If you give him something, he will find a way to use it. It’s imperative you never let him know anything important.” You look at him over your shoulder, temporarily removing your focus from the lovely books, “what counts as important?”

Azriel sighs, leans against the tall frame of your bed, one shoulder propped against it calmly. He looks relaxed—it’s intentional. A distortion to make things seem fine; to keep you calm.

He raises one hand, gestures between you and him. “Us,” he says, reluctantly. “Things like this—they’re private. Emotional problems, and squabbles or…complications,” he expands. “You can’t let him know about anything like that. If he thinks there’s weakness, or a rift he can exploit, he will.”

Breath catches in your chest, and you snap you attention off him, forcefully reattaching it to the books you’ve laid out. Which pile means what?

“I don’t…” you begin. Swallow. Unstick your tongue. “I don’t know about any of your relations. Within…within Rhys’…” You fumble, unsure how to describe them all.

(Us.)

“Family?” He supplies. “Within your family?”

“No,” you sigh. “Beyond my sisters. I don’t—…I mean, I don’t know what’s going on with Cassian, or Mor, or Amren, either. I don’t—… There’s nothing he can get from me.”

Azriel watches you silently, skin prickling beneath the weight of his focus. “They’re your family, too,” he says gently. Almost tenderly. “Not just Rhys’, or Feyre’s. You’re her older sister, so you’re a part of it all, too.”

(A single pair of pearl earrings.)

Hazel locks with your own, and you release a soft laugh, beams of amusements finally lighting your eyes, mirth building on your mouth. How long has it been since you’ve laughed because of him?

Azriel narrows his eyes, and the laughter dies on your tongue. “Oh.” The word whispers out on an exhale, subconsciously taking a step backward. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I thought—” You shake your head. “You’re just saying that.” He remains silent, watching you intently.

“They don’t—,” you fumble. Trying to find the words. “I mean, they—… We’re separate. Me, I mean. I’m not—”

“Yes you are.”

You shake your head, not accepting it. “You can’t expect me to believe that,” you mutter. “I’m not that naive.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “Granted, you don’t make it easy. But you’re still part of it all.”

“So you—” You’re not sure if you can say it. “You don’t… You see me as family?”

It’s his turn to falter, coming up short. You shake your head in disbelief. “Azriel…”

His eyes narrow as he stares at you. Opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Let’s just… Let’s stay on track.” Otherwise it’s going to get ugly.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

Lower lip trembles; you bite it, turning your attention to your desk. He’s quiet for a few moments, and the energy begins to settle.

“Why does family bother you so much?” He asks, quietly.

Breath whooshes from your lungs, and you place both your palms flat on the desk, so tired. “Because,” you sigh, eyelids weighing heavy. Massage the bridge of your nose with both your middle and forth fingers. “The feelings I have for you…those don’t belong to a family member.” Shame heats your cheeks, fingers covering you eyes. How many times do you have to say it?

“Why do you insist on targeting everything I’m uncomfortable talking about?” You ask, softly, hands remaining over your features, muffling you. Because if you don’t divert, he’ll target that, too. “You did the same in the air,” you whisper, “you get hung up on these tiny points and you can’t let them go and it’s…” You don’t know.

“It’s what?” He asks, coldly. Lip trembles at the tone, pushing away the dampness, lowering your hands. “Why do you do it?”

“It’s my job to get the details right,” he replies.

(Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare?)

“I’m not your job, Azriel.”

“You are when you run off and have unmonitored chats with that male.”

“Eris, or Bas?” You ask quietly.

(You’re quite talented at it.)

He falters, then his jaw ticks, the muscle feathering. “We’ll talk about Bas in a minute,” he says. “For now, we’re talking about how you behave around Eris.” You stare at him. Blink. “I don’t know how to make it clearer,” he continues, watching the ceiling, head tipped upward slightly. Eyes flick down, looking as though you’re below him.

Lowers his head.

“Eris prefers verbal warfare,” he begins, repeating the same old things he’s already told you. Fingertips begin to itch.

Hazel pierces into you, muscle in his jaw tensing. “He’s good at it, too. Good enough to make all of us wary. Doesn’t that show enough?”

(You’re skilled with words, has anyone told you that?)

“I got that impression.”

He nods, no more than a gentle dip of his chin. “That’s good,” he sighs. “It’s a good start.” Something twists in your gut at the words.

“Just don’t go near him,” Azriel continues, unaware of the numbness that’s slowly spreading down your back. “Okay.” Hands move automatically, and you watch distantly as they go.

He sighs, “so tell me what happened most recently. All of it. Then I can tell you what’s good and what’s not.”

“I don’t remember all of it,” you mumble.

Why are you so tired? It’s not the same fatigue as after talking with Eris. That was pleasant. Your mind was tired from working. Now… You’re just tired of resisting.

“You said he asked about you living alone,” he prompts. You want to go to bed. Want to close the curtains and crawl deep under the sheets.

You nod distantly. “And you said you liked the quiet.”

Nod again.

“So what happened after that?” He’s gotten quieter, sensing your disengagement.

You shrug weakly. “We just talked.”

“This is what I mean,” he says gently, attempting to soften the words that need to be said. “Eris doesn’t do idle chatter. You have to start understanding that.”

You shake your head, denying, “he didn’t ask anything else.”

“But you were talking?” He asks pointedly, doubt clear.

You go quiet. Shoulders slope.

Azriel sighs, standing upright. There’s no use talking to you like this.

“Let’s try this another time. When you’re more… When you’re feeling better.” He waits a little for a response. Feel the weight of his gaze on your hands. You don’t respond, and he dips his head in acknowledgement. Allowing your peace.

But still, when he leaves, you’re torn between crying, and wanting to run after him.

Nothing’s gotten better.

You still crave his attention, even though it’s begun to hurt.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei

#CBMTHY #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You #CBMTHY Part 5 #Azriel #Azriel angst #Azriel x reader #Eris #Eris Vanserra #Azriel x reader angst #angst #acotar #multi part fic #series

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holylulusworld · 11 months

Text

Dishonored

Title: Dishonored

Summary: You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

Pairing: Prince!Steven Grant Rogers x Princess!Reader; Lord Barnes x Princess!Reader (no polyamory)

Warnings: heavy angst (I’m not joking), lies, manipulation, hurting people for revenge, implied loss of innocence, unwanted/unplanned pregnancy, Steve being the worst, sadness, hopelessness, desperation, suicidal tendency/suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, fluff, we stan Bucky in this story

Rating: Mature

Words: 2,7 k

Square filled for @anyfandomfluffbingo: Square 9: “I never loved you.”

Square filled for Lulu’s Winter Bingo 2022: Square 4: Winter

Square filled for @steverogersbingo: C3: Free space – Royal AU

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo: C2: Sharing body heat

Please heed the warnings for this story. It contains triggering content such as attempted suicide.

You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

How do you move on when your honor and grace get ripped away by the man who promised you love and devotion?

He lured you in – sweet-talked you into giving him the one thing you cherished the most. Your honor and innocence. Reserved for your future husband, and the man loving you unconditionally.

Lies. All lies.

It was a moment of weakness making you stumble and fall. Into his bed. Into his arms.

He took you apart, gentle, and slow. A miracle to you when you think about the aftermath.

A few months earlier, your father’s castle

“I can't believe Prince Steven came to woo me,” you mumbled to yourself. The prince arrived earlier this morning and you hoped your dreams would come true. You always felt a deep connection to the prince, and now, he’s here to talk to your father.

“Princess!” Your chambermaid scolded. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold! Your father called for you. He wants you to meet Prince Steven. He will stay at the castle for a few weeks until he travels to his uncle’s castle.”

Your face fell. He came here to sit out the approaching snowstorm, nothing else.

How could you have been foolish enough to believe he came to ask for your hand?

“I’m…coming,” you tried to not cry. All your hopes and dreams ended up on the ground - shattered and torn. “We cannot let our guest wait.”

“Father,” you stepped confidently toward your father to peck his cheek. He was always soft on you, and let you break a few rules. Especially when it came to etiquette. You’re his little thunderstorm, a wild child with a bright mind and softness that’s hard to find among royals. “I heard we have a guest.”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” the king softly said. He ran his hand over your hair and patted your head. “I need you on your best behavior. I angered the prince, and we don’t want him to tell his father the king about it.”

You wrinkled your forehead. “What? I don’t understand,” you whispered so no one could hear. Your father is one of the kindest people you know. How could he possibly anger the prince?

“Your Highness,” Steven walked inside the throne room, accompanied by his best friend, and confident Lord Barnes. The brunette watched you with interest while the prince’s eyes drifted toward your brother and his fiancé, Lady Margaret Carter. “I see the princess will join us for supper.”

“Your Highness,” you turned your attention toward the prince. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again. It’s been too long.”

Steven eagerly took your offered hand to press a chaste kiss to the back of it. “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for having me.”

“Lord Barnes,” you smiled at the brunette. Last time you saw him he was reading a book in the garden, chuckling at something he read. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay. The library is always open for you.”

“Princess,” Lord Barnes smiled wildly. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Oh…my…you are too kind, Lord Barnes,” you replied gracefully and batted your eyelashes. “It’s always a pleasure having you around.”

Supper was more than pleasant. Lord Barnes kept the conversation flowing while the prince watched you the whole time. He complimented you and raised his glass on your beauty and grace.

You were surprised. His eyes seemed to be glued to your brother and his fiancé. Out of a sudden Prince Steven turned his attention toward you. He even stopped his friend from talking to you.

Your cheeks heated up, and you felt warm when he placed his hand next to yours, subtly brushing your pinkie with his finger.

It was the first time he was so close, and you allowed yourself to bask in his attention for as long as it lasted.

The next days felt like a dream come true. Steven asked you to spend time with him and go for a walk in the gardens. For propriety's sake, a chaperon accompanied you and Steven. But you didn’t care at all.

The moments spent with the prince were the best of your life. He made you smile, and laugh and your heart flutter.

All that mattered to you was his smile, his soft blue eyes, and the way he looked at you. It was the same way your father looked at your father and your brother at his chosen bride.

“I wish these days will never end,” you dared to hope Steven would say the same.

He took you by surprise when he replied. “Even if they end,” he looked you deep in the eyes, leaning a little closer to whisper, “I’ll always come back to you."

The prince was about to press a soft kiss on your forehead when your chaperone stepped in.

“Your Highness, please do not forget you are wooing for a princess, not a wench. Remember your manners,” she tutted. “We should head back inside. It’s getting colder, and I can smell the snow.”

Marjorie, your chaperone was right. Winter came faster than expected, accompanied by a snowstorm that wouldn’t let up.

The whole country was suffering from the cold weather and the snow masses.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The snowstorm and unforgiving winter kept Steven and Lord Barnes from leaving your castle.

You didn’t mind. Most of the time you spend with Steven, chatting about his kingdom, childhood, and love.

Yes. Love.

You held hands, and when your chaperone wasn’t looking, he even stole kisses. Steven promised you that love is the most precious thing to protect in this world.

He played you well, you give him that.

Your heart couldn’t take being apart from Steven for a single moment. So, you gave him everything you had to offer, and what he was craving.

On one of these cold winter nights, you let him sneak into your bedroom, and take you to bed. He kissed you, and when he settled between your thighs you believed he would make you his wife and love you forever.

When it was over, he smirked, and his eyes grew cold. Your heart dropped as he hastily redressed. “Steven, what are you doing?”

“My plan went well, didn’t it?” He looked at you, making you feel ashamed of yourself. You grabbed the blanket to cover your body. The one he ruined with his touch.

“I don’t understand, Steven. My love. What has gotten into you? You said you love me.” You cried as he looked at you, wrinkling his nose at your disheveled state.

“I never loved you,” he coldly replied. “Your father forced the woman I love to marry your brother,” he sneered and curled his lips. “I stole his beloved daughter’s innocence. What will he do if he finds out you are carrying my bastard under your heart?”

“Steven, I don’t…” Your voice trembled. “Why? I…”

“I came here to ask your father to stop this insanity and let me marry Margaret. I love her dearly. He refused and wanted to send me away.”

You remember now. Your father told you that he upset Steven.

“But…she came here, begging my father to help her. She wanted to marry my brother. Margaret wasn’t my father’s first choice. Some princesses and ladies were more beautiful and with a better reputation. He agreed because she was in love with my brother and threatened to kill herself if he didn’t allow her to marry my brother.”

“What?” He looked a little shell-shocked at your words but shook his head. “Lies!” Steven yelled, making you flinch. “Shut your mouth, wench. Never talk about Margaret like that again.”

He left without looking back and slammed the door shut. Leaving you devasted, heartbroken, and ruined.

After that night, he never looked at you. He declared that he was going to stay at the guest wing until it was time to leave.

One month later, …

Hopelessness is the only thing left in your life. You can feel a new life growing in your womb. Every passing day brings you closer to doomsday.

Soon you won’t be able to hide the secret. Soon everyone will know you got dishonored.

Foolish girl letting a man take what should have never been his.

You run your hand over your belly, choking out another sob. If you want to save what’s left of your honor, you must take matters into your own hands.

Shakily you glance at the balcony parapet again. If you do it now, you can save your honor, and your father’s.

Stepping toward the parapet you release a shuddery breath.

What if it’s not high enough? What if you survive? What if they ask questions?

“No,” you step away from the parapet. This is the wrong way to go. You must let it look like an accident. Or maybe, if you can find someone selling you a potion, you can end your life painlessly and fast.

The river looked inviting to you. You looked at the floating water, fascinated by its power and grace.

Once upon a time, you were gracefully too.

That was until your grace and innocence got ripped away from you like it meant nothing to him. “If I step into the river, it will be over soon. Maybe they will believe it was an accident. I slipped and fell into the river.”

Slowly, you stepped toward the water, closing your eyes for a moment. This was the only way to save your honor. The water would wash away the sin you committed and take your secret with it.

You took another step, and another until you felt the cold water kiss your feet. “Cold.” You whispered but walked farther into the water, feeling it tug at your gown. “It will be over soon, my little stardust.” You rubbed your belly. “I’m so sorry.”

The water surrounded you, almost reaching your waistline as you heard someone call for you. “Princess! NO!”

It was Lord Barnes. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw you in the river. He knew something was wrong with the way his friend acted out of a sudden.

“Nooo!” You heard the water splashing and then, two strong arms wrapped around you like anchors holding you in this world. “What are you doing, princess.”

“I cannot…he dishonored me,” you choked out a heartbreaking sob. “I cannot remain. No man will want me. Not after he took my innocence and…the baby…it will be a bastard.”

Lord Barnes stiffened when the words floated out of your mouth like the water in the river. He couldn’t believe his friend and confidant would do such a thing to you for revenge.

“My love. No,” he dragged you out of the water, and wrapped you in his arms, letting you cry in his chest until there were no tears left in you. Lord Barnes said. “Stay with me, my love. I’ll keep you warm. We need to keep each other warm.”

“But I—” You lifted your head to look at him with tear-clouded eyes. “You should’ve let me die. Father will…”

“He won’t know. Not about what happened with Steven, nor what you did today. What a coincidence I came by when you slipped and fell into the river,” he whispered and kissed your temple. “I came back to ask for your hand, and to wed you in spring.”

Your heart thundered in your chest at his words. “I’m…ruined. You don’t want me, or my bastard child.”

“I will love it like my own, my love,” he kissed your cheek. “You are not ruined, princess. Only a little broken. But we can fix this. I got my heart broken once too. We will heal together.”

“My lord, the babe…it’s not yours…I can’t…you can’t.”

“It’s cold, let’s head back to the castle and get you warm. I’ll call for a healer…”

“Not a word about her condition except for the cold,” Lord Barnes warned the healer. “If you say a word about the other thing,” he patted his sword, “you won’t be able to spend all the gold you’ll get.”

“Not a word,” the healer nodded and walked back inside your room.

“Marry my daughter?” Your father eyed Lord Barnes warily. He came back a few days after Prince Steven and he left the castle. Alone, and with a grim expression. “But…what about the prince?”

“He’s a foolish man, my king,” Lord Barnes growled. “He lost his heart one too many times to a pretty face. I cherish your daughter, her grace, and her kindness. If you allow me to woo her, I’ll be forever grateful. I’m not a prince but love her dearly.”

“She admires you too,” the king replied. “She talked about you, and that you love to read as much as she does. If my daughter agrees, I’ll agree on your bond.”

Lord Barnes didn’t wait until spring to wed you. He insisted on marrying you within another month.

You watched him with sad eyes as he desperately tried to fix his friend’s mistake.

“Lord Barnes, you can still find a better bride,” you took his hand to press a soft kiss on his knuckles. “I’m thankful that you tried to save my honor, but I cannot make you miserable for the rest of your life.”

“My love,” he whispered. “I fell for you the first time we met. If only I knew about Steven’s plans, I wouldn’t have stepped back and let him woo for you.”

“It’s not your fault, only mine,” you sniffled, and wiped your eyes. “I wasn’t raised to become a wench. I decided to let him do this to me…”

“Y/N, you’re not a w-.” He shook his head. “Never use that word again,” he angrily said. “He was the one stealing the light from you. You’re still an innocent angel.”

“I know that I’m not,” you hid your face in his shoulder, allowing yourself to let the mask you wear so well slip. “You’ll get damaged goods, my Lord.”

“Call me James, or Bucky, my love,” he gently rubbed your back. “I promise, you are far from damaged goods for me. You are going to be my wife and I’ll love you. And the babe will get all my love too. They are going to mine.”

“What a beautiful pair, don’t you think?” Your mother asked. “She looks happy, my love.”

Your father smiled wildly as he watched you and your groom share the first dance. You smiled and laughed as Bucky twirled you around.

“I was worried about our daughter for a while. Prince Steven’s departure left her heartbroken,” the king held out his hand for his wife. “Let us join them and celebrate their union.”

The queen smiled and took your father’s offered hand. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

A mother always knows when her child is in need.

She will never break her promise to herself and tell her husband that she saw you at the river when Lord Barnes saved you, or that she heard what you confessed.

“He is a good man, my love,” the queen whispered. “Our beloved daughter couldn't find a better man.”

While everyone celebrated your wedding and danced, Steven stood in a corner, watching you and his best friend happy together.

He squared his jaw and balled his hands into fists. His heart dropped watching Margaret and your brother join you on the dance floor.

Everything he did was in vain…

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers angst #bucky barnes #buckybarnesbingo2023 #steverogersbingo #anyfandomfluffbingo #prince!steve rogers #royal!bucky barnes #royal au #angst #tw: attempted suicide

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lavendertales · 8 months

Text

dinner party || Steven Grant x f!reader

summary: after attending the same book club for weeks, you and Steven run into each other at a dinner party and all of your curiosity and tension finally clash together.

word count: 3.8k

A/N: first fic of the year yaay😌 felt like writing something lighthearted so no warnings besides tension, a hot makeout session & Steven being a sweet literature nerd. I'm actually having a very hard time getting into writing & posting lately but I'm working through it. anyway, feedback is always very much appreciated ❤️

You weren't planning on showing up to this dinner, but according to your friends, "it’ll do you good" to socialize and get out more. While they may have been right about joining the book club to begin with, you don’t want to reveal the real reason why you're attending this event because they’re gonna be all over you, asking incessant questions and badgering you all enthusiastically and frankly, you need some time to process what you're feeling.

What are you feeling exactly?

You're excited about the possibility of seeing Steven again tonight. He’s the big reason why you're going to your book club’s owner’s house for this dinner party in the first place. You can’t help but be attracted to him; that much is clear, blatantly obvious. You are definitely attracted to him. He’s so damn intelligent and curious about things and open-minded and sweet… oh lord, he is so intoxicatingly sweet. And so shy! Steven seemed like the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve and that is like a breath of fresh air to you.

And when he mentioned the dinner party happening tonight… you figured it was the perfect excuse to go. It’s not a sin to want to see someone you're attracted to, right?

And it’s been such a long time since you’ve felt this attracted to someone.

Okay, so bottom line is, you're here tonight to show support for the book club, to have some wine and maybe talk to Steven.

You definitely want to talk to Steven. Or at least see him.

He’s got such a sense of humor too. The kind where he doesn't necessarily intend to joke but it comes out funny anyway and it makes you giggle involuntarily. He can make you laugh by saying dry and bad jokes, and when he talks about poetry and interprets it, about history, the way his eyes flicker when he talks about literature in general...

Yeah, one might say you are dangerously attracted to him.

Maybe tonight is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him and wine. The combination oozes trouble, and you are not a troublemaker. You are certainly not a reckless person when you drink. You're fun and lighthearted and honest, a little too giggly sometimes, but never reckless. You don't plan on binge drinking, so you should be alright.

Unless your nerves get the best of you and you remain tongue-tied around the sweetness that is Steven Grant.

By the time you soothe you nerves, you are on your second glass of wine, politely engaging with the guests, with Miranda—bless her for starting this book club in the first place—and then you decide to indulge into some appetizers and look around her library. Man, she’s got a huge collection! She has a library in the living room and, from what Miranda herself says, three smaller ones in the three bedrooms.

She says it’s okay to take a look throughout the house—or should you call it a mansion because damn!—and so you look in the first bedroom. You are more interested in the library. The book collection is so damn impressive. She even has first editions of books that would be considered extinct nowadays and you are in absolute awe.

“Oh, hi.”

You turn around so violently you nearly pull a muscle in your neck and spill your drink. There’s Steven, holding his own glass of wine in one of the hands, a boyish grin on his face. You instantly feel your cheeks burn at the sight of him: he’s wearing black suit pants, a turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up and his hair is so curly and luscious it almost makes you sigh.

“Hi,” you finally reply with a flustered smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was gonna sneak off to look at books.”

“That’s my idea of a party to be honest.”

You both chuckle, and you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s simply something magnetizing about his presence, about the way he makes you feel just by being around you and that’s dangerous. This has the potential to be a fatal attraction and it’s scaring for all the reasons that it's exciting.

Steven approaches you, although visibly hesitant himself. You clear your throat in an attempt to diffuse your own tension. “But it is a great dinner party though,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Everyone’s so nice.”

“They are, yeah.”

“The music’s nice too. The food is—“

“Nice too?”

You break into nervous laughter. “I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”

“That’s alright. It’s—quite endearing, really.”

Your eyes shoot up at him. Your cheeks burn by this point, and you're fairly certain he can see how red they are, too.

“But why are you nervous?” Steven asks and his voice is so sweet and filled with care that it's impossible to not melt.

“Um… this is not a conversation for a second glass of wine.”

“For a third glass maybe?”

Your eyes widen some more and you find yourself absolutely flabbergasted at the notion that this sweet, intelligent and introverted guy is being flirty right now.

He’s flirting with me.

He’s actually flirting with me.

“Maybe,” you decide to tease against your better judgment. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin my image by binge drinking tonight.”

“I was thinking about getting a third glass myself, so I doubt you’d ruin anything.”

It’s tempting. Too tempting.

You shouldn’t.

But he’s so close to you and he looks and smells so good it impairs your judgment. There is no judgment to be done though. You are feeling needier and more impatient than you have in a long time, and you can barely keep it together.

“If you’re having one, then fine,” you reluctantly agree. “But three is where I have to draw the line.”

Steven giggles. The sound is so youthful and pleasant it’s almost like it tickles your skin.

There’s a moment of hesitation and silence between the two of you as you both acknowledge the fact that you should probably head back downstairs, but you remain locked in some sort of trance looking at the books on the shelves, still nursing on your second glasses of wine and stealing glances at each other. The tension is so thick that you're starting to wonder whether a knife would be able to cut through it.

“Can I confess something to you?” you foolishly ask.

Steven offers a polite smile and a nod right next to you and you feel your heart racing.

“I wasn’t totally sure if I wanted to come tonight,” you muster up the courage to say.

“After what I can assume are a lot of dinner parties over the years, this one probably seems a bit dull.”

“No, it’s—“

“Nice?”

You both giggle and exchange a glare that’s filled with yearning. Oh god, the yearning is consuming, devouring from inside out, clawing with unbearable hunger.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “But I’d agree with you in the slightest. It’s just an ordinary dinner party, nothing fancy. And I am all for that. But... I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Silence. You gulp, afraid to find his eyes this time around.

“I really like—“

No. Stop before you say something you’ll regret and scare him off.

“I really like talking to you,” you smile at him, and you are so relieved to see Steven smile as well. Watching him be so flustered is an absolute delight. “So you’re pretty much the big reason as to why I decided to come tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the other members of the book club, but it’s just—“

“I was looking forward to seeing you tonight too.”

That shuts you up real quick. Your pulse has skyrocketed, and all you can do now is gaze practically shamelessly at this beautiful man, now in front of you. Your knees weaken, your yearning suppresses all other sentiments, and he is all that you can see. All that you want, the sole reason why you can scarcely think straight at the moment.

It’s a primal instinct, to want and to have, and to be had.

The more you look at him, breathless, the more you wonder if he feels like that too. He probably thinks in far more decent terms than you do because you can get a bit too dark on the inside to think straight and decent.

“I really enjoyed getting to know you over these past few weeks, to connect on a human level,” Steven continues. “I mean, who you are. And who you are is… really fucking spectacular.”

You haven’t heard him cuss before and you wouldn't have pegged him as the kind of guy who cusses, but it’s definitely doing something to you. Might be him, might be the wine, or it might be a combination of the both. At this point, it's futile to try to understand.

Tonight is shaping up to be quite the evening after all.

“I’m—not,” you smile flustered. “I try, but sometimes I—I go a little dark.”

“That's alright. Everyone does, don't they?"

You scoff. “How are you so open-minded and okay with the idea that someone is telling you upfront, ‘hey, I’m kind of a mess sometimes’? How are you so—so dreamy?”

Steven laughs, scratching his head, and you realize you might’ve made him a bit uncomfortable with your previous remark. But it’s a genuine question because how is he this dreamy?! Can he actually be the ideal man?

All you know is that Steven makes you feel things you haven’t felt since high school, if maybe ever. You haven’t felt anything this intense in years. It might actually rekindle your hope for the male species.

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he giggles. “A couple of my former dates might disagree with you. I'm not actually a pro at dating."

“Yeah well, an ex might be bitter enough to think that way. But I do think you’re an amazing guy, and… I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. The way he says your name right after that sentence, your full first name, with that British accent sprinkled in, oh my God.

You discover, much to your dismay, that you are feeling things you haven’t felt in years. Carnivorous, urgent, tingling and prickling your skin and you're in imminent danger.

“So did you find what you came in here for?” Steven asks all of a sudden and just like that, when your eyes meet, you're a puddle.

Your heart’s thrumming in your ears, pounding away in your chest; so, so loudly you're afraid it might burst out for him to see it too. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, that much has been established; but this just seems incessant and over the top. You barely know him as a regular person and you just wonder… can you be this insanely attracted to someone you barely know?

“I think I did,” you respond eventually, your voice scratchy against your dry throat, like sand on paper. “Except now I’m debating… um… whether I should or should not have it.”

Steven takes a step closer to you, thus indirectly forcing you to look up at him and you swear you feel your knees buckle under the weight of this solitary glare. Then he clears his throat and stares at you, cheeks flushed and all.

“If you really want it, perhaps it means you should have it,” he says. “There should be no hesitation with the things you want.”

“What if—what if I’m not fit to have it? What if I do something to ruin it? Because this thing, it's—it's beautiful and sweet and kind and a lot of the time I'm not. What if when I inevitably hold it in my hands, I'll stain it?”

This would be a great time to claim this is a metaphor about a book on the shelf, but it isn’t. You know it, Steven knows it. There’s no need to pretend, even if no specific words are given.

“I suppose you have to take a chance and see what happens,” Steven says nearly breathless and to my shock, you see his eyes drop straight to your mouth. “It’s a gamble, as with most things.”

You unconsciously lick your lips and bite on your bottom one, and something changes in his eyes. You swear it fucking does. It can’t be just your imagination, however hormone-soaked it may be right now.

“Take Orpheus and Eurydice for instance,” he continues. “Their love was no gamble, no what if’s. They just knew it from the moment their eyes laid on each other. They knew they had to have each other.”

Okay, so citing one of the most infamous love stories of all time is not helping right now because you're really about to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment, for once in this damned life.

What repercussions would there be, anyway? You simply want to kiss him, that’s all; to kiss him on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, down his neck and down his whole body till he’s writhing beneath you and he’s a pleading, mumbling and sweaty mess. Pleading for the kind of release only you could give to him.

Okay, maybe some repercussions. And this isn’t the time or the place for any of that.

Shit, the image of a sweaty, pleading Steven haunts you now as you're met with his blown-out eyes, somehow still kind.

“That’s… I can’t argue against that,” you smile, way too flustered about the images running through your head. “Thank you for the wise words.”

“I have often been told I am somewhat of a wise man,” Steven jokes.

You chuckle. “You really are though. Um, Steven?”

You're not really sure what happens after you call out his name; all you know is that you pull him in by the wrist, our eyes locked in what seems like a pleading glare, both of us begging the other to move, to do something, anything, and then your body is pressed against the bookshelf, one large hand on the small of your back and the other in your hair, while a sweet mouth is a hot furnace on yours, pressing and touching relentlessly.

And you feel like you're straight up in heaven. You taste, see and feel heaven.

Christ, his lips are so soft, and yet the way he kisses is passionate, tender and ferocious all at once. It’s like he’s trying his hardest to let you know he’s gentle and caring but that he wants this so fucking much and the mixture, the entire idea in and of itself, has you absolutely feral. So much so that you kind of groan into his mouth, and that seems to spur him on. He pushes a bit of himself into you, and you're melting. You're melting and burning up and you never want to be apart from him, from any part of him.

You're left confused when you don’t feel his mouth on yours and oddly disappointed, but then you notice why he stopped. Miranda’s in the doorway, her hand on the knob, chuckling at you.

“My apologies,” she smiles at you. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

“No, we were not—it’s not—“you start, losing the string of your own sentence as you manically lick your lips in what appears to be a feeble attempt at memorizing the taste of Steven's lips.

“If it’s urgent, the bedrooms are all free, and the bathroom’s stocked.”

You feel a rush of embarrassment flood you, and your cheeks are even redder than before.

“We weren’t planning on—on any of that,” Steven mumbles.

Miranda cocks an eyebrow at you, and you both feel like two teenagers being scolded—oddly enough. “Didn’t look like that from here. I was wondering how long it will take you two to finally get your act together. Enjoy the evening!”

With that, she leaves, and you feel even more determined to explain yourself, even if… really, there’s no reason to feel this way. You only shared one kiss, albeit a very heated one. Nothing else happened.

Could it have happened? If Miranda hadn’t walked in… would you have gone all the way?

You know you could have, with the way you felt so devoured and consumed by that kiss and by Steven himself.

Steven clears his throat, scratching the back of his head as he looks at you, his whole face red, just like his lips. Now that you’ve had a taste of his lips, of the way he can be when he wants something—someone—you feel feral, in an absolutely unhinged desire for more.

And it scares you as much as it thrills you.

"I'm really, really sorry," Steven apologizes.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I feel like I sort of lured you into this… bookish trap.”

And then something hits me. “Actually… no. I’m not sorry,” you correct yourself.

Steven seems surprised, only pleasantly. “I’m not sorry about this. We didn’t do anything bad, right? Unless the kiss was bad, in which case…”

He giggles, and he’s so damn sweet you could eat him up, spread him on a cracker.

Naked.

Okay babe, focus. Stay on topic.

“It was the stellar opposite of that,” Steven smiles reassuringly, though his eyes maintain that look in them that’s rather… feral as well.

“I’m not sorry about the kiss because… truth be told, I’ve been sort of… thinking about this for quite some time.”

“Yeah? Anything else you thought about?”

Oh shit, when he’s intentionally flirty is just so attractive you can barely hold yourself together in one piece.

“A lot of anything else,” you admit and gosh, how is it possible that your cheeks are burning even more?! “But this is a third glass of wine conversation. Or—maybe for another setting.”

Steven smiles, still flustered himself. His cheeks are rosy, slightly reddened, and it paints such a beautiful image. It is now that you realize he truly is beautiful: his chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes, gorgeous hair, and simply the kind aura about him that makes you want to be around him at all times. He exudes safety and warmth and you have genuinely become frightened by how much you am into him already.

“Maybe that glass of wine isn’t such a good idea in the end,” Steven mutters affected.

“Oh? How come you changed your mind?”

“Full honesty?”

“I usually appreciate it very much.”

He leans back in, his eyes roaming your figure and your spine tickles with electricity. A hot and cold shiver passes through you; you tremble. You actually tremble. Holy shit.

“It’ll have quite an effect on me and I might want to take Miranda’s advice from before. Get on with what we started.”

Nothing but a faint oh leaves your mouth; and that’s barely the word itself, just a gust of wind that resembles the word oh, because your brain cannot compute anything at the moment besides what he just said.

And what he said is… well.

“And that would not be the gentleman-y thing to do,” he carries on, and his face is so flustered and yet riddled with something akin to neediness that your head starts spinning again.

Of course he wants to do gentleman-y things. Of course. How on brand for someone such as Steven Grant.

But oh how much you'd love to tell him—and show him—that he can easily do the opposite of that.

You can’t get the sensation of his lips pressed against yours out of your mind. You can’t get his taste out from your lips or your mind. It’s like he’s infiltrated far below the skin, straight into your bloodstream, swimming in your veins, becoming one with your entire system, and you find yourself absolutely speechless. You have genuinely no idea what to tell him or what to reply to him, so you kind of just stare at him in disbelief whilst also wishing for more, almost begging through that single stare, begging him to do anything remotely close to that kiss. Any touch right now would send you into a pleasurable orbit, even a breath in your direction would set your whole body on fire, and as you're thinking this, you come to realize maybe it isn’t such a good idea.

After all, you're still at the dinner party where loads of other people are and something like this, with someone as special as Steven, requires to be in a very intimate setting.

“Is there ever a time when you don’t think of the gentleman-y thing to do?” you chuckle and immediately face palm yourself mentally. Why would you so shamelessly pose such a flirty question when both your minds are in very fragile states right now?

Good god, get a grip over yourself, woman.

“Right now would be a very solid example,” he replies and you could so easily faint right now knowing that those words actually came out of his mouth. “But we can’t always give into our very first urges, can we? Otherwise it’d be so much chaos in this already chaotic world.”

Your jaw slightly drops as you look at him in awe. “You are... impossibly poetic.”

Steven chuckles, a soulful and hearty sound, and to know you are capable of rising such crystalline sounds from him, from such a beautiful man, it means so much to you.

“I just say what I think, nothing to it,” he keeps laughing.

“You’re really making things difficult right now, you know?”

“How so?”

“Well… let’s just say I have half a mind to surrender to that very first urge regardless of what might happen.”

“Kind of an unreliable narrator that urge, isn’t it? Saying it wants things, and it wants things badly, but rationality knows that if we do give into it, into that lust, we also become unreliable in a way.”

Your jaw drops further, and you shake my head. “Steven, you have got to stop with this, seriously. You’re making things very hard for me right now.”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.”

But he keeps laughing and laughing, even as he allows you to leave the room first and leads you back into the kitchen where we end up having a glass of water and talking about literature for another hour.

And around midnight, you arrive at the startling realization that you might be falling in love already.

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x female reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fic #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac fic #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic

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mrs-barnes-rogers-writes · 2 months

Text

The Feral Princess - Part 5

Marvel AU

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Theme: Soulmate AU / Medieval / Fantasy / Soulmate Marks

Summary: Bucky and Steve have known they were soulmates since they were children. Fate bringing a then sickly Steve and the future King together. War takes them apart and throws them back together over and over, in and out of each other lives, arms and beds. But something is missing and throughout, they know they are missing their third and final piece. The kingdom is now Bucky's and Steve's, the latter now a leader and no longer a sickly child. Both are war heroes, with the respect of their country and those that surround it. They are a force to be reconned with, admired and respected within the other royal houses. They could have any maiden or princess they wanted, but they don't want just anyone. They want their soulmate. They want their princess. Even if she is known as The Feral Princess.

Chapter Summary: Bucky learns more about the reader.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of stillbirth, death in childbirth, scars and burns

“First things first James, if you ever wander into my lands unannounced I will disrespect The Accords just as you have done and I’ll feed you to the dragons. Think yourself lucky I haven’t done so already. Be assured James that I knew the moment you set foot in Lionheart, just as I did when your Lord Wilson paid us a visit. The only reason I haven’t killed you already is because she asked me not to.”

“She?” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Don’t look so damn happy about it, it’s only so she can kill you herself. Your mother would be damn disappointed by your lack of manners and respect.”

“Do not talk of my mother, you barely knew her.”

“But I did, just as I knew you as a child. Just as she knew Tulip.”

“What?”

“My wife, my soulmate, she was my world you know?” Richard said pouring them both a goblet of wine. “Do not worry, it’s not poisoned. Just don’t ever drink anything Lady Darcy gives you.”

“Lady Darcy?”

“One of Tulips ladies.”

Bucky nodded.

“My soulmate, my dearest Queen. Her and your mother would write on occasion. I was at your father’s coronation, and your mother’s when they wed, just like they were at ours. She came to my wife’s funeral you know?”

“I remember. Father didn’t want her going, there was so much unrest. The kingdoms were worried of what you’d do, if you’d break the treaty.”

“Oh yes the rumours. Rumlow did try to kill my wife, that part is true but that’s as far as it goes. He only got as far as the gates and do you know why?”

“Your men stopped him.”

“Whose command do you think they were under? I wasn’t here, it was during the siege at Ultron.”

“The Queen’s?”

Richard sipped his wine before answering.

“You would think so, but she was already laying in by then. Strict orders from the doctor, after the first, well, the first he was born sleeping and never woke.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Richard, truly I am.”

“We were blessed in the end, the birth though that was hard, but I am thankful she went in my arms and not at Rumlow’s hand. A matter of days and I’d have been here. I’d have killed him well before you and your Steven had the chance. I was an idiot back then, plenty will tell you I still am. Your father and I were so caught up in the fight at Ultron I took more of my men then I should have, left a dozen here, with the Royal Guard. Don’t get me wrong the Guard could wield a sword but they weren’t like my soldiers, not then. They weren’t like they are now.”

Bucky wasn’t sure where this history lesson was going or if the whole conversation was to accompany the lines of troops outside as a show of force, and he took a sip of wine to stop himself saying anything he shouldn’t.

“It was Tulip that knew something was wrong. One of the villagers came to the gates, told the guards they were a few new faces in the village but they brushed it off. Tulip, well, she’s always been one for running off, it’s one of the reasons you won’t find her here.”

“I suspected she was gone, the villagers said as much.”

“Well, she slipped out that day, nosy little flower that she is and sure enough she spotted three of them trying to buy supplies. My people, they know not to aid or assist those of Hydra, they threatened them, Tulip was annoyed and she followed them back to where they were hiding. How do you think he got those burns? Those scars?”

Bucky shrugged.

“There have been many rumours, I’m not sure if anyone truly knows.”

“Ask Tulip, when you find her, ask her.”

Could you have had a hand in Rumlow’s near death? Bucky’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure of your age but even so you would have been a teenager. Sixteen if that.

“Tulip protected the Queen and our kingdom that day. Rumlow had all intention of killing my wife, the child in her belly, and burning everyone and everything in his path and out of it too. She will always protect everyone and everything she loves until her dying day. Do you know why? Do you know why we call her Tulip?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Well drink up lad. You’ll need it for what I’m about to tell you.”

An hour later Bucky and Richard walked back out to the court yard. Natasha and the knights in the same place he had left them. The yard still eerily quiet.

“Remember what I said James.”

Bucky nodded and the two embraced. Natasha held in a sigh of relief.

“And good luck, you’ll need it.”

Richard called for them to be given supplies and half a dozen stable boys and kitchen maids appeared from nowhere, handing each of them two small sacks of supplies, one for them and one for their horses, as hellos and thank yous were exchanged.

“Thank you Richard. For your time and for your words.” Bucky said as he climbed his horse.

They nodded at each other. Richard gave an order for them to be escorted to the North Road as Bucky and the others turned back towards the gates. Two dozen men stepped from the lines and surrounded them. The Knight at the front let out a whistle and the gates opened. It didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky that the archers were still pointing arrows at them as they left. As the second gates opened they discovered where the rest of Lionheart’s army were.

A mix of soldiers and Knights lined the way from the gates for as far as the eye could see. Armed, in Lionheart colours and on horseback and all ready for a fight. Each horse had a green ribbon tied around its bridle. A green that happened to be Loxley green and a clear show of their allegiance to you.

As they had rode through the gates the foot soldiers accompanying them switched with those on horseback and they were quickly marched back to the North Road. Bucky glanced back at the castle as they left. Richard was now watching them from one for the towers as a dragon circled above it. Another show of force.

Bucky couldn’t help but think about what Richard had told him. The sick feeling that he felt in his stomach wasn’t just from the wine. He wasn’t sure why Richard had told him what he had. To put him off? So he knew what he was getting into? Or to explain why you are the way you are? Bucky knew one thing though. He would make sure that nobody hurt you again.

“Natalia, poslat' za karatelem.”

(Natasha, send for The Punisher.)

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @sebastians-love @mrsevans90 @salvatoremeanssaviour @forgetmenotsexy @thriving-n-jiving @abaker74 @otterlycanadian

#avengers au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes x reader #soulmate au #stucky x reader #Steve rogers x reader x bucky Barnes

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dailyreverie · 10 months

Text

It's cold outside

A/N: Requested by @reallyrallyauthor, I hope you like it!! Also I write this while my nose is about to fall off my face from how cold it is so I might have projected a bit.

Holiday prompts ⛄ 4. Kissing cold noses

Pairing: Steven Grant x gn!reader (no mention of the system)

Word count: 547

The sound of the alarm was followed by a raspy groan coming from the pillow next to Steven’s. He would much rather have a morning wrapped in the warmth of your embrace, yet he reluctantly untangled himself from your limbs, a chill going through his body when the second he moves he feels the cold air seeping into your bed. Still, he keeps moving away from you and unto the cold morning.

"No," you murmured, your voice still laced with the remnants of sleep, your limbs tightening around him possessively, even when he was doing his best to untangle from them. You didn’t seem to care - not that you should - you just wanted a few more moments of him.

Ignoring your plea, as difficult as it was, Steven pressed on leaving the bed. Even if it was Saturday and the museum was going to be empty, he could not risk being late.

“Oh lord, it’s freezing today!” Steven exclaimed as he set one foot out from the bed, the cold winter air reaching his bones and freezing them immediately. Just as the winter chill threatened to take him away from you, he felt you inching closer, his soft laughter echoing through the room as you began to envelop him in a cocoon of warmth.

"That's why you can't go," you insisted, a sleepy whine that tugged at his heartstrings. Your arm snaked around his waist, coaxing him back into bed.

"No, no, love. I'll be late." he protested, attempting to resist, but it was challenging to ignore the sight of your cozy form, wrapped up in the comforter with only the tip of your nose peeking out.

“But I’m cold.” In your half-asleep state, it was good enough of a reason to convince him to stay. Your eyes remained closed, fingers finding their way under his sleep shirt to feel the comforting warmth of his body. "Stay," you implored.

With a chuckle, Steven leaned in, his warm breath teasing your chilled skin before softly pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. The gentle touch made your heart flutter, and your sigh of contentment melted away all his determination to leave.

"Oh, love, you're really cold, aren't you?" he teased, his fingers tenderly grazing over your ice-cold nose. The contrast between the warmth of his touch and the chill of your nose created a delicious tingling sensation that sent shivers down your spine. "Your nose feels like an ice cube," he remarked playfully, his affectionate gaze fixed on you.

“I’ve been telling you that! You can’t leave me like this.” With Steven so close to your body again it was easier to pull him down, the arm that rested on his waist hooking like a candy cane, pulling him under the covers again. “What if I freeze?” Your threat sealed the deal, as unrealistic as it was, Steven couldn’t risk it.

Okay, fine,” Steven admitted his defeat, a grin playing on his lips. His lips found your nose again, and, slowly, his kisses traveled, exploring your cheekbones with soft, lingering caresses that moved all the way to the space between your eyebrows. His kisses left a warming path that promised to make the cold disappear from your skin. “Maybe I can be a little bit late.”

🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄🌙🎄

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant headcanon #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #steven grant fluff #steven grant x gender neutral reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fic #steven grant blurb

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januaryembrs · 5 months

Text

WORTH THE WAIT | Poe Dameron x Reader

Request: my sweet @happyhauntt says: and to counteract the fact that my last request was sad as fuck, here's a happy one!!! a wee fic based on the song 'i guess i'm in love' by clinton kane, and this one feels like it should be for poe or steven!! enjoy!!

Description: Poe tries to help reader overcome her fear of flying by giving her something good to remember

length: 2.1k

warnings: mention of puke (none just feeling of nausea) mention of fear of heights?

authors note: yes I did listen to Romantic Flight from HTTYD when I wrote this and yes this did heal the part of me that always wanted to be flown through the clouds like this. also sorry this is so late things have been HECTIC

Poe really hoped she liked his surprise.

There were very few things that he knew he was good at besides flying; knowing exactly how to tell her just how deeply he felt for her even after all this time being one of them. He knew he stumbled over flirtatious lines, not at all like the bachelor he once was, that his chest still pounded at the thought of her just the same as it did when he was soaring through the stratosphere, his stomach flipping when they kissed as if he’d done four barrel rolls on an X-Wing.

He knew he was in uncharted waters being so far in a committed relationship, that his usual rendezvous' had lasted little more than a few weeks at most, but that was entirely in the past. No one had even come close since the day he met her.

She had been his mission once. Captured on a First Order ship, Leia had ordered him and his squadron to go rescue her, had said she was some lord’s daughter of a dying planet wanted by Ren for information about her father. He had heard the stories of how his resistance leader had come to be kidnapped from Alderaan when she was young, and figuring she was just screamingly empathetic for the girl, he had done exactly as he had been told.

He’d had no clue that his mission would become his entire life within a few short months.

“I feel like this is a little unfair,” She teased, his hands over her eyes as he led her out to the hangar, the lone sun on their planet lowering behind the horizon, “You make me wait all day for my present, and I can’t even see it,”

“Have a little patience, Princess,” Poe said, his lips drawing into a small smile as he felt her huff beneath his palms, “I know you’re used to getting what you want in your palace, but you’re in my town now, baby,”

She chuckled, shaking her head as he directed her down the stairs. He wasn’t entirely lying. After she’d been rescued from Ren’s grasp, her planet had quickly declared its allegiance to the resistance and she had been appointed as one of Leia’s advisors. Whether it was her quick wit, or the love she seemed to drench every single person with, no matter who they were or where they had come from, Poe wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made her such a good leader, other than the fact she was so entirely herself it was hard not to favour her; a rare quality of politicians he'd often teased her.

She gave a sniff through her nose, trying to give herself some kind of hint as to what her gift was. “Smells like… oil? Did BB-8 leak again?”

“Just wait, one more step in front of you,” Poe replied, his eyes trained carefully on her high heeled steps over the concrete. His stomach somersaulted as he wondered for the last time if this was a good idea, but he couldn't very well lead her all the way back out of there empty handed. Reminding himself it was her, and she would never spit anything kind back in his face, he released her face gently, “tada!”

He watched her shoulders tense under the jacket he’d given her because he worried she’d be cold in the night air, and he could tell her mind was racing a million miles a second trying to make sense of what it was he was showing her.

His T-70 starfighter. The only thing, he often joked, that could ever rival her for the title of his beloved.

“Poe…” Her voice trailed off, unsure but not wanting to seem rude, “Poe, I can’t-”

“Baby, hear me out,” He cut in, knowing she was never going to be jumping for joy before he could explain, “I promise you, nothing bad will happen while I’m there,”

“Poe,” She said hesitantly, as he came around the front of her to see her worried expression that made him cradle her face with his warm hands almost immediately.

“They don’t call me the best pilot in the galaxy for nothing,” He smiled at her cheekily, and he was relieved to see her crack a grin then, though the fright lingered in her eyes that rolled at him.

He’d known since the day he’d rescued her that she had a fear of flying; when he’d had to sit her on his lap in that very same cockpit so they could escape the base together, when she’d screamed bloody murder and held his hands so tight he worried he might lose circulation.

Not the best of first introductions, and not quite how he’d imagined his two greatest loves meeting. Which was why he wanted to change her experience of the whole thing.

She gave him a tentative glance, and he fretted for a moment that it had all been a mistake; that his kind act coming from a good place had been one giant heap of selfish bantha fodder that he felt stupid for even suggesting it. But then she took a deep breath, her hands coming up over his own on her cheeks and squeezing them gently.

“Certainly don’t call you the most humble pilot in the galaxy, Dameron,” She said with a tease, moving past him to head for the jet, “Alright, help me up. My carriage awaits,”

He beamed so hard he thought his cheeks might explode, rushing past her to lift himself up onto the right arm the way he had done so many, many times before.

“My lady,” He stretched out his hand, all but yanking her up most of the way to where he kneeled, and he was glad he’d told her to wear her cargos and not the pretty dress she’d showed him.

Pulling herself up to a sit, she looked unsurely at the metalwork beneath them, “You’re sure it can hold two?”

“It did before, didn't it?” He countered back, hoisting himself into the cockpit that felt like a second home to him, his body sliding into his seat like a hand into a glove. He parted his thighs, granting her a space of her own, and patted the leather chair, “Actually, don't think about that. Hop in,”

She paused, uncertainty written across her face that cracked when she saw the hopeful gleam in his eyes, brown hues that had always seemed to watch her with pure adoration. She had always struggled to say no to him, especially when he looked like that.

Slipping between his legs, she hated to admit that she found herself rather comfy enveloped between his body and the dash.

“You sure we’re safe?” She asked once more, and his arms slid around her to grab the wheel in his right hand, the left pulling her back against his warm body that made her relax just that little bit. He kissed the side of her head, resting his temple against hers for a second.

“You know I would never put you in harms way, sweetheart,” He said, all trace of jovial teasing gone as he kissed next to her ear and pushed the button to lock the glass canopy over their heads. It slowly lowered down, hissing into a click as it shut, and he felt her shuffle in closer to his chest, “There’s something up there I really, really want to show you. Okay?”

She looked up at him over her shoulder, his eyes twinkling with excitement at seeing her in his seat, his co-pilot for the evening.

How could she ever resist?

“Okay,” She nodded, tugging his arms over her shoulders like a seat belt as if strapping herself in for the ride, “Okay, I’m ready,”

He chuckled, praying to the maker one last time that this would work, and switching the ignition up to a low rumble.

The jet rolled forward slowly, and he wheeled it around to a clearing in runway that made her think he’d told everyone to take the evening off just so they could have their solo flight.

“Okay, baby, I’m going to have to go fast at this bit, so you might want to hold on tight,” He warned her, and he felt her grab onto his thighs with tight fists, “That’s it, I got you, you’re safe,”

Not giving her much time to overthink what was coming, he floored the gas, flicking a few of the levers above their heads. She sucked in a breath, her knuckles almost turning white with grip, “Poe,”

“I promise you’re safe, baby,” He reassured, forcing the throttle down and they jumped forward as the engines kicked in. He would have been in the air by now if it had just been him, would probably already be doing a loop-de-loop, but he didn’t want to terrify her before they had even really started.

She squealed, a muffled version of what he knew she was probably holding back as they started lifting off the ground, and he sped up even more, the g-force throwing her back against him, and he flicked pressed the switch on the dash to start retracting the wheels into the underbelly.

“Poe, I’m scared,”

“You got it, I got you,” He removed one of his hands off the wheel and looped it around her waist to keep her secure, “You’re doing so well, baby,”

It was then she made the mistake of taking a peak outside, seeing their base quickly becoming little more than a speck beneath them as they sped off upwards into the atmosphere, “Oh my stars, we’re so high,”

He chuckled, kissing her hairline tenderly, “That’s a good thing, means we’re not in danger of crashing into trees or mountains or-”

“Poe!” She slapped his thigh, scrunching her eyes shut, “I can’t look, I’m going to puke,”

His resolve wavered for a minute, and he made the impromptu decision to yank the steering wheel down, forcing them to take a quick turn up even higher into the air, to which she tucked her head towards his jaw so she didn’t have to watch.

He wondered if he was going to regret such a bold move, he felt her whimper against his skin and Poe cursed the whole concept of ‘Go big or go home’ that he had been going for.

Until-

They burst through the clouds, the dusk air that had been growing dark under the smog disappearing as they cut in a straight line up, further and further until the cottony slew of powder white clouds blanketed beneath them, the way they had for him so many times before. The sun was still out this far up in the aerospace, syrupy orange, and almost pink as it met the pillowed floor, like they had flown right into a meadow of blankets and warmth.

“Poe, I tried to be brave, really I did, for you, but my nerves are shot-”

“Baby, look,” He cut her off, engaging the auto-pilot and moving his warm hands down her arms softly to hold her fingers in his own. The X-Wing evened out, the force barely feeling like a pull at their bodies anymore and more like a lingering jitter in their skin that could so easily be passed off as the engine.

“I can’t, I feel sick-” She protested, pushing her nose into his neck, and he felt her hands shaking with nerves that he gently stroked away. He chuckled, the sound reverberating over the apples of her cheeks.

“Just trust me, look,” Poe said, and she took a deep breath, as if holding back another complaint, peeling herself away from him just the smallest amount to glimpse outside the star-fighter.

Her eyes widened, sitting upright almost immediately as she saw the technicolor that had been a dull beige before, the world she’d known for over two years entirely gone, buried beneath the silkened clouds. Her mouth hung open, eyes darting over the teracotta hues, down to the valley of puffy clouds beneath that didn’t seem nearly as threatening as she’d imagined.

She was silent for a moment, and Poe had feeling that was atleast a good thing, but he was known to second guess himself when it came down to her.

Watching her expression with a besotted gaze, the sun’s heat glowing her cheeks with a honey kiss, he ran his fingertips over her palms, “Do you like it?”

“Poe, it’s-” She swallowed, not once ripping her eyes away from the oil painting infront of her, “You get to see this every day?”

He laughed, dipping his nose in her neck and leaving a loving kiss there, “Pretty much, yeah. I told you, it’s a whole other world up here,”

“How do you ever come down, I mean it’s, it’s,” She stammered, shuffling on the edge of the seat to take it all in even more, “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,”

“I have my reasons that are pretty compelling actually,” He smiled, eyes washing over her face, trying to commit that expression to memory because there were very few times they were allowed to have something good in the middle of a war. But this was it. She was it. His little bit of goodness that had been so worth the wait, “Happy Anniversary, honey,”

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanart #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac imagine #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar issac fic

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moonlightazriel · 3 months

Text

What's mine to take /// Feysand x F!Reader

Summary: When the past comes back to haunt you, can you really run away from it?

Warnings: War, blood, canon divergent, mentions of death, death of a character.

Word Count: 1,7K

Notes: I had this idea based on Other Friends by Steven Universe a long while ago, but I was always afraid to mess with one of the most loved couples in the fandom, but now I said fuck it and let's do it.

Main Masterlist

“There’s something wrong on the battlefield!” Azriel alerted, his shadows recoiling in fear, he felt the cold sweat running down the column of his neck, his head whipping towards the powerful source that just entered the field.

“This scent, it feels so familiar.” Morrigan said, sword in hands. “I felt the same scent in Hybern’s castle when he trapped us.”

Monsters made of pure darkness started to sprout in the middle of the bloody field, Rhysand watched it in horror, how could they defeat them now? Hybern's army kept marching forward, with renewed confidence.

“We need to find the source!” Feyre said, her whole body shivered. The temperature dropped even further as a beautiful winged female landed in front of the group.

“Well, well, well!” Her voice was soft, and she raised a hand, shielding her eyes from the sun. “ Let me take a look at the menagerie.”

“This can't be.” Morrigan was pale, like she had seen a ghost, and as recognition started to settle within the group, the males also felt their bodies shivering in fear.

“It can, and it is!” She spoke in a condescending tone. “I got a new style.” She swayed her head, her soft locks of onyx hair moving behind her back with the motion. “And a few new toys that are going to put an end to your happily ever after.” She pointed to the shadow army, each time a soldier tried to attack the things, they dissolved around the blade, assuming a new form and killing the bearer.

The whole group watched even more horrified as the shadows entered the corpse, the deceased soldier rising to their feet, sword in hands and turning against their own army.

“Y/N I…” Rhysand spoke, his voice and expression dark something about all of that didn't sit well with Feyre, who was that female that even the most powerful High Lord in history was afraid of?

“Oh hello Rhys. The star of the show.” Her expression was cold.

“Please, I can explain.” Feyre watched her mate step forward, towards her.

“Yeah yeah, I've heard.” She walked forward, grabbing Feyre’s chin and tilting her head around, inspecting her face. “Did you really think that after all this time I wouldn't find out about her?” She smiled at Feyre, a beautiful lethal smile. “She's really pretty, I see the appeal.”

“That's not what I thought, please don't hurt any of them, let's solve this between us.” Rhysand pleaded but the female rolled her eyes, letting Feyre go.

“This can't be serious.” Azriel spoke.

“It really is her!” Cassian pointed out and Feyre turned to him.

“Do you know her, Cass? Can you tell me who she is?” She begged and the female laughed, the insanity leaking through the cracks of her well contained vessel.

“Who am I? Who am I? I'm the loser of the game you didn't know you were playing. Let's play another game, this time I got to win.” She conjured a sword of shadows, assuming a fight instance. “Lives on the line, winner takes all! Ready or not, let's begin.”

And then she attacked, her body easily avoiding all the attacks the inner circle tried to make, like she could predict their moves, like she knew their fighting style.

Exhausting, fighting her was exhausting, her powers were way beyond anything Feyre had ever seen, even more powerful than Rhysand. Beneath them, Hybern slayed them, their efforts wouldn't be enough to defeat her army, nothing they could do was enough to stop her.

Feyre watched as she held Rhysand’s bloodied face in between her hands, spinning his neck until she was facing Feyre, in the corner she was trying to hide.

“Show her, show her who I am.” Rhys mumbled something, but what she said next was what made Feyre completely frozen in place. “You can fake the bond between you two all you want, but the bond that you try so hard to hide between us, will be broken today.”

His talons scrapped her mental shields and Feyre lowered them, she needed to know what this all meant. The first thing she saw was kind eyes, Y/N couldn't be older than 20 in that vision. Her giggle sounded all around Feyre's head.

“My beautiful mate.” Rhys spoke, his eyes glowing with happiness, and Feyre felt, stronger than ever, the scent of their mating bond filled her senses and she felt her head dizzy. “I can't believe the bond snapped for us. This is the best day of my life. I'm going to love you forever.” He promised.

“We met as kids.” The female voice sounded and Feyre turned around, seeing her leaning in a corner, teary eyes as she looked at that memory too. “It was his mother that prevented me from having my wings clipped, and it was for me she did all of those dresses.”

The memories changed in front of her eyes, happy moments she shared with Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian. Her braiding Rhysand's sister's hair, helping his mom in the kitchen. Feyre saw his mom taking her measurements as he watched from afar, happiness laced him, he looked so young and so in love with her.

“We were around our twenties when the bond snapped, he had promised me that no matter what happened, nothing would ever break us apart, nothing would ever change in between us.”

And in her mind, those words were echoed by a much younger Rhys, promises of a future together, being the rulers of the Night Court together. All the love they shared couldn't have disappeared like that.

“But once you get the taste of the power, you will always crave more.”

The memories changed, looking darker and more heavy than the others, Rhys paced around the House of Wind, his violet eyes like a raging storm as he looked at her.

“You made me look weak in front of them, you embarrassed me.” He sounded angry and Y/N flinched, her cheeks stained with dark makeup.

“I'm sorry, I just wanted to dance with you.” He rolled his eyes and a growl left his lips.

“I don't care about what you want, you will never embarrass me again in front of my enemies.” He left the room, leaving her crying on the couch, being approached by Cassian who held her in his arms.

“He always thought I was weak, he never knew what lay underneath my skin, my mother had forced me to keep my powers hidden, and a High King can't have someone weak on their side. When he went to Amarantha, he was seeking her for her powers, frustrated that she had her heart set on Tamlin, that's why he used you, to prove to her that Tamlin would never want her.”

Feyre felt her guts spinning inside her, she wanted to throw up. She turned away from the memory of their last day together before Rhysand went Under the Mountain. Her bloody and battered body as Rhysand had tried to get rid of her, suppressing their bond until he couldn't feel her faintly hanging by a thread to the little life she still had inside her.

“It was my power that brought me back, the thing I neglected the most was what saved me in the end, while the only thing I loved the most tried to get rid of me.” Spiteful, she was spiteful of him and rightfully so. “I worked on my powers, you see, heartbreak is a really good motivation to be better. When I heard about you and how he had claimed that after the tragic death of his mate, the cauldron had blessed him with another one I laughed, like I never did before.”

The content of her stomach was left on the floor right by her side, Feyre felt sick, like all of that was a joke with her, a big lie to make fun of her, but she felt the faint emotions on the other side of the closed bond Rhysand kept so well hidden, felt the pain and the betrayal radiating from the female. She felt all of that, the truth of what he had done.

“They believed him, they all believed him. He has always been the perfect liar, with a face like his and powers like the ones he has, it was easy to convince people of whatever he wanted them to believe.”

“I've been in his mind so many times, I never found anything.” Feyre dared to say.

“You can't compare your experience with centuries worth of being a Daemati darling, it's not even fair.” She chuckled with her innocence. “He took everything away from me and he must pay the price for his actions, he always wanted more power, to be above everyone else, he always dreamed of being High King of Prythian, and his greed and narcissism are going to be his downfall.”

Feyre watched as the plan formed in his mind, to get someone like her on his side, the girl brought back to life carrying the powers of all courts, faking a mating bond so she wouldn't have any options than wanting to be with him, bound to him forever and ruling over Prythian with him. She felt disgusted. She closed her mental shields, looking around her, Azriel and Cassian being restrained by her monsters, Mor lying unconscious. And Rhysand, the male she had given her heart to, the male who had broken Y/N beyond repair.

“You see…” She turned Rhysand around, having him looking at her in the eyes, she wanted her to be the last thing he ever saw. “I'm not a monster, I'm just doing what's right, getting justice for what was done to me.” With a shadow coated hand, she pressed her nails in his chest, Rhysand whining and tears falling to the sides of his face as she wrapped her hand around his heart.

Feyre gasped in horror as she saw Y/N pulling her hand away from the cavity in his chest, his heart pumping droplets of blood everywhere as she inspected the muscular organ.

“It's still beating.” She turned to Feyre with a cruel smile. “But who does it truly beat for, Feyre darling?”

#acotar #sarahjmaas #moonlightazriel #night court #velaris #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhysand x y/n #rhysand angst #feysand x reader #feysand x y/n

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